Three Christmases
"The first Christmas, they kissed under mistletoe when no one was looking. The second, they fucked in her childhood bedroom. The third, they got caught—by her mother, who decided to keep the secret. For a price."
Christmas One
Mistletoe.
Someone hung it in the doorway to the kitchen, and Brooke caught me under it.
"Tradition," she said, and kissed me.
It should have been innocent. A peck. A family-appropriate moment between cousins.
It wasn't.
Her lips lingered. Her tongue touched mine for half a second. When she pulled back, her eyes said everything her mouth couldn't.
"Merry Christmas," she whispered.
I didn't sleep that night.
Brooke is my age—twenty-four. Athletic, sharp-featured, built like the volleyball player she was in college. We grew up together—same extended family gatherings, same summer vacations, same uncomfortable awareness that we looked at each other too long.
I thought I was imagining it.
After the mistletoe, I knew I wasn't.
Christmas Two
Her parents' house. Her childhood bedroom.
Everyone else was downstairs, opening presents, drinking eggnog. We were supposed to be finding extra wrapping paper.
"Last year," she said as soon as the door closed. "I haven't stopped thinking about it."
"Neither have I."
"This is wrong."
"I know."
"We're cousins."
"I know."
"I don't care." She pulled off her sweater. "I'm done pretending I don't want you."
We fucked while our families celebrated below.
Her bed—the same one she'd slept in as a child—creaking beneath us. Her athletic body wrapped around mine, flexible in ways that made my head spin.
"Quiet," she gasped. "They'll hear—"
I covered her mouth with my hand. Thrust harder. She screamed into my palm, body clenching around me.
I came inside my cousin on Christmas Day.
Best present I'd ever gotten.
The next morning, we pretended nothing happened.
Hugged goodbye like family. Said "see you next year" like we meant it casually.
But I saw her eyes.
I knew what next year would bring.
Christmas Three
Same house. Same bedroom.
We didn't even pretend to have an excuse. Just disappeared upstairs while everyone else watched It's a Wonderful Life.
"I've been waiting all year," Brooke said, already stripping.
"Same."
"This is the only Christmas gift I need."
"Same."
We fucked desperately. Like we were making up for the three hundred and sixty-four days we'd been apart.
She was on top when the door opened.
Aunt Valerie.
Brooke's mother. My mother's sister. Standing in the doorway, watching her daughter ride her nephew.
For a moment, no one moved.
Then Valerie closed the door behind her.
"Don't stop on my account," she said.
My cock was still inside Brooke.
Brooke was still on top of me, frozen, face white with horror.
Valerie leaned against the wall. Crossed her arms. Watched.
"Mom—" Brooke started.
"I've known for two years," Valerie said. "Since the mistletoe. I saw."
"You—"
"I saw. And I've been waiting to see what you'd do about it." Her eyes moved to me. "Both of you."
"Are you going to tell?" I asked.
"That depends."
"On what?"
Valerie smiled. Something predatory in it.
"On whether you can keep a secret. Both of you. Together."
She made us finish.
Stood there, watching, while Brooke started moving again. Slowly at first, then faster. Both of us too shocked to protest.
"That's it," Valerie murmured. "Don't let me interrupt."
I came inside Brooke while her mother watched.
Brooke came thirty seconds later, biting her lip to keep from screaming.
When we finally separated, Valerie nodded.
"Good. Now here's what happens next."
The Price
"This stays between us," Valerie said. "No one finds out. Not your mother, not my husband, not anyone."
"In exchange for what?" Brooke asked.
Valerie looked at me. Long. Appraising.
"In exchange for including me. Once a year. Christmas. Just like you've been doing."
"Mom—"
"I'm fifty-two years old." Valerie's voice was steady. "Your father hasn't touched me in three years. And I've been watching you two circle each other since you were teenagers. I know what I want. I know what you want. The only question is whether we're all honest about it."
Brooke looked at me. I looked at Brooke.
"Next year," I said.
Valerie smiled.
"Next year."
Christmas Four
Brooke and I arrive early.
Valerie meets us at the door. Leads us upstairs. Locks the bedroom behind us.
"Merry Christmas," she says, and starts undressing.
I fuck them both.
Brooke first—her athletic body familiar now, comfortable. Then Valerie—older, softer, hungrier than her daughter.
They watch each other. Help each other. Take turns with me.
"This is so fucked up," Brooke gasps. She's on her hands and knees, my cock inside her, while her mother strokes her hair.
"Yes," Valerie agrees. "But it's ours."
Christmas Five. Six. Seven.
It becomes tradition.
One week a year. The three of us. A secret hidden inside a family gathering.
Brooke is my cousin. Valerie is my aunt.
Both of them are something else now.
Something I can't name.
Something I need.
Christmas Eight
We're in bed together. Post-coital. Tangled.
"How long?" Brooke asks. "How long do we keep doing this?"
"Forever," Valerie says.
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I have." Valerie looks at me. "Until someone stops wanting it. Until it breaks. Until Christmas stops coming."
I hold them both. Aunt and cousin. The women who've made Christmas the only holiday I care about.
"Forever sounds about right," I say.
They curl against me.
Outside, our family celebrates without us.
In here, we celebrate our own way.
Every Christmas.
Forever.