DENNY'S LITTLE HELPER
The Boston Chamber of Commerce Christmas party wasn't bad.
It had an
open bar; women in tight, low-cut evening gowns; and plenty of people
looking to suck up. However, there was no smoking allowed in any of the
common areas of the hotel, so after three plus hours of schmooze and
booze, Denny's throat was beginning to itch for the familiar Freudian
comforts of a typical evening's end.
"We could get a room," said
Denny as he unzipped, elbow to elbow with Alan at the row of urinals.
Logic dictated that scotch in should equal scotch out, but somehow the
second half of the equation always came out a little greater than the
first.
Alan laughed. "Not necessary. I like your house just
fine. Your duvets are just as comfy, and I'm certain that room service
here can have nothing on Lupe's huevos rancheros in
bed."
"I meant to smoke," said Denny. "We could get a room for a couple
hours. One with a balcony."
"Perhaps
they leave those chocolate mints on the pillows." Alan mused as he
adjusted his hand-hold and began to flow freely. "I like the way they
melt in your mouth."
"A man after my own heart."
"Amongst other things. Do they still even offer smoking rooms?" Alan
wondered.
"Who
knows?" Denny shrugged. "If not, we'll make up a respectable lie. Tell
them it's for a quickie. Once we get up, we can whip out our chubbies
on the balcony, and no one will be the wiser."
Just then the
bathroom door swung open, and a six-foot three-inch tall (not counting
the pointed hat or strappy sling-back heels) red-headed elf sashayed
in. She walked over to the urinals and sidled up beside Alan making eye
contact.
In a smoker's baritone, she nodded down in their direction. "Nice
party."
"Nice breasts," Denny responded. He was stared across Alan's body and
straight down her valley of duct-taped delight.
"They're
real, and they're fabulous," she quoted as she hiked her green
miniskirt up over her bare hip bones, pulled out a magic fairy wand and
began to pee with a power arc that would have done a NFL field-goal
kicker proud.
"Ooh! Alan, trade urinals," Denny ordered. He put his hands on Alan's
waist and shoved as to forcibly displace him.
But
Alan was fixed in place as if set in cement. His gaze was glued upon
her. He'd always had a thing for elves, and it had been a long time
since his last Christmas treats. He heard the change of tone on the
porcelain as his penis thickened in his hand and his flow trickled to a
halt.
She finished, shook, and dropped the skirt back down,
where the dangles of the fringe barely covered the dangles of her
underlying elf self.
"So," she said, flashing an impish grin to the both of them, "Who's
been naughty and who's been nice?"
In a flurry of bodies, clothes, and vending machine condoms, they all
crowded into the handicapped stall.
Denny
was out and hard as if he'd been waiting to do a 6+foot tall
cross-dressing elf in a public bathroom all his life. (Which may well
have been the case, for all we know.) He bent her over the toilet tank
and wrestled a condom on.
"Wait!" she said. Pulling off her hat,
she laid it on the tank lid and used it to rest her cheek. "That's
better; okay." She raised her ass and flipped the skirt up over her
back.
Denny lined up behind her, and plunged forth to discover the true joys
of Christmas.
"Ah!" she cried at the top of her lungs. "Oh! Ah! Oh!"
Eyes
glued to every move they both made, Alan stood to the side masturbating
and watching so intently as to commit every detail to memory.
"Come here little man." Rocking in time to Denny's thrusts, the elf
beckoned a manicured finger in his direction.
"Me?" With trepidation, Alan looked to her.
"Get over here," she said, not kindly at all. "Let me see that thing."
Alan let loose his penis and presented it straight and true for her
approval.
"Huh." She scoffed in his face. "Grab that thing."
She
told him exactly what to do. She told him exactly what she thought
using terrible words--horrible--called him disgusting names, words his
mother had used, things he had thought of himself in the darkest depths
of his most private shames and believed that no one else knew. She did
all this as Denny fucked her from behind and listened.
Alan's
excitement rose until he could hold off no longer. Even thoughts of his
mother couldn't keep the imminent orgasm at bay. "Denny, hurry," he
begged, even as he beat himself faster.
She called him a
filthy epitaph, said something vile about little boys who can't control
themselves, lobbed a huge wad of spittle on him, and Alan gave it up
all over her face and neck.
Denny called out his name and
jackhammered wildly into her ass until he finally slipped out and
collapsed against the corner and slid down the floor.
The stall door popped open. A man in black tie stared in. "Hey! You
can't do that in there!"
The
elf gave him the attitudinal eyeball. "Excuse you!" She adjusted her
skirt down over her Christmas package, stepped over Denny, and
clip-clopped out to the sinks.
Soon they heard water running.
"Law
says handicapped stalls have to be provided, nothing about having to be
handicapped to use 'em. Look it up. Denny Crane." Denny peeled off the
condom and tossed it into the bowl as he spoke. He pulled the stall
door closed again.
"I could use that smoke now," Alan said. He
sat on the tile curled up with his sacroiliac pressed against the water
shut-off valve.
"Hotel room? My treat."
"I was thinking sleepover." Alan sounded as drained as Denny felt.
Denny paused briefly. "Okay, but you're taking a shower first."
"Deal," said Alan. He slumped sideways and rested his head against the
stall wall. "Denny?"
"Mmm?"
"I have no idea how I got along before you."
Denny smiled and shot a finger at him. "Don't worry about it; I'm not
going anywhere without you."
"Do you ever wonder what would have happened if we hadn't met?"
Denny
pushed up and flushed the toilet. He extended a hand down to Alan, who
took it. Denny pulled him up with an enigmatically sad smile. "No," he
said as they stood face to face. "There's a lot of things I don't think
about anymore, but that one, I don't think about on purpose." Denny
handed Alan his hankie.
Alan wiped his face and tucked the hankie into his own breast pocket.
"How do I look?" Denny asked.
"Denny Crane," said Alan, as if that were an answer unto itself.
"Alan Shore." Denny adjusted Alan's bow tie and smoothed the shoulders
of his jacket back into place.
The locked arms and exited the stall together to a small crowd of
gathered chamber members.
"Denny Crane. All Bran keeps you moving. Denny Crane."