Starting the New Year With a Bang

A New Year's Eve story based on this micro story and photo I posted on Twitter.

I popped the bottle early, and sat sipping from a glass of half-decent champagne on the couch as my stepdad’s grandfather clock ticked away the last minutes of the year. I had the big show on the TV, but even if I wouldn’t be caught dead in Times Square, it just made me wish I were back home in New York as planned before my canceled flight.

Holidays with the family weren’t so bad, and snowy Michigan was beautiful, but it would have been nice to start the new year with a raucous kiss instead of a quiet evening. Mom and John had gone to sleep a little after ten. Both my sister and John’s son, and their families, had dispersed in the days since Christmas, so it was just me left to celebrate alone in the big sleepy house.

I shut my eyes and sank back into the deep sofa under a blanket, feeling the fizz of the wine on my tongue before letting it slide down and fuel the growing buzz in my head. Even after two and a half years at NYU, I was still a lightweight when it came to alcohol, but tonight I didn’t mind at all. It was a good way to dull the somber evening.

I glanced at my phone again, but my messages were still unanswered. Patrick and I weren’t dating exactly, but we were something. Something enough that we’d planned an evening together, one he was now undoubtedly having with someone else. I had no illusions about the romantic potential of a man who’d bang his own student during office hours, but he had a big dick and a thrilling wit. Even if he wasn’t likely to be my future husband, I could still dream.

The crowd’s excitement rose on TV, drawing my attention. Two minutes til midnight. I thought of tasting fine champagne on Patrick’s lips, of feeling his strong hands gripping me as the ball dropped, and my own hand idly wandered down to the growing bulge in my pajamas.

“Ahem,” a voice came from the kitchen. I startled to my feet and blushed when I saw my stepfather smirking back at me. “Sorry to interrupt, bud. Just grabbing a glass of water,” He said, scratching at his bare hairy chest as he held up his empty glass. John was tall, looming over me at 5’6”, and burly as a bear. But above all, the hefty package in his snug boxer-briefs made my eyes widen. I’d caught fleeting glances of him undressed in the hallway before, but never clearly enough to find myself dreaming of him bending me over the island counter.

“It’s nearly midnight,” I remarked, picking up a half-empty bottle from the coffee table. “Champagne instead?”

John glanced back toward the bedroom, thinking for a moment before he shrugged, “Why not?”

One minute til midnight. We met halfway between the living room and the kitchen, and my heart thumped faster in my chest with every step. He was a raw man, not unkind but quite unrefined, of the sort I rarely met in Manhattan. I felt small and soft, emasculated standing closer before him as he accepted a healthy pour with a mischievous grin.

“You’re a bad influence,” he chuckled, patting my shoulder. His palm was warm and meaty, and I thought of how it’d feel cupping my ass.

“You have no idea,” I countered, boldly reaching to run my fingers through the fur on his chest down to his belly. His eyes widened a bit and it was his turn to blush.

Thirty seconds til midnight. John relaxed when I drew back, tipping a mouthful of champagne between his lips, a few drops clinging to the thick fur on his bottom lip. We stood a bit awkwardly until he moved to stand behind the couch and I came up close beside him. It felt good to smell a man, to feel the warmth radiating off his powerful body. It was nice not to be alone.

Fifteen seconds til midnight. He fixed his gaze on the TV, standing stiffly. For a moment, I regretted touching him—a glimmer of stolen pleasure that might sully this friendship with my mother’s husband—but then I saw the shape of his cock snaking down his thigh beneath his underwear. It was enormous, and growing.

Five seconds til midnight. What would happen? I wondered, heart racing as the crowd counted down and the ball descended.

One second til midnight. I clinked my glass to his, and sipped as I whispered, “Happy New Year, John.” Fireworks went off and the crowd cheered. John faced me with a smile, gulping down another mouthful of wine. His eyebrows rose when I stepped forward, my shirt pressing to his gut, and rose onto my toes to press my lips against his as the sound of the TV faded into the background.

He took a sharp breath through his nose. His muscles tensed, but he didn’t pull away. Our arms hung awkwardly at our sides, but our lips didn’t part. He shut his eyes and I did too. I don’t know what he saw behind his eyelids, but it relaxed him. His mouth engulfed mine before closing again, snug and wet against me. His hand came to cup me at the small of my back, sliding under my shirt until I felt coarse fingertips against my smooth skin.

John let out a little groan, gripping me. His tongue pushed forward, parting my lips to probe past them. He was an aggressive kisser, and I could taste the champagne as his tongue grazed along the insides of my mouth. I was taken aback when he stepped forward, pinning me between his body and the back of the couch, and ran his fingers along the waistband of my pajamas. His fat cock throbbed against my flat stomach and I felt a wetness blossoming through the fabric of my shirt.

He pulled his tongue from my mouth and our eyes opened, fixing on each other as the reality of the moment set in. If that was all this had amounted to, it would have been enough, but John didn’t release me as he emptied the rest of his glass down his throat and tossed it aside to grip the back of my head and say, “Happy New Year, buddy. I think we ought to do a bit more celebrating. Don’t you?”

I nodded my head in a daze. John grinned as he said, “Good boy. I always like starting the new year with a bang.” Feeling his cock against me, my ass ached to be filled as I imagined it would be a big bang.