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valarltdThe Jingle Balls taste-test (mini-anthology) took "Blue Mistletoe." Which is "Gay Christmas Werewolves, part two."
Snippet under the cut
A big step. That’s all I could think. I had just left home and family and my pack and my job. Everything I owned was packed in the back of my Honda, or waiting for me in Wisconsin. I’d sent most of my stuff ahead by UPS: books, mostly, my bike and my computer. Everything else, I’d either sold or just left with the apartment. Paul had a real bed. I didn’t need a futon anymore. With each mile I put between myself and Memphis, I shivered just a little, and not only because the car’s heater was crap. But I knew this was the right thing to do.
Of course, it was. I pulled in the driveway. There was Paul, my own Big Bad Wolf, waiting for me in the doorway, his tall shape a little podgy, his hair a little longer, otherwise looking just as he had at the airport last December. I’d even worn my Christmas Cthulhu sweatshirt again. He hugged me hello and I wanted to stay in his arms.
“Ready to be a kept man, Furball?” he asked as he shut the door against the cold. “Welcome home.”
I stretched up and kissed him. Home. Home with a basement holding a doggie bed and water bowl for the full moon. I didn’t quite cry. I thought about it. I’d been kind of shaky since Grandfather died.
Paul looked worried and stroked my hair. “Pup, you okay?” I nodded, but could feel my face making the rictus of trying to smile when I wanted to cry.
“Do you know,” I didn’t like the thin, almost hysterical sound of my voice, “I figured it up? In the last year, I have scored 178 on a life-change scale. By the end of the month–if we do that Christmas wedding you want--I’ll be to almost 300. One hundred leaves you ripe for illness. I suspect 300 leaves me ready for a nervous breakdown.”
Snippet under the cut
A big step. That’s all I could think. I had just left home and family and my pack and my job. Everything I owned was packed in the back of my Honda, or waiting for me in Wisconsin. I’d sent most of my stuff ahead by UPS: books, mostly, my bike and my computer. Everything else, I’d either sold or just left with the apartment. Paul had a real bed. I didn’t need a futon anymore. With each mile I put between myself and Memphis, I shivered just a little, and not only because the car’s heater was crap. But I knew this was the right thing to do.
Of course, it was. I pulled in the driveway. There was Paul, my own Big Bad Wolf, waiting for me in the doorway, his tall shape a little podgy, his hair a little longer, otherwise looking just as he had at the airport last December. I’d even worn my Christmas Cthulhu sweatshirt again. He hugged me hello and I wanted to stay in his arms.
“Ready to be a kept man, Furball?” he asked as he shut the door against the cold. “Welcome home.”
I stretched up and kissed him. Home. Home with a basement holding a doggie bed and water bowl for the full moon. I didn’t quite cry. I thought about it. I’d been kind of shaky since Grandfather died.
Paul looked worried and stroked my hair. “Pup, you okay?” I nodded, but could feel my face making the rictus of trying to smile when I wanted to cry.
“Do you know,” I didn’t like the thin, almost hysterical sound of my voice, “I figured it up? In the last year, I have scored 178 on a life-change scale. By the end of the month–if we do that Christmas wedding you want--I’ll be to almost 300. One hundred leaves you ripe for illness. I suspect 300 leaves me ready for a nervous breakdown.”
