I blend in. Think about those librarians who glide down a staircase and remove their glasses in slow motion. They become supermodels. I turn into another librarian. That suits me fine. That way, I don’t need to slink to indulge my kink.
Mink. The titillating scent of mistletoe permeated my fur coat, its pockets and sleeves stuffed with the holiday herb in preparation for a special New Year’s Eve. I had made a date with a man who appreciated mistletoe as much as I.
Any witch would set the record straight about mistletoe. Those thousand-and-one websites that claim that mistletoe is aromaless lie by omission. Witches can smell it, and they don’t like it. I can smell it, and I like it. Perverts like me all like it.
Misogyny be damned. Girls can be perverts. Girls can be the best perverts. Then again, it’s misogyny that lets girls get away with it, isn’t it? I think about that every time I lift my top in public for the public good—one tit for each standard.
Tee-hee, she tittered. That’s right. I referred to myself in the third person.
I walked up to the mansion doors as if I lived there. A fine-looking man with a chest as big as all outdoors almost let me into the party without first asking for an invitation. I lied with a quivering lip that mine was in my purse, inside. I pressed against him, gave him a shy kiss on the cheek, and wished him a happy New Year when he let me through.
He didn’t know it, but I was naked under my coat. Nude. Sans habit. Ready to expose and be exposed. I had even, for the first time ever, shaved my (shhh!) pussy. Furless under my fur.
Tee-hee, she tittered.
There was no liner in my fur coat. Billions of downy follicles frolicked across my skin, tickling ticklers that incessantly reminded me just how naked I was.
The guard hadn’t noticed me earlier, when he allowed my entrance into the manor hours before the soiree. I was wearing coveralls and carrying a stepladder. One can go anywhere while they are carrying a stepladder. I hung up some mistletoe that had been, well, well-seasoned in my panties. ‘Twas the season, after all. Mistletwat. No, no…muffletoe.
The house was packed with more beautiful people than you could shake a mirror at—at least a dozen famous Jennifers. After midnight, they’d all be talking about me. Maybe they’d be talking about me and my date. I wondered if Mistletoe Boy was there yet.
I first encountered Mistletoe Boy, a kindred mistletoe-appreciating pervert, and his twig and berries at a lavish Christmas party. I flashed my tits and he flashed his bits and BANG! I was smitten. We made a date then to exhibit our wares at this private affair.
He was there! I was sure of it when I looked up at my mistletoe and saw he had deposited more creamy white berries on it. I could love a man who has his own stepladder.
I scanned the crowd but had to admit that I couldn’t quite remember what his face looked like. I’d know soon enough—the countdown to the new year was about to begin.
I got into position. My coat was unbuttoned but held close and closed with trembling hands—this would be my first-ever full-frontal flash. A shy flasher is funny, isn’t it?
TEN!
“Ryan!” My first celebrity flash! I opened my coat and wiggled my tits. That’s when it came to me (occurred to me—pervert) that flashing the top is more fun than flashing the bottom.
“Jennifer!” I turned toward the shout. Woo-hoo! Mistletoe Boy was in the house!
“Hey!” I shouted and jumped up and down for him.
“Hey!” He shouted back. Aw…he had a red and white-striped bow on his penis.
“Hey!” shouted Jennifer, who was clearly not in a holiday mood.
NINE!
“Leee-oh! Charmed?” He was aghast by the witchy spell I cast.
“Jennifer!” Mistletoe Boy found another Jennifer.
EIGHT!
“Joaquin!” I cocked a hip and bent a knee—a classic naked-nudie pose.
“Jennifer!” Oh. My. God. Mistletoe Boy had a plan! How many Jennifers could he pull off while he pulled on it?
SEVEN!
“Brad!” I mooned him. That’s what he got for being mean to Jennifer.
“Jennifer!” Not that Jennifer.
SIX!
“Bradley!” I twirled. One cannot get much lift spinning a fur.
“Jennifer!” He dodged a slap, laughing a delightful, maniacal laugh.
FIVE!
Mistletoe Boy was almost captured while wobbling his package at YAJ, but I leaped onto his assailant.
FOUR!
I discovered whose back I was grinding against. “Chris! I loved you in…” The bastard shook me loose. It was exciting, sitting on the ground with my knees spread apart, but still, I won’t sneak into one of his films again.
“Jennifers!” He got a two-fer. Good for him!
THREE!
“Hey, you!” I recognized him from some movie, but couldn’t think of his name. Mistletoe Boy was so smart, going the Jennifer route. He could have jerked off in the middle of the room and hit a half dozen.
TWO!
I shook my heels off with time for half a flash. Mistletoe Boy exposed himself to another J and darted out of sight.
ONE!
I ran and took a quick look to see if I was being chased. Everyone was looking at me. Everyone!
“Hey!”
I stumbled and struggled when someone grabbed me from behind right under the mistletoe. “Hey!” I angrily shouted. “Oh, hey,” I cooed as Mistletoe Boy humped my fur-covered ass.
HAPPY NEW YEAR!
How romantic! I rolled my eyes—men—when he finished before the other ball dropped.
After I got home, I masturbated with my nose buried in the cum-spotted fur. That’s when I noticed the note (sealed with you-know-what) in the pocket. I won’t tell all of what he wrote, but he called me a pervert.
I could love a man who understands me.
