Gingerbread
folder
Erotica › Het - Male/Female
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
9
Views:
3,710
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Erotica › Het - Male/Female
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
9
Views:
3,710
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living, dead, or otherwise residing on other planes of existence (save those references to historical and/or public personages)…is strictly a matter of incredible coincidence.
(Thanksgiving)
I made him from dough and desire
from spice and secrets
from hunger and heat
sprinkled him with the dust of my dreams
baking in the warmth of my regard
till he was ready to be devoured.
Sugar and vice and everything nice
that’s what gingerbread men are made of.
- Susannah Barker, “Gingerbread”
(Thanksgiving)
It was a most unlikely place as any for a holiday meal, but to Lisa it was home. She sat at the long oak bar picking at her turkey and stuffing, with mashed potatoes, green beans, and sweet potato casserole, attempting to keep the gravy from invading the crispy marshmallow topping. On the soundless television, the Lions were losing yet again, and the jukebox played Bill Withers’ “Use Me” because she had chosen it, programming about twenty different songs on the Wurlitzer before any of the other occupants even thought to do so. She was in no mood to hear Southern Rock, or Country, or anything that even hinted at a maudlin state of mind.
Lisa looked around at some of the other attendees and recognized the guy who ran the hardware store, whose kids lived in Florida and never called him. One of her sibling’s lodge brothers who had been alone since a bitter divorce five years earlier. Her sister-in-law’s best friend, who was between lovers at the moment, though she was always eager to flirt with Lisa. Strays, she thought to herself, that’s what we are.
Earlier, while helping Helen in the kitchen dish up food for everyone who had appeared, she made the announcement she knew would be unpopular, but necessary.
“I’m not coming home for Christmas.”
Helen paused, one hand on the handle of the oven door, the other clasping a tray of crescent rolls. Her expression was one more of anger than confusion.
“Here, you’re gonna burn your hand,” Lisa finally said, donning an oven mitt and taking the tray from her.
“Why?” was all Helen could finally ask, pushing an auburn lock of hair out of her eyes with the back of her free hand.
“Because although I love you guys, I’m not really motivated to come back here. It’s depressing.”
“Well excuse me if I don’t feel like supporting your self-empowerment.”
Lisa sighed, but understood the sentiment.
“It’s okay, Helen. I just don’t want you to be hurt. It’s not that I don’t want to see you guys, but this town reminds me of something I don’t want to be anymore.”
“You’re going to be lonely,” she said, and although her statement could have been interpreted as hostile, Lisa knew she bore no true ill will. Helen would be lonely at Christmas, as Lisa’s brother was always more fond of socializing then he was of simple companionship – probably at least one of the reasons he owned a tavern.
Lisa ate alone because Helen was sequestered within a gaggle of loyal customers, it was part of her overall responsibility to improve community relations. Her brother Jerry was behind the bar, mixing drinks and drawing beer. He would look over at her every so often and wink, but they did not speak. The two did not talk that often. They loved each other because they were related, but their personalities were vastly different and not very complimentary.
Lisa drank one Salty Dog and somewhere between her second helping and the pumpkin roll she decided she needed to leave before she started crying. The loud bonhomie and normally cozy atmosphere that the tavern naturally provided were grating on her already taunt nerves. The holidays generally set her teeth on edge but for whatever reason she was feeling it more keenly this year.
“You’re not going to stay over?” Jerry asked her.
“Can’t. Tomorrow is Black Friday, I’ve got to work.”
Lots of hugs, a bag of leftovers, then driving though a lonely rural landscape after Lisa left her humble hometown behind. The sky through her windshield wasn’t completely black, but overlaid with a scrim of gray clouds, through which the moon would occasionally appear, along with a few glittering stars. The radio offered static until she reached the highway, and then burst to life with some loud pop song. The city began to creep up in implements: a strip mall here, a housing tract there. And before she knew it, there it was: urban sprawl and residential density. Lisa took a deep breath and felt reassured. She belonged there, if for no other reason than she was determined to do so.
from spice and secrets
from hunger and heat
sprinkled him with the dust of my dreams
baking in the warmth of my regard
till he was ready to be devoured.
Sugar and vice and everything nice
that’s what gingerbread men are made of.
- Susannah Barker, “Gingerbread”
(Thanksgiving)
It was a most unlikely place as any for a holiday meal, but to Lisa it was home. She sat at the long oak bar picking at her turkey and stuffing, with mashed potatoes, green beans, and sweet potato casserole, attempting to keep the gravy from invading the crispy marshmallow topping. On the soundless television, the Lions were losing yet again, and the jukebox played Bill Withers’ “Use Me” because she had chosen it, programming about twenty different songs on the Wurlitzer before any of the other occupants even thought to do so. She was in no mood to hear Southern Rock, or Country, or anything that even hinted at a maudlin state of mind.
Lisa looked around at some of the other attendees and recognized the guy who ran the hardware store, whose kids lived in Florida and never called him. One of her sibling’s lodge brothers who had been alone since a bitter divorce five years earlier. Her sister-in-law’s best friend, who was between lovers at the moment, though she was always eager to flirt with Lisa. Strays, she thought to herself, that’s what we are.
Earlier, while helping Helen in the kitchen dish up food for everyone who had appeared, she made the announcement she knew would be unpopular, but necessary.
“I’m not coming home for Christmas.”
Helen paused, one hand on the handle of the oven door, the other clasping a tray of crescent rolls. Her expression was one more of anger than confusion.
“Here, you’re gonna burn your hand,” Lisa finally said, donning an oven mitt and taking the tray from her.
“Why?” was all Helen could finally ask, pushing an auburn lock of hair out of her eyes with the back of her free hand.
“Because although I love you guys, I’m not really motivated to come back here. It’s depressing.”
“Well excuse me if I don’t feel like supporting your self-empowerment.”
Lisa sighed, but understood the sentiment.
“It’s okay, Helen. I just don’t want you to be hurt. It’s not that I don’t want to see you guys, but this town reminds me of something I don’t want to be anymore.”
“You’re going to be lonely,” she said, and although her statement could have been interpreted as hostile, Lisa knew she bore no true ill will. Helen would be lonely at Christmas, as Lisa’s brother was always more fond of socializing then he was of simple companionship – probably at least one of the reasons he owned a tavern.
Lisa ate alone because Helen was sequestered within a gaggle of loyal customers, it was part of her overall responsibility to improve community relations. Her brother Jerry was behind the bar, mixing drinks and drawing beer. He would look over at her every so often and wink, but they did not speak. The two did not talk that often. They loved each other because they were related, but their personalities were vastly different and not very complimentary.
Lisa drank one Salty Dog and somewhere between her second helping and the pumpkin roll she decided she needed to leave before she started crying. The loud bonhomie and normally cozy atmosphere that the tavern naturally provided were grating on her already taunt nerves. The holidays generally set her teeth on edge but for whatever reason she was feeling it more keenly this year.
“You’re not going to stay over?” Jerry asked her.
“Can’t. Tomorrow is Black Friday, I’ve got to work.”
Lots of hugs, a bag of leftovers, then driving though a lonely rural landscape after Lisa left her humble hometown behind. The sky through her windshield wasn’t completely black, but overlaid with a scrim of gray clouds, through which the moon would occasionally appear, along with a few glittering stars. The radio offered static until she reached the highway, and then burst to life with some loud pop song. The city began to creep up in implements: a strip mall here, a housing tract there. And before she knew it, there it was: urban sprawl and residential density. Lisa took a deep breath and felt reassured. She belonged there, if for no other reason than she was determined to do so.