Kid Christmas Rides Again

20 Pages·2009·1.169 MB·English

by  Arvin, Eric

Kid Christmas Meets Snow Globes
Eric Arvin

THE idea was simple: change the public perception of
Santa Claus. Even if it hadn’t been the right thing to do –
even if the holiday hadn’t become a gluttonous season of
tooth-rotting fervor – it was still the only thing that could be
done. After all, Santa as the world had known him had just
died of a massive coronary. See, he was trying to break up
another elf fight (elves are known to be very short-tempered
and are not at all stingy with the drink), and after years of
stress and binge-eating he just finally collapsed in the
tussle. Being that there was not a jollier fella on Earth,
nobody could lay claim to the particular image he had
trademarked. The era of the “bowl full of jelly” was ended,
and the line would have to be retired from lullabies the
world over. Besides, Christmas had become a more grown-
up holiday of late, and the most recent Claus was looking a
bit… um, lazy.
It was decided by those who decide such things that a
younger, healthier Claus would he hired. A fit Santa.
Trendy. A Santa who didn’t get sidetracked by cookies and
milk. There had been way too many close calls the last
couple of years. The old guy had become clumsy and was
nearly caught by the curious on many an occasion while he
snacked at their Santa-traps. None of the elves wanted to
say it (unless they were drunk), but there was a sigh of
relief that Santa wouldn’t have to be laid off. He had kindly
died instead. That was the thing about Santa: Always
thinking of others, right up to the gasping end.
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Kid Christmas Meets Snow Globes
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The Committee to Oversee the Christening of Kringle
(COCK) named our hero, a young gingerbread cookie house
guard, to the task. It was a surprise to everyone, especially
Father Time, who had been eyeing the position for some…
time. (Time was, and is, often wasted, and he was woefully
underfed.) The new Claus was the handsomest of men: a
strong, clean-shaven jaw replaced the white beard, and a
body built from years of lifting stubborn reindeer and
carrying drunken elves home from pubs replaced… well,
the rest. The Santa Suit was altered to fit the new guy as
well. The Santa hat remained traditional (there was no need
to get all crazy), but the sleeves of the jacket were cut so
that the young guard’s 22-inch arms could breathe. The
pant legs needed to be loosed to accept his thighs and still
the thick red velvet barely held them. The consensus was
that he looked altogether too bulgy. When fully dressed his
chest, his buttocks, and his crotch looked like Christmas
candies ready to burst from their wrappings. COCK was a
bit concerned at first, but then thought maybe this was the
direction they needed to go. The world was a frightening
place, and the committee eventually convinced itself that
people needed a figure that signified impenetrable strength.
The sled was put away, the reindeer were laid off (the
economy is a bitch, even at the Poles), and a new flying
snowmobile, the Claus 3000, was provided. It was shiny
and red and gold with a flashing beacon on its very tip.
(Rudolph’s lawsuit is still pending). There would also be no
more ‘Ho ho ho!’ Instead, the new Santa would fly across
the rooftops and shimmy down the chimney saying ‘Hells
yeah!’
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Kid Christmas Meets Snow Globes
Eric Arvin

He called himself The Kid… Kid Christmas, that is.
(Clearly, a fan of Western films.)

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All had gone as planned for the Kid at first. There was
a week to go before his first outing as the new Claus, and
things were clockwork. There were a few minor glitches.
There always are in such cases. His pants ripped out a few
times (he really liked how he looked in his new suit and
flexed obsessively for anyone who would watch), and there
was a tiny revolt from the unemployed reindeer… but they –
um, that is to say, it – was soon put down. The elves were
warming up to him too. Even Father Time came by for a
visit, grumbling his grudges. Yes. Everything was going
quite smoothly, like a well-lubricated oingy-boingy.
And then the unthinkable happened (again): Kid
Christmas was Chris-napped!
The last he remembered he was on a midnight shag
and stroll and had stopped to lick one of the large lollipop
fence posts outside the Santy-Shanty. (In all his twenty-
three years he had been chided for licking the fence posts,
but now– woo hoo!) Then there was a sudden, sharp pain in
the bum, and everything went dizzy, then dark. A poison
peppermint dart had been shot into his muscular buttocks
from afar. Later, in recollection, Kid Christmas had to
admit that bending over to lick the lollipop fence post with
his musculus bumulus high in the air was an easy red
target, something very hard to miss.
When he awoke he was on the floor of a crystal ice
cave, stripped of his new threads, but wrapped warmly in a
wooly throw. Unfettered by the cold surroundings (living in
the Poles, one builds a tolerance), Kid Christmas threw off
the throw. The reflection from the ice absorbed the absurd
overabundance of muscle. He was excited by what he saw
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Kid Christmas Meets Snow Globes
Eric Arvin

and could have stood there for a while in self-adoration, but
first needed to investigate where exactly he was. As he felt
along the walls, leering at his own rude reflection, there
seemed to be no way out of the hall of ice. The room was
solid, and the holders were too strong to break through. At
least the company was pleasant. He made a mental note to
have a hall of mirrors added to the Santy-Shanty.
A cool, crisp voice echoed from nowhere and ricocheted
from wall to wall. “How do you like your new dwelling, Kid
Christmas? I decorated it myself.”
“Who is that?” the Kid demanded. “Where are my
clothes? Show yourself!”
“You won’t be needing your shocking threads any
longer,” the voice replied calmly. “I’m having them altered.”
A slender male figure with cool ice skin stepped out from
behind a wall. “I’m called Snow Globes.”
The Kid understood why: Snow Globes’ balls were
enormous. They had a mesmerizing sheen and hung like
ornaments tattooed with perfect blue snowflakes. No
wonder the suit had to be altered.
The icy eyes of the chiseled captor wandered down Kid
Christmas’ physique and rested on the Jolly-man-in-
waiting’s own delicate area. Kid Christmas covered up with
some embarrassment and envy. “It’s cold!” he excused
himself.
“Well, I suppose certain things are going to look out of
proportion with everything around them being so very, very
large.” Snow Globes chuckled. “Still, I imagine your
backside more than makes up for it. Ho, ho, ho… right?” He
winked.
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“I don’t say that anymore… Wait, what?” Poor Kid
Christmas was flustered. His cheeks turned bright red.
“What am I doing here? Let me out of this place.”
“Oh, one day I will let you out. Most definitely. My plan
would be pointless otherwise. But you have to stay put for a
little while, my strapping snow bunny.” Snow Globes
walked forward. His balls chimed together in a sweet
melody; the Kid couldn’t stop staring at them. The
collection of reflections around them resembled something
like an orgy; The Kid reminded himself again to get a hall of
mirrors in the Santy-Shanty.
“You see,” continued Snow Globes, “once your suit is
altered – which shouldn’t take too long – I shall take on the
role as the Claus. Only I won’t be the creepy sugar-fiend
known to the world. No. My plan is to totally destroy the
name that has been built up by your predecessors over the
years. Grown men will fear the Night of the Claus, and soon
they will want nothing to do with you. ‘Bring me the balls of
Kid Christmas!’ they’ll shout. Oh, yes! There will soon be a
bounty on your bountiful booty.”
“But why? I don’t understand.” But why wait for an
explanation? There was a crazy man standing in front of
him! A sexy, lusty, boffo-balled, certifiable lunatic. “I won’t
let you do it!”
Snow Globes wiggled his hips flirtatiously, making his
balls sing with clinks and clonks like a captivating
Christmas carol. The Kid was baffled at first by the
seductive dance, but then felt the cave move under his bare
feet. He heard the unmistakable sound of something
coming… and coming hard!
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Eric Arvin

“Have fun with Willie,” Snow Globes said as he quickly
disappeared behind an icy divider. “And watch those pointy
stalactites.”
“You mean stalagmites?”
“Whatever.”
Kid Christmas waited, standing battle-ready and
booty-beautiful (by now it should be clear that the Narrator
has a thing for the big guy’s triple-beeehind). Yet he was
unsure as to where to direct his defense. The one called
Willie did not have need of any hidden entrance, though. He
broke through the floor with a shattering clamor, throwing
the muscle-bound merry man across the chamber. Kid
Christmas landed on his handsome face with a smash-
rattle-oomph, his mighty rear high in the air. He was dazed,
but not broken. Behind him, he caught a glimpse (how
could he miss it?) of a lengthy and large, growling and
snorting, libidinous and fully erect disembodied snow
penis. It bowed its massive head, huffed a puff of cool air,
and crouched like a bull ready for the charge. Intent and
starved, it sped toward our hero’s helpless bum.
Now, Kid Christmas was never one to turn down a bit
of fun, but there was only so much he could take up his
chimney. Even fantasy has its limits, folks. He waited until
Willie was right upon him and then jumped. He landed on
Willie’s back, wrapping his strong legs and arms tightly
around the monster. Willie bucked wildly, slamming
against the walls of the cavern with ferocity, but the Kid
was determined to win. His nads were nearly frostbitten by
the cold beneath his legs, but he squeezed with all his
might until finally, poof! Snow exploded everywhere, and
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Eric Arvin

Kid Christmas fell to the ground. His thunderous thighs
had decimated the fevered phallus.
The Kid rose in quiet victory. He had to find a way out
of the ice cavern; he had to stop Snow Globes’ evil plans.
(He had to get one more look at those massive balls!) He
had bested the villain’s pet, so he knew he was up to the
challenge. Or was he?
The clumps of snow from the once magnificent man-
tool began to roll and shape themselves, an eye-popping
evolution in miniature. In a matter of seconds the Kid stood
in the midst of a thousand tiny dildos. In truth, it was more
of an annoyance than any threat or danger. Our hero
exasperatingly began stomping on the tiny things, almost
bored that he had to do it. It was a shame; they could have
been fun little playmates, but he hadn’t the time for
frivolity.
But the little buggers were angry and stubborn and
blinded by their lust. They had but one target in their tiny
minds. (It’s often said, after all, that men think with their
crotches. The Thousand Dildo Army made no claim to
dispute this.)
The Kid could not watch everywhere at once and the
little guys took advantage of this. There was a tactic at
work. A small boner brigade leaped at him from the ice
shelves and the tips of the stalagmites, frosting his nipples
and snow-coning his snuggle snake. They quickly melted
due to the heat of his body. It came to him that they were
sacrificing themselves so that some of their mischievous
brethren could climb up his hamstrings in the rear and
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