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Subject: Portland Christmas Portland Christmas, A Short Story by Simon Mohr – All Rights Reserved This story is for adult readers only. If it is illegal where you live, or if you are a minor, please do not read this story. This story is fiction and no reference to a person, living or otherwise, or any specific place is intended. Please donate to the Nifty Archive using the donation information given on this site. Not a single person walked on Morrison Street in the early hours of Christmas Eve that year. The wet sidewalks reflected light from street lamps up to the third floor of the building where Nate, 21, and his older brother Jack Aldorf, 23, rented a few ancient rooms. Their parents had died in the aftermath of an LA drive-by shooting four years before. Nate noted that the bathroom window featured incoming drafts of cold air, about 40 �F at the moment. In the past, the building featured central heating. It didn’t now. Every resident fended for themselves in the winter with small electric heaters. Propane wasn’t allowed. Sometimes air fryer exhausts were used to heat some areas; others used pots of boiling water or just got into bed until the electricity came back on. Nate and Jack Dressel owned an electric heater obtained at the Goodwill for eight dollars. It worked OK on the high setting. The low setting produced no heat. The previously carpeted hallways in the building, now covered in cracked linoleum, showed signs of infrequent cleaning. At one time, the building had been a hotel. The building was managed, apparently, on a rolling budget. When the owner decided to pay the boiler maintenance bill, hot water was available. If he didn’t, hot water was a matter of nuking cold water and diluting that with cold water to the task’s right temperature . . . and that’s how that budget rolled. The brothers had one thick comforter and an electric blanket under the comforter. For additional warmth, they slept together in one of the two bedrooms, bringing the electric heater into that room on the nights when the expected overnight temp bounced off the thermometer at freezing. They each had a dishwasher: each other. They divided cooking chores, although Jack seemed to be the better cook. Nate and Jack alternated washing and drying dishes. One week out of two, Nate did the necessary cleaning; Jack picked that up on alternate weeks. Nate and Jack had worked as pickers, now sorters, at a significant shipper’s warehouse, which paid just the rent and food. Period. Their two bows to luxury were a ceramic cooktop, one burner, adjustable temperature, and a large air fryer that served to bake, air fry, cook, broil sort of, and make an ersatz, tiny loaf of no-knead bread. They scored a small mini-Instant Pot, used, from the estate of a lady who passed in their building. Each worked separately but blew a fuse somewhere if working simultaneously with the microwave. A memory-impaired sweet elderly man in apartment 217 made the use of the basement laundry room risky. He regularly forgot which dryer was his and while looking through laundry belonging to others, found great delight in finding new clothes to wear, oblivious to any notion of ownership. Residents generally stayed with one’s clothes throughout the wash and the dry cycles to retain one’s wardrobe. Each set of rooms in the building now had an entry door from a hallway, secured with a hotel-type sliding chain lock. The brothers had added a sliding bolt, but neither had illusions about whether a determined burglar might enter through a window at will. Since each ‘apartment’ had a fire escape to the sidewalk below and since access to the low rungs was easy, they figured it was just a matter of time until someone attempted entry into the place. Ever since 1784, when Mr. Maseres invented the contraption, soon called a ‘fire escape,’ countless people escaped burning alive from fire; a few of those lives had snuck back up the fire escape for nefarious purposes. Fortunately, few intruders were attracted to this building that housed what appeared to be folks, who, had they a smidgen less luck, might have been homeless. Nothing about the building screamed ‘rich.’ Few miscreants imagined a journey more likely to end in jail for lesser value plundered than a foray into the elderly Murray-Schreiner Apartments. The building, built in a U-shape, covered a city block, the facade a faded red brick, different window treatments, a bent antenna on the roof. In addition, there was a tower of sorts on the roof, probably the owner’s only real moneymaker, with cell-phone receivers placed on the tower by contract to some telephone network. Not that the entry wasn’t nice. Some rooms faced toward the center courtyard entry, reasonably wide and brick-paved, where maintenance planted small evergreen trees in pots. Other containers had a variety of flowering bulbs from crocus to daffodils and tulips later on in the spring. One large pot had a Japanese maple that thrived and turned gorgeous colors in the fall. The center of the courtyard was a giant old maple that shed yellow and gold large spiky leaves every November. By mid-December, the leaves not blown away by the wind were brown and deteriorating rapidly in the rain. The entry had unlocked spiky iron gates at the entrance, not manned; the residence itself had a fingerprint reader matched to each resident to open the front door and actuate a camera at the entrance for a few moments to photograph the arrival. The building had a service entrance on a north sidewalk and a camera allowed plumbers and electricians to be admitted from the office. A week before Christmas Eve, Nate and Jack finished a project designed to improve their financial future. Although space was not unlimited in their apartment, there were two small bedrooms. The second one, formerly the private bedroom for Jack in summertime, they converted to serve ‘The Project.’ The brothers had been thinking about a way to make extra money every day for a long time. Besides the no-frills apartment, the lack of money for gifts, travel, new clothes, plus no savings account for emergencies� all it took to bring the subject into focus was their meals. Neither had eaten Chinese takeout for months, and a regular sit-down dinner in a real restaurant was a distant memory. Fast food made up a part of their daily izmit escort bayan fuel regime. That got old. Since cooking for themselves involved cleanup, even scrambled eggs were barely worth fixing with cleanup afterward, even when they used paper bowls, plates and plastic cutlery, an ‘eco-guilty’ pleasure. Nate had mentioned how nice it would be to have a regular apartment high above the city with a view of the Willamette River. Sometimes he dreamed about a gourmet kitchen with a real dishwasher, a microwave that didn’t sputter, constant hot water, no drafts in the bathroom, and a closet more prominent than a shoebox. Jack silently agreed with his brother and just as silently added his wish for either his own apartment or at least a bedroom to himself where he could bring a partner to live or at least hook up more than once a year. Jack liked girls, had several friends of the species, and had never been in love with one or wanted to be. Since the age of eleven or so, he’d been transfixed by what he saw in the showers in school, never acted on it, managed to avert his eyes often enough and in time, and think about something else in time to avoid discovery and the inevitable labels and abuse afterward. Nate had talked to an older man one day on Tri-Max, listened to his fellow traveler talk about what he missed the most; the brothers had talked it over for a few weeks. Nate and Jack carefully planned the venture’s expense against possible revenue, the equipment they needed over what they already had. The brothers carefully thought through the legal aspects of a business like the one they planned and went so far as to visit the Portland library to make notes on state and city statutes concerning their project. When the online store became active on the Internet, not one hit had occurred until the day before Christmas Eve. The email had arrived from their store; Jack’s computer pinged as did Nate’s cell. “Interested in your advertised service as Christmas present to self. Looking for Christmas Eve, the night of 12/24 9 p.m. to 9 a.m. on Christmas morning. Is that night available?” The computer plucked out the date and times, IP address, name and assigned a customer number to a log file at the online store. Nate and Jack didn’t set the computer to accept sales tax. Oregon didn’t demand it. Most states required sales tax to be charged for tangible online orders, meaning that if one could see, touch, smell, hear, or otherwise sense it, the item was taxable. States passed laws setting general sales tax rates. Most allowed their counties and cities to add a local tax. Not all cities did, but the count of tax jurisdictions in the United States alone was in the neighborhood of fourteen thousand. The brothers had considered selling e- books online until they learned that the Supreme Court had decided to let states choose to charge sales tax on those. Had they snagged a customer from Vancouver, Washington, just over the river from Portland, they would have had to meet Washington state’s sales tax regulations and Vancouver’s too, if separate, collect the tax, register to pay it, and pay it on time. Most of the states, hungry for revenue, demanded that out of state vendors charge their citizens sales tax on tangible sales, kicking in sometimes at a certain number of sales or amount of sales, or whether the seller had a store in their state or employees or whatever. Coordinating payments to fourteen thousand jurisdictions all charging tax was a formidable exercise placing an undue burden on small businesses who also had a right to live, just like the elephants of the business world. The software sent back a message. “That date and time are available.” A customer screen popped up, prompting for credit card details. The customer entered his name, credit card number, and address. The customer didn’t click to sign up for a newsletter and didn’t insist on live chat. He was unaware that every byte of information was recorded by the online store, in this case, used for follow-up. By entering this information, the blurb said, he was agreeing that the money wasn’t refundable, that he was not a minor, that that the purchaser intended no sexual purpose nor any service requiring an Oregon license, only a purchase of Nate and Jack’s time. The customer clicked the ‘Purchase” button. The return screen gave an address, a cell number, and parking hints and instructions to call the cell at the front entry; a button became available for the customer to push if he wanted to view and print his receipt. He didn’t click that button either. On Christmas Eve, the brothers awaited their first customer with some anxiety. They faced some last-minute questions about how to make this project perfect to attract repeat customers. They crossed their fingers, hoping for hot water during the next 24 hours, retooled the breakfast menu, and remade the bed after shaking out the new comforter and getting out the new sheets and firm pillows and pillowcases. Nate and Jack reviewed what they would say in response to specific questions or comments, so they’d be on the same page. And then Nate’s cell rang. “Hi, I’m at the front door.” Jack went down to the entry door and let in the gentleman. Jack shook his hand and politely smiled. “Glad you could make it. You found the place without difficulty”? “Sure. Thank you.” “Follow me. We’re on the third floor.” They entered a stairwell halfway down the entry hall, climbed to the third floor, came out into the hallway, and entered the apartment opposite. John sat, relaxed on a bean bag on the floor, playing a video game in the small sitting room, pajama bottoms, and topless. He displayed his muscular, smooth chest and six-pack to perfection. Jack began the formal introductions first. The customer asked them to call him Anthony. “Can I get you water or tea?” asked Nate. “We’ve got decaf coffee. There is rum if you prefer. A rum and coke, perhaps? We could rustle up a gin and tonic if you like. We’ve got a couple of cans of Coors and a couple of cans of Bud Lite in the fridge if you prefer.” The customer gratefully chose and accepted the rum and coke. “Before we hop into bed, why don’t you be comfortable on the couch for a bit and finish izmit sınırsız escort your drink, Anthony? Tell us about yourself,” asked Jack, relaxing back into a soft chair, both brothers sipping water. “I was searching online using search words ‘Portland’ and ‘Christmas’ looking for what the city might offer at the holiday season . . . and saw your site. It sounded like a deep need I’ve had for a few years. The site just called to me. I get cold at night. I slept with another warm person for 10 years and still am not used to sleeping by myself at age 40. I don’t know if more years will make it better or worse. I could use ‘better’ right now.” “I’m a retired police detective; served in the Portland precinct that includes Goose Hollow for 20 years; I’m a widower now after a car crash took my wife and son two years ago.” He noted Nate and Jack’s glance at each other, saw the slight look of consternation, and continued. “No, I’m retired. I’m not here in an official capacity. I’m pretty sure you guys wouldn’t go for an older daddy like me anyway.” Jack felt a little on shaky ground conversation-wise. “Well, uh, would you like to freshen up. The bathroom is through that door, and there are fresh pajamas, if you wear those, on the linen shelf there and a fresh towel and a new bar of soap (three kinds, so I hope you like one of them). “We have hot water for the moment, so feel free to shower. We both showered a couple of hours ago. If you prefer to sleep in the altogether, that’s fine too. Both of us usually sleep in our pajama bottoms. If that isn’t your thing and want us to wear pajama tops also, we will follow your lead. There’s mouthwash, toothpaste choices, and a clean, new toothbrush for you. Come to bed through that door when you’re ready.” Jack pointed to their bedroom. “Nate and I will be there in the bedroom.” After their guest entered the bathroom, the brothers turned off the lights, made sure the apartment entry door was locked, and turned the night lights on, including the bedroom door’s flashing Christmas lights. They left the Christmas tree lights on so their guest wouldn’t stumble or fall. Jack climbed under the sheets first. He looked around. They had done an excellent job of cleaning the room, vacuumed the carpet carefully, and sprayed a bit of Febreze in the room earlier. The room smelled good. The thick velvet curtain over the window dampened street noises and kept some of the heat inside the room. Nate and Jack waited for Mr. Toler to finish in the bathroom, their red satin-covered lamp on at the bedside. A tap sounded at the bedroom door. Anthony Toler came through the door with his pajama bottoms on, in good, no, arresting physical shape, trim, neighbor-man-next-door good looks, some light brown chest hair, a sizable package evident. Anthony grinned at both of them. “Hey boys, we’re off and running!” He then piled into bed next to Jack. Nate clambered into the bed after Anthony. “What side do you like to sleep on?” “I usually end up on my left side.” “That works. Cuddle up, sir. Good night and sweet dreams.” Anthony’s cock was now rock hard. Along with the rest of him, he snuggled up to Jack’s back. “Sorry, son, I’ve always had a hair-trigger. Sometimes shaking hands gets me hard. It always goes down sooner or later.” With Nate pressed against his back and ass, Anthony’s erection took its own sweet time to go soft, but sleep overtook him. Once in the night, Anthony awoke. He felt warm, connected, and at peace with himself and the world for the first time in a long while. He started to get up to let the rum and coke go through. Nate woke, took his hand, tugged him to the side of the bed, and made sure the night light was on in the room. Anthony returned to bed after a minute, and they stood briefly by the side of the bed. Nate hugged him and thanked him for keeping them warm and toasty that night. He was surprised. The idea hit Anthony like a ton of bricks. He understood suddenly that this process was a two-way street. He was doing something for them, contributing to their safety, comfort, and their microeconomy, making their world better by seeing to his own needs. That had not occurred to him, not being a transactional thinker except in his previous life at work. In his private life now, his grief after retirement, and in the loss of who he was at work followed by his family’s loss, he just existed. One day after another, he did what had to be done, doing little for others, a little extra for himself, not the guy his parents had shown him how to be. Lying here with these two young men, he felt like he had a family again. He fell asleep finally. His last hazy thought involved King David. He vaguely remembered a Sunday-school lesson about the King in his old age hiring a boy to keep him warm at night. Anthony had imagined cold marble palaces without central heating built for the king of ancient Judah in the centuries before the common era. As a child, hearing the story, he imagined there were no amenities like glass in the windows, no propane, no electricity, no refrigeration, no telephones, and worst of all, no Encyclopedia Britannica in those ancient palaces. All kid then, he had wondered what might happen if a hungry tiger smelled food in the palace in the form of an old king and the kid keeping him warm; he decided that the good old days weren’t always so good . . . and had shivered at the thought of the tiger. These remembered thoughts faded in comfort and blessed heat between two nice men whose skin felt warm, safe, amazing . . . and he slept. Morning came soon enough. Anthony awoke with Nate behind him, pressed right up to his back, ass, and legs. Nate had one foot over Anthony’s leg at the ankle and was still asleep when Anthony turned and looked. Jack was making noises in the small kitchen. Anthony smelled coffee brewing. Nate was having some morning dream, murmuring a little. Nate’s hand was exploring Anthony’s back. “It feels good, dad.” Then Nate’s hand flew back as if burned. Nate had awoken, Anthony decided. “Hey, dreams happen, man. Don’t worry about it. The touch felt good.” “Yeah? Jack doesn’t think I know, but he’s kocaeli escort bayan liked guys ever since 4th grade. He talks in his sleep sometimes.” “Does that bother you?” “No. It’s not like Jack can pick what his body and mind respond to. I love my brother, not that way, yet, but I want to see him happy. I don’t know if he knows that sometimes I get hard looking at him in the shower.” At that, Anthony nearly fell over, wondering if anyone ever completely plumbed the workings of human thought. He wasn’t sure any mystery ever became wholly solved. What percentage of the apparent�was incorrect? The men got up, washed, combed their hair, brushed their teeth, and enjoyed eggs, toast, and crisp bacon along with their coffee along with sliced oranges and slices of Havarti cheese. “Guys, is there any chance I could get to be a regular, say, on Friday nights?” Nate said he was pretty sure that would work, thinking of the $300 fee four times a month. Jack said nothing. Anthony pressed him a little. “What do you think, Jack?” “I’m gay, Anthony. I think so, anyway. I’m a little afraid that something might happen that could get Nate and me in trouble if we continue since you are buying our time. I know I want more than a cuddle. You’re an attractive guy, Anthony, and I could let myself get real excited sleeping next to you, more to the point, not sleeping when I’m next to you. There,” Jack sighed, “I’ve said it out loud for the first time.” “Only if I’m there too, Jack.” Nate’s eyes were bright. Jack sensed he needed to both hear this and understand what Nate was saying. The brothers’ eyes met and held. Nate flushed, and his eyes fell first. “I look at you in the shower, Jack. Seeing you there makes my dick hard. You will not sleep in a bed with anyone else without me, Jack. No way.” Jack slowly began to smile, and his eyebrows rose a little. Then one eyebrow shot up and he frowned. “I know a way around that,” Anthony chimed in before Jack had time to respond. “If you two come over to my house every other time, say, and I increase my visits to your apartment here to twice a week, say . . . would it work out for you to not charge me for the enhanced visits at my condo and charge me for your original services here at your place?” “If something consensual happens between citizens in their own bedrooms on their own time, not involving an exchange of money for sex�then it happens�no matter who or how many.” “We can arrange all three of us at my place sometimes, at your place sometimes, the two of you exploring the two of you in your own place. Portland can be weird. Let’s go with that.” Nate, the businessman of the family, was getting dizzy. Twice a week at $300 x 4 weeks a month was $2400, enough for new apartment rent in a great condo in a tall building in downtown Portland not far from the river, all from one customer. Jack was as hard as he ever remembered. He rose from the table and went over to Anthony and hugged him for a long while. Nate ranged up behind Jack, his arms spread out to include both older men. “Tell him we can work something out, Jack.” Anthony grinned. “I think I could get used to the two of you. Before you rent out that fancy condo though, come look at the condo on the waterfront in Portland where I live. I own the building and rent out the other condos.” “I’m rattling around in four bedrooms on the 9th floor, a pool on the 8th floor, a gourmet kitchen, two bathrooms, and hot water 24/7/365. I wouldn’t mind remodeling for an instant family and some company at night. You guys could move in with me and keep this apartment too.” “I’ll pay you for your time when we sleep at this apartment for now. My trust fund is more than big enough for the three of us. We can travel some if we decide to and enjoy life. Perhaps we could talk about a company takeover, however. I won’t mind seeing the company fold for now, temporarily, if I get to live and sleep with the founders.” “This company may have a franchise future. If it folds, you’ll ‘have’ to come live with me. You can choose to continue your work, or we can travel to warm places and spend lots of time on the beach somewhere.” The next night followed, naturally, after a peaceful and pleasant Christmas Day. They had already received their best Christmas present in a long time. Nate and Jack brushed their teeth and headed for the bedroom. Nate felt a little awkward before jumping in bed, but he was already undressed and so was his brother, who looked a little anxious. Since Nate had brought up the subject earlier, he continued. “I want you, Jack. I’m going to take you now and make sure you know who owns your ass. But first we’re going to kiss and play for a while and I’m going to prepare you for some real close loving tonight. Are you ready, bro?” Jack couldn’t speak. He looked at his little brother, grown up all of a sudden, flushed, looked at Nate, looked down, looked back up, swallowed, licked his lips, and nodded his head. “Yeah, bud. I’m yours, kid. Always have been. When we do this, it’s permanent. I’ll be your man. Your only man, however, unless we’re together. That’s my terms. I just didn’t see this coming. Now, jump in bed and fuck me into next week.” The two men awoke on December 26, Boxer’s Day in some countries. After a shower and orange juice, they headed back to bed, wrapped up in their latest sport. They tried about everything they could think of and then decided they needed more protein than they had swallowed already. The guy that delivered their takeout breakfasts was cute and about their age. The delivery guy had heard invitations like that before; they weren’t unheard of, but these guys said they were brothers. That was a new one. He wasn’t so rich or busy that he couldn’t pass up the sex or a tip, if they decided to give him one. His clothes were off like a flash and this time it was Jack’s cock that rammed its way home in celebration of the end of something like a drought. A man lost in the desert finally getting water in an oasis would have understood, been excited watching Nate trying to decide whose mouth to use, and touched to see how tender those brothers really were. It might have been the shortest company lifespan in Portland’s history. Even the gold rush lasted longer than “Nate and Jack’s Snuggle Service.” The online store got taken down after Christmas, like other things that went up and down in their future. Yeah, the franchise IPO did OK. About $3.4 billion worth of ‘OK’ in 110 countries.

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