Cranberry Sauce Gets Me Off During My Socially Distanced Thanksgiving - (Classic Tingler Revisited)

dang buckaroos it is holiday season again so i will say HAPPY THANKSGIVING to american buds who celebrate this way. ol chuck is in billings with son jon and klowy and truckman and barbara to spend time with family (i have been staying in city of devils but this is time of brief returns). so i am enjoying this celebration of tasty snacks and good times but also these days chuck thinks about roots of thanksgiving and its problematic way. it is with this in mind that way of ‘making your own traditions’ has been floating in my brain to say ‘i will see my family and i will share my love but this is how i would like to do it’ and in that way i am announcing audiobook of CRANBERRY SAUCE GETS ME OFF DURING MY SOCIALLY DISTANCED THANKSGIVING which is out now based on last years tale when whole dang world was locked down hard instead of locked down medium. for patreon buds i am posting full story for you to enjoy as a classic tingler revisited. maybe new tradition for this day can be sitting around the table reading your favorite tinglers to each other including this one.

Like most people, Karly’s Thanksgiving is a little different this year. Thanks to a trotting plague sweeping the nation, many have opted to responsibly stay home and refrain from putting their family members at risk.

Karly’s family is celebrating over video chat instead, which is great, but after a frozen microwave dinner Karly ends up feeling as though she’s only had half a Thanksgiving. This prompts her to head to the grocery store for a traditional holiday meal of her own.

It’s here that Karly meets Bindle, a sexy, sentient cranberry sauce who promises to give her the full Thanksgiving experience. They embark on an erotic lesbian encounter, but soon realize that gratitude is something worth practicing all year round!

This erotic tale is 4,000 words of sizzling human on cranberry sauce action and hardcore lesbian food love.

(Originally released Nov 25th, 2020)

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CRANBERRY SAUCE GETS ME OFF DURING MY SOCIALLY DISTANCED THANKSGIVING

By Chuck Tingle

The microwave dings loudly as I hurry over to pull out a frozen dinner that has been thoroughly heated within. As I remove the plastic tray and pull back its covering, I go out of my way to ignore the scent of the food. It’s not terrible, not by a long shot, but it’s certainly not Thanksgiving.

Of course, that’s exactly the plan. The dish I’ve heated up is a frozen baked spaghetti with vegetarian meatballs, far removed from a traditional meal of the season. Thid was part of a deliberate choice that I made when I realized I wasn’t headed home to see my family for the holidays, a way of distancing myself from Thanksgiving all together while we all wait out this difficult time.

I’m referring, of course, to the trotting plague that has swept across our country, and the world. This devastating disease causes all those who encounter it to trot playfully, which is wonderful at first, but quickly becomes a problem when they just can’t stop.

The only way to keep from catching this terrible virus is to stay inside and separate yourself from any other people, which was difficult enough over the course of the last year. Now that Thanksgiving has arrived, however, things are looking even rougher than before.

President Tromp hasn’t exactly had a coherent message on the subject, thoroughly dividing the country between those who understand the importance of socially distancing, and those who don’t really care about putting their older family members at risk. Now that the holidays have arrived, this is creating a lot of tough decisions regarding how to celebrate.

My family has decided to avoid the air travel that’s required for us to gather in person, staying apart this year. With so many of us spread out across the country, it’s just too dangerous, and even if we all still lived in the same town, a gathering of this size wouldn’t be worth the risk.

Of course, this is all easier said than done, and as I gaze down at my microwave dinner I feel it in my bones.

I glace over at the clock and realize I’m about to be late, then carry my food over to the dining room table where my computer has been set up. A display of familiar faces is there to greet me, each one of them in their own video chat window.

“Hey! Karly!” my cousin erupts, excited to see me.

“Karly!” my dad chimes in. “What do you have there? Doesn’t look like a turkey to me.”

“Well, I’m vegetarian,” I remind him, “so it wouldn’t be a turkey regardless, but either way I’m saving the traditional food for when this is all over and we have Thanksgiving in July.”

The group erupts in a wave of digital laugher and immediately relief washes over me. I figured this socially distanced holiday was going to be downright miserable and awkward, as most things over video chat are, but it’s not so bad. Granted, I’m not getting the same warm Thanksgiving feelings that I usually do, but the digital replacement is good enough to get the job done.

Eventually, everyone settles in for their separate holiday meals, chatting over the computer as they discuss the various comings and goings of their lives. When it’s my turn, I tell everyone about my life here in Billings, about the new apartment I just moved into and all the important research I’m conducting out at the frozen lake.

All the while, I continue to meditate on whether or not this really feels like Thanksgiving, but the longer I think on this the more I realize there’s not a very clear answer. Obviously, this isn’t the same as last year, because we’d all rather sit around the same table together amid the scent of gravy and the clinking of silverware. But I love seeing my family, even if it’s just on a computer screen.

As the meal comes to an end and people start logging off, I’m still torn on my review of this whole ordeal. One by one the video chat windows begin to disappear, until eventually only me and my cousin Sasha are left.

“How was the baked spaghetti?” she asks.

I glance down at the plastic tray before me, which features a half-eaten mass of cheese and pasta. “Not bad,” I reply with a shrug. “A little frozen in the middle. I should have just done Thanksgiving food.”

“Why didn’t you?” Sasha questions. “The food is the best part!”

I shrug. “I don’t know. I understand why we’re doing this year apart, but it still feels kind of weird. I figured I could do things halfway and pretend it’s just another video call with the folks.”

“Well, there’s no right way to celebrate Thanksgiving,” my cousin offers. “I mean, this holiday doesn’t exactly have a clean history, so if you don’t wanna think about the problematic pilgrims and focus on family time I fully understand.”

“But is this really family time?” I question.

“I don’t know,” Sasha replies with a shrug. “Life is weird right now, and it’s okay to recognize that.”

We sit in silence for a moment, lost in our own separate thoughts.

“What do you think?” Sasha finally continues, throwing my question back at me. “Was it really family time? Was this a real Thanksgiving?”

I struggle to coalesce all of my abstract thoughts into a single point, a definitive answer to this question that’s been haunting me all day. “I’d call it a… half Thanksgiving,” I finally tell her.

My cousin laughs. “Well, for some reason our parents like to eat dinner at three today, so if you want to find the other half then you’ve got plenty of time.”

I glance over at the clock and realize she’s right. We’d taken our time with the meal and still ended up finishing around four thirty. On any other day I wouldn’t have started thinkingabout dinner yet, and with nothing more than half a frozen pasta tray in my stomach, I’m still pretty hungry.

Maybe there’s time to make this feel like a proper Thanksgiving after all.

“You’re right,” I finally reply. “I’m gonna cook myself a Thanksgiving dinner! It’s not too late!”

Sasha smiles. “That’s the spirit,” she replies.

I close my laptop and jump to my feet, gathering my things before heading out to the nearby grocery store.

I stand before a large shelf, my eyes glued to the barren landscape before me. The scene is so bizarre and surreal that my first instinct is to think there must be some kind of mistake, that I’ve shown up between stocking times and there’s plenty more food to come, but I quickly push these delusions away as reality sets in.

Everyone else has already purchased their Thanksgiving goods for dinner tonight, which would typically cause a shortage on any other year. This time around, the trotting plague has only amplified any holiday food purchases, the existential panic feeding on itself in a dreadful loop.

“Welp, I guess that means there’s no creamed corn tonight,” I state aloud, then continue down the aisle.

I’m disappointed, but not completely down for the count. I’m only searching for half a Thanksgiving dinner, after all, and there are plenty of other options. I don’t even like creamed corn that much.

Eventually this aisle opens into the vegetable section, various bins loaded up with tasty, colorful treats. The usual staples are all here, but when I stroll over to the potatoes and yams, I’m shocked to discover these bins are utterly vacant as well. It looks like mashed potatoes are popular this year.

Now I’m starting to panic, realizing this mission is much more difficult than I once thought. My eyes begin to dart around the store, checking out the other shoppers and wondering if they’re facing the same disappointment I am.

Many of the other patrons seem just as desperate, searching frantically for supplies to prepare the evening’s important meal. It’s only when I recognize this panic that I realize what I’m up against. Any Thanksgiving food still left is just seconds from being snatched up by the mob, and if I don’t want to leave here empty handed than I need to focus.

As if to emphasize this point, I notice a woman grabbing the very last premade green bean casserole from a nearby shelf, hurrying away with it tucked into her coat so as not to alert the others.

I need to prioritize and go for the most important item on my list, I realize suddenly, the Thanksgiving food that I’d be truly disappointed to miss out on this year.

“Cranberry sauce,” I gasp aloud, the words falling limply from my lips.

Immediately I spring into motion, rushing through the store as my eyes jump from sign to sign, hunting for the correct aisle.

Finally, I take a sharp right and begin to search for the sauce itself, but I don’t have to look for long.

“Whoa,” I blurt, nearly slamming directly into a large hovering can of this delicious seasonal treat.

“Hey there,” the sentient can of cranberry sauce offers with a knowing smirk. “Need help finding something?”

She knows what I’m here for, and she’s relishing her position of power.

“Yeah… I mean no,” I stammer. “I was just looking for you, actually.”

The can of cranberry sauce laughs, then motions to the empty shelf next to her. “There’s been a lot of that today. I’m the only one left.”

My heart skips a beat as she says this, realizing suddenly that I might be completely out of luck. While a non-sentient and be purchased and consumed without any problem, the same can’t be said for self-award food. This cranberry sauce is only coming with me if she wants to, and her general demeanor is telling me that the sweet gelatin is far from interested.

“Sorry to bother you,” I offer, slowly turning to head back down another aisle and search for stuffing.

“Wait,” the living cranberry sauce calls out, stopping me in my tracks. “What’s your name?”

“Karly,” I tell her, turning back to face the beautiful can. “You?”

“I’m Bindle,” she informs me. “You know, you’re one of the few people to come in here on your own, everyone else is with their family.”

“I’m doing a socially distanced Thanksgiving,” I reply. “It’s just safer and more responsible.”

I notice a faint glimmer in Karly’s eye as I say this, a spark of attraction that bubbles up to the surface before she has a chance to hide it.

“So you’re spending Thanksgiving alone?” she questions.

I shrug. “I mean, I did a video chat with my family and that was really nice, don’t get me wrong, but I’d be lying if I said it was exactly the same,” I explain. “I’m calling it a half-Thanksgiving for now.”

“What’s in store for the second half?” Bindle coos, flirting much more openly at this point. She gets a little closer to me now, reaching out and touching my arm.

The moment is tender and loving, a hum of erotic tension buzzing between us that cannot be denied. Suddenly, an unfamiliar voice cuts through the air, yanking us from our trance.

“Hey, are you gonna buy that cranberry sauce or what?” a man gruffly demands to know, his wife standing next to him without a single facemask between them.

Bindle turns to face them. “Fuck off,” she says firmly, then turns back toward me. “Sorry about that.”

I can’t help but laugh as the couple wanders away, disappointed.

“You want to get out of here?” I question.

The sentient cranberry sauce smiles and nods.

Soon enough, we’re heading out into the parking lot, laughing and joking as though we’ve been friends for years. By the time we get back to my apartment we’re all over one another, and as we push through my door we nearly tumble to the ground as Bindle attempts to tear my clothes off.

The two of us kiss passionately, eventually finding ourselves at the center of my living room. Bindle continues to strip me down, revealing my body gradually until, soon enough, I’m standing completely exposed before the giant, sentient cranberry sauce.

“You’re gorgeous,” the can of sauce offers, making me blush.

“You are too,” I reply, reaching up and grabbing the rim of her metallic can. I try my best to pull on the edge, as though this could somehow tear her open, then quickly realize my mistake.

The living object begins to laugh hysterically, amused by my attempts to undress her.

“I’ll be right back,” I blurt, then turn around and hurry into my kitchen. I pull open a drawer and rummage around for I bit, then eventually extract my trusty can opener.

Moments later I’m returning to Bindle, reaching up with much more purpose than before. I place the can opener around the lip of her cylindrical head before clamping down firmly and beginning to slowly turn the crank.

“Ooo,” the sentient food blurts, biting her lip. “That feels nice.”

I continue to rotate the gear and slice through Bindle’s outer shell, the can gradually loosening up as her lid disconnects. Finally, I return to my starting position, the entire circumference of the top sliced through and ready for removal. I reach up to pull away that metal disk, but the sentient cranberry sauce stops me.

“Wait. Let me,” she offers with a wink. “You just sit back and relax.”

I do as I’m told, collapsing back onto the couch behind me and gazing up at the beautiful sentient food. I watch as Bindle sways from side to side, running her hands up and down her body and then gradually working up to the top of her head. When she reaches the disconnected lid she grabs it and tosses it to the side with a loud clatter, exuding a primal sexual confidence.

Next, Bindle carefully slides down the metal can that surrounds her body, taking her time as she exposes herself to me. I stare with rapt attention as she goes, taking note of the glorious ridges on her gelatinous, dark red form. The room fills with a wonderful sound as she moves, a soft sucking as her body slips free from the can and then a faint plop as her cranberry sauce form is fully revealed.

Overwhelmed with arousal, I think to stand back up and greet her with a barrage of kisses, but Bindle is way ahead of me. The sentient cranberry sauce climbs down onto the couch, sitting on top of my body as we begin to passionately make out. Her hands start by caressing my face, then gradually her attention begins to slip lower and lower. She traces across my collarbone and onto my breasts, which she massages for a while before continuing onward.

Soon enough, the sentient cranberry tube has reached my waistline, tracing her fingers along my stomach as she teases me with the prospect of something more. I’m trembling with anticipation, aching for her sugary fingers to continue their journey as I pump my hips against her.

“Please,” I coo into the living food’s ear.

Bindle waits just a bit longer before finally having mercy on me. Without warning she slips lower and begins to rub my aching clit, moving her finger in a soothing circle as a long groan escapes my lips.

I close my eyes tight and lean my head back, sinking into the couch as the cranberry sauce continues to work me. Her fingers are magic, pumping against my body at just the right speed and pressure.

“Oh fuck, that’s so good,” I moan.

Egged on by my excitement, Bindle decides to take things to the next level. Slowly the cylinder of gelatinous cranberry goodness slips down to the ground before me, gazing up hungrily and then gently opening my legs. Soon enough, she’s replacing the movement of her fingers with a firm tongue, tickling my clit with just as much enthusiasm as before while she eats me out.

I reach down and place my hands against the back of her head, holding her tight against me as the first hints of orgasm begin to flicker within my body. I can sense a warmth at the pit of my stomach steadily growing, the sensation looming larger and larger as Bindle goes. It’s not long before I’m trembling hard, quaking with the tension of a climax that threatens to erupt.

My face flushed, I try my best to hold off on this explosive orgasm, knowing that the longer I wait, the more powerful it’s going to be. Eventually, however, the sensation is just too much to contain, and the next thing I know I’m throwing my head back, letting out a frantic howl of pleasure.

“Oh fuck yes!” I scream, flopping wildly against the cushions of the couch. “I’m cumming so fucking hard!”

Bindle doesn’t let up for a second, continuing to work her tongue with expert precision as she carries me through this experience from start to finish. In fact, she even adds her fingers back into the mix, slipping two of them inside me and applying a bit of pressure that serves as a savory gravy on this already delicious metaphorical Thanksgiving turkey.

When I finally finish I collapse back onto the couch, but I’m not nearly as exhausted as one might expect. Instead, I find myself utterly flooded with a rush of erotic energy, overflowing with desire to reciprocate this gift I’ve been so generously given.

I’m thankful for Bindle, and I want her to know it.

“Now it’s your turn,” I snarl, pushing the living cranberry sauce back and climbing down onto the living room floor with her.

I expect Bindle to lean away, but she quickly changes course with a maneuver of her own. The sentient cranberry sauce turns around instead, now on her hands and her knees as she playfully wiggles her ass in my direction. The cylinder of living food reaches back and gives one cheek a playfully slap, the reverberations of this hit making their way through her entire body in a glorious wave.

This slightly altered position doesn’t cause me a moment’s hesitation, and soon enough I’m diving in with frantic enthusiasm, eating her out from behind.

The first thing I notice is the fantastic flavor of Bindle’s pussy, which immediately reminds me that my new lover is a beloved Thanksgiving staple. I’d been so focused on the erotic nature of our encounter that I’d forgotten how we got wrapped up together in the first place.

Suffice to say, the taste is a welcome treat.

I’m so turned on in this moment that I decide to give her ass a lick as well, which is not something I normally go for. I raise my head a bit and then dive in, plunging my tongue deep and sampling the flavor.

Just as I suspected, more delicious cranberry.

Soon enough I’m jumping back and forth between Bindle’s ass and pussy, which she seems to greatly enjoy. All the while I pump my fingers in and out of her, pacing myself in a glorious polyrhythm that matches the movements of my tongue.

“Just like that, just like that,” the sentient food begins to murmur, her voice starting out as a quiet mantra and then growing louder and louder with every repetition. Soon enough she’s screaming out at the top of her lungs, her voice filling my living room. “Just like that! Just like that!”

I can feel her body quaking, her stomach pulling tight and then releasing as the impending orgasm begins to build within her cranberry sauce form.

Soon enough, I’m pushing her over the edge. Bindle’s eyes roll back into her head as she lets out a wild, unbridled howl, completely lost in the moment. I carry her though her orgasm with focused diligence, just as she’d done for me, making sure Bindle is granted every ounce of the pleasure that she deserves.

When the two of us finally finish we collapse to the floor in exhaustion, panting loudly.

I feel full, both emotionally and physically, like someone might after an enormous Thanksgiving dinner. Still, these are just comparisons to the holiday, and what I’ve been searching for is the sensation of the holiday itself.

Do I feel good right now? Or do I feel Thanksgiving good?

I’m considering these questions as I grow more and more cozy, nestled up against my living cranberry sauce and allowing the sensations of fulfillment to wash over me. My eyes closed, I find myself drifting off into the warm, dark embrace of sleep.

The next thing I know, I’m slowly opening my eyes, gazing up at the ceiling above as morning light streams in from my living room window. I sit up gradually, gathering my senses as I look around the room. Something smells fantastic.

Bindle is sitting nearby at the dining room table, reading her newspaper and sipping from a glass of cold chocolate milk. She notices me stirring and puts the paper down with a smile.

“You’re up!” she offers. “I made breakfast.”

“That sounds really good,” I groan, climbing to my feet and staggering over to her. “I’ll start with a chocolate milk, though.”

I open up the fridge and pour myself an ice cold glass, then pull out a chair at the dining room table. I sit down across from the living cranberry sauce.

“So, did you get the wholeThanksgiving you were looking for, or are we still at half?” Bindle opines.

“I was just asking myself the same question,” I offer in return. “I’m not really sure.”

We sit in silence for a moment, allowing me a bit more time to look inward and reflect on that place I’ve ended up. Last night was amazing, and Bindle is such a wonderful sentient food, but there’s still something distinctly un-Thanksgiving about our encounter.

“That was wonderful, but I still don’t feel like I really celebrated Thanksgiving,” I admit. “I saw my family online, and I ate some Thanksgiving food-”

“Hell yeah you did,” the living sauce interjects flirtatiously.

“But I still don’t have that feelingI usually do,” I admit.

Bindle considers my words for a moment, then takes a deep breath and lets it out. “As a sentient cranberry sauce, I know quite a bit about Thanksgiving,” she starts, dispensing her wisdom. “There’s a lot of stuff about the history of this holiday that’s bad news, and as a fellow vegetarian I’m not even sold on the turkey aspect.”

“Tell me about it,” I reply with a nod.

“But if you wanna recognize the day, then youcan choose how you’re gonna do it,” the sentient food continues. “You can celebrate, or not celebrate, any way you want. It’s just a date on the calendar, nobody owns it.”

“I get that,” I reply. “To me it’s pretty simple: Thanksgiving is about family and food. I gave both of those things my best shot, given the circumstances, and I’m still not satisfied.”

“What about being thankful?” Bindle interjects.

Her words hit me like a ton of bricks, nearly bowling me out of my chair. I’d been so concerned with the tangible aspects of this holiday that I’d forgotten about gratitude itself.

“Oh shit,” I blurt, realizing my mistake.

The err of my ways begins to gradually sink in. In all my rush, I haven’t taken a single moment to just sit back and appreciate the things that I have. Yeah, it sucks to spend the holidays on video chat with your family and friends, but I’m so lucky to have family and friends in the first place.

Similarly, cranberry sauce is hardly a full Thanksgiving meal, but there are others who’d give anything for just a taste of that delicious sauce.

I should be grateful.

“You’re right,” I finally continue, slightly defeated. “Too bad it took me so long to realize it. Thanksgiving is already over.”

The sentient cranberry sauce laughs. “You don’t need a special day to be thankful. Gratitude is important all year round.”

She’s right.

I watch as Bindle stands up from her chair and begins to saunter around the table towards me.

“Besides, if you want the celebration to keep going, what’s better than Thanksgiving leftovers?” she coos seductively.