by Jen

Damn automobiles.

As a girl, Shirley used to run her fingers over tales of ante-bellum and debutante balls. Scarlett O'Hara, a woman who used inner strength and a flash of a tear to survive. Staring at an imaginary reflection brought Shirley such comfort, skipping away to worlds where men were strong and true gentlemen.

That world had no automobiles. If a snowstorm on Christmas Eve trapped a lady in a barn, she had a rugged carriage driver to keep her warm. Brandy too.

Shirley had an empty diet soda can, and a deceased Toyota. Her bad, bad car got a proper burial, under several feet of snow.

She looked around the barn, cozy, pretty blankets in the hayloft, a ready lantern, and a fire set and ready before she even pranced through the door.

The flames drew her in. All warm and toasty. The longer Shirley stared, the more detailed the whispers. Voices of little girls, boys, old folks, telling their tales of life and death. So boring. She didn't crash her car for a sob story. Her head craned, hoping she spoke to the whole damn pack at once.

"Now darlings, I'm sorry you're dead, but please shut up."

Lord, how she wished for a mirror. *I must be pale as a KKK member.* She tore away from the fire, kicking her left foot against the cracked floorboards. *No dirt on these sneakers, they're my best pair.*

She loved high heels, but her feet didn't. Little bitches. She sold all her pairs but the prettiest to that sword-eater breezing in and out of town and snapping up her ex-boyfriend as husband number....can't remember.

The voices urged Shirley on, familiar this time. She smiled as she twirled, once, twice, three times. Hair flew around her shoulders as she ripped away her red and green ribbon. With the lightest hand gesture possible, she flung the discarded thing into orange flames, smiling as it burnt.

*A little too close to Hell darling.*


"Oh Lord no, please not Katy."

Her grin faded with her own whisper, replaced by numbing fear. Fear a lot worse than those nightmare years when shitbag Zeke's shitbag father raped her, or the high school boys showed her what happened to girls who asked for it without ever opening their lipstick mouths.

"No. NO!"

Gotta go gotta go leave go now now now now.....

Her small hands slammed into the large oak doors, pushing her outside. She gagged through a scream as her throat inhaled suffocating snowflakes. Had to get out of that evil place, before she met her unborn child, the Satanspawn she murdered.

Jagged white flakes ripped at Shirley's skin, leading her into death. On she walked, until her eyes were frozen shut, her mouth and nose giving up on her. She had to surrender. Hoping for ladylike poise, she collapsed into the powder.




Shirley bolted upright, feeling hands on her shoulders. That awful barn again.

"You alright?"

Negro hands. *He might be as sweet as chocolate cake.* No time to take a risk.

She wriggled out of his grasp, standing up as she recognized him.

Moses Deyell.

"Fine and dandy."

*Please Jesus don't let him kill me.* He must have seen her flinch.

If she pissed him off, he wasn't showing it. He seemed sincere, warm. The only straight man she ever met who didn't fuck her over one way or another.

"C'mon, gotta get out of those clothes."

Maybe a tad too warm.

"No thank you. I'm a lady."

He snorted on a laugh. Shirley could always appreciate a sense of humor.

"You're dripping wet. All this time bein' uppity is making you catch your death of cold."

Oh, her hair was damp. She wrung her brown locks out with her hands, letting the water splatter next to the fire.

"My mama used to say that. Catch your death of cold. How many people really die from the cold? It makes no sense."

He smiled. Beautiful smile.

"Why Moses, I never noticed the gold tooth."

His smile changed, bigger now, proud.

"Upside to street life."

Fuck, if jewelry was a reward for his lifestyle, Shirley wanted to grab a piece and take care of Mr. and Mrs. Zeke Pussywhipped by Chanteuse.

Lost in the amusing thought, Shirley barely registered how this man looked at her. She should have feared him, she spent her whole life being told what a danger his kind was. Her fear puddled into excitement, the two mixing as she casually unbuttoned her shirt. Her jeans, shoes, and socks were next, leaving her in underwear only as she stepped into a blanket. *Girl has to leave something to the imagination.*

"Sit beside me, kind sir."

He looked her up and down, a mating ritual she knew by heart. They'd danced this dance since the first day they met.

"Nice to have the chance. Please don't say any Promised Land shit, had my fill."

"Would you prefer the burning bush?"

Their eyes met, his chestnut-flavored stare so warm and soulful, laughing at her unexpected joke.

Tough floor, hard on the butt. Patted the space beside her. He stood unsure, looked her over again, and took the seat.

The heat radiating from his body made up for the lack of conversation. She had never seen such a beautiful man. So tempting to put her fingers on his biceps again, those gorgeous muscles straining under a blue t-shirt.

"Some Christmas this is, huh?"

Shirley caught her breath.

"I thought the Eve was still upon us."

His watch met her face. A very worn leather band.

"Ten past midnight."

So many Christmas memories were disasters, the dinners ruined by Zeke banging on her or banging her friends. Poverty. Teenage rejection by snobs with their noses firmly implanted in their behinds. But Shirley always held onto a tiny piece of hope from her earliest holidays, when a visit from Santa really did give a girl something to look forward to.

The flames mocked her again. She prayed all those nights for the gift of passing Christmas onto her kids. No kids left to care about, she slaughtered them.


She looked away from the fire with a rapid jerk of her head.

"I'm fine darling."

Three fingers crept inside the blanket, rubbing against her bare leg. She waited for his next move, lilting flirtation in her voice.

"Do tell how you found me in all that snow."

His broad shoulders moved up and down with a shrug.

"Just did."

She saw the ink on his upper arm, wondering if it would come off with enough licks of her tongue.

"I love your tattoo."

Smiling, he pulled his shirt off. Shirley stared at his pecs and abs, the body of a rugged man, a man who gained strength from the outside world, not just gyms and trainers.

"....and that's when I got this tat."

She nodded, smiling along. Tried to avoid his eyes, but he knew.

He leaned in to kiss her, ending what she started on death row. Like weird slow motion, her mind told her to put on the brakes, not to let touch her. No fantastic reason to listen to her inner voice, Lord knows she'd spent the past 3 years being called fucked up in the head.

When their lips met, she began to forget, giving into sensations. Hot, delicate hands slid her panties off, his tongue swabbing the inside of her mouth. His lower lip, full and fat, gave in when she tugged. She whimpered when he broke away, gasping at his lips kissing along her side. Teeth marks floated onto her back as he bit at the clasp of her cheap bra.

The small chill from exposure ended with his hands, squeezing, twirling around her nipples. A giddy desire to see the grand prize raced through her. She reached for his jeans, slowly pulling at the zipper. Only a bit of time passed before he grabbed her hand, Shirley helpless and not wanting that to change. A groan scalded her throat when she felt his breath between her legs, mouth sucking her fingers, sliding them inside her moist pussy.

Shirley saw him watching her as he stood, licking his lips. She delved further in her depths, small gasp when she found a lightning spot. Her Sunday school teachers would have died. Moses was close to kicking the bucket himself, that big, black, beautiful boy.

Her eyes glazed to match his when he kicked his pants and boxers off. Wrapped in his hand, he stroked, once for himself, twice for her. The teeniest bit of his head winked at her, underneath vanishing foreskin. She had tasted foreskin before, it made her sick, but Moses wasn't some redneck who never washed himself in anything but cheap beer.

She felt her heat traveling through every part of her body when he moved closer, studying her nude, available body, his hands slick with precum. Eyes closed on instinct as she opened her mouth.

"Oh sweet Jeeeee...."

Breath between her legs again, she felt his tongue fiddling her lips, probing her. Minutes, hours, Shirley was unsure, but she wanted the pleasure to last forever. No man ever wanted to touch her down there. Her hands found his cock, squeezing, sending his moan through her body. She matched him when his tongue circled around her clit.

Head dizzying, her hand jerked faster and faster, stopped by his thick fingers. Needing anything to stop the pleasure hinting at blacking her out, she pulled him away. She couldn't look at his dark angel's face, knowing he must've blamed himself.

"It's not you...I..I never..."

His hands brushed over her thighs, up her belly...

"S'alright, I understand."

The rugged chest pressed against hers, hands brushed through her hair, calming her, but building a devilish need for contact.

Lightly, building in force as she nibbled his neck, she pushed her hips against his.

Her face pulled up with a hand on her neck. She felt the blanket underneath her back, Moses straddling her with his lean thighs. Their eyes met, soft touches as he ran his finger across her eyebrow. Nice. But he wasn't giving her what she needed.

*I've spent twenty fucking years being Miss Priss.*

Lids shutting until her eyes were slits, Shirley traced his shaft, tickling the thick vein with her nail. He smiled, grunting, nothing compared to his grunt when she shoved him all the way in.

So eager to thrust she saw him almost shaking, she used her hands on his hips to answer the silent plea for permission. He looked like he was going to burst from relief (among other things), his leg entwined with hers. She tore at the blanket as he pounded her, harder and harder, stretching what had already been used by too many worthless men to name.

Their shadows writhed against the wall, Shirley watching every movement, nails sliding down the sweaty back of her lover. Her feet glued themselves to the contours of his ass, round and firm, two large chocolate cheeks gyrating with their pelvis.

Grazing over his small nipples, she heard an annoying pop, then emptiness.


He wagged his eyebrows, angry cock bobbing between spread knees. She had no time to talk or look before he pushed his tongue into her mouth and placed her petite frame on his lap. The empty space got filled up again very quickly.

"Thought I was gonna fuck you up the ass, right? Ain't no Lopresti...motherfucker...maybe next time though."

She felt the smile in her neck, lips sucking like a Hoover.

The forbidden passion, his smell, slapping sounds, being whole, they ganged up on Shirley, pushing her into her orgasm. She came so much her eyes wouldn't stay in focus.

"So beautiful baby...comin' just for you..."

His seed spilled into her, making her gasp and claw at his neck. This was different. The feel, their bodies joined together, her complete happiness. Shirley ran her hands over his shaved head, kissing his chocolate ear.

*December 25. The day Our Savior was born.*

She couldn't. With a Negro? Course, the Antichrist's daddy was a white supremacist, anything was possible. Maybe her dead babies had a chance to find peace now, being kin with the Messiah.

"I think I'm pregnant Moses."

He snickered, licking inside her ear.

Well, she'd find out soon enough anyway. Nothing could spoil her mood.

"I wish Richie were here, he'd go crazy over you."

His eyes bulging made her laugh.

"I ever tell you you're fucked up? And I wouldn't want you any other way."

He was still inside her. She didn't want him to pull out. She had accepted sex as bartering a long time ago. This was sex, passionate love.

"Sing me a carol Moses. You have such a beautiful voice."

He stifled a yawn, smiling at her red face close to his. She was proud to be by his side, not ashamed at all. A man fucked her and still wanted to touch her after he got his needs serviced.

"Away in a manger, no crib for a bed..."

Adjusting to his hands around her waist, she sighed.

"Merry Christmas."