The Boston Chamber of Commerce Christmas party wasn't bad. It had an open bar; women in tight, low-cut evening gowns; and plenty of people looking to suck up. However, there was no smoking allowed in any of the common areas of the hotel, so after three plus hours of schmooze and booze, Denny's throat was beginning to itch for the familiar Freudian comforts of a typical evening's end.

"We could get a room," said Denny as he unzipped, elbow to elbow with Alan at the row of urinals. Logic dictated that scotch in should equal scotch out, but somehow the second half of the equation always came out a little greater than the first.

Alan laughed. "Not necessary. I like your house just fine. Your duvets are just as comfy, and I'm certain that room service here can have nothing on Lupe's huevos rancheros in bed."

"I meant to smoke," said Denny. "We could get a room for a couple hours. One with a balcony."

"Perhaps they leave those chocolate mints on the pillows." Alan mused as he adjusted his hand-hold and began to flow freely. "I like the way they melt in your mouth."

"A man after my own heart."

"Amongst other things. Do they still even offer smoking rooms?" Alan wondered.

"Who knows?" Denny shrugged. "If not, we'll make up a respectable lie. Tell them it's for a quickie. Once we get up, we can whip out our chubbies on the balcony, and no one will be the wiser."

Just then the bathroom door swung open, and a six-foot three-inch tall (not counting the pointed hat or strappy sling-back heels) red-headed elf sashayed in. She walked over to the urinals and sidled up beside Alan making eye contact.

In a smoker's baritone, she nodded down in their direction. "Nice party."

"Nice breasts," Denny responded. He was stared across Alan's body and straight down her valley of duct-taped delight.

"They're real, and they're fabulous," she quoted as she hiked her green miniskirt up over her bare hip bones, pulled out a magic fairy wand and began to pee with a power arc that would have done a NFL field-goal kicker proud.

"Ooh! Alan, trade urinals," Denny ordered. He put his hands on Alan's waist and shoved as to forcibly displace him.

But Alan was fixed in place as if set in cement. His gaze was glued upon her. He'd always had a thing for elves, and it had been a long time since his last Christmas treats. He heard the change of tone on the porcelain as his penis thickened in his hand and his flow trickled to a halt.

She finished, shook, and dropped the skirt back down, where the dangles of the fringe barely covered the dangles of her underlying elf self.

"So," she said, flashing an impish grin to the both of them, "Who's been naughty and who's been nice?"

In a flurry of bodies, clothes, and vending machine condoms, they all crowded into the handicapped stall.

Denny was out and hard as if he'd been waiting to do a 6+foot tall cross-dressing elf in a public bathroom all his life. (Which may well have been the case, for all we know.) He bent her over the toilet tank and wrestled a condom on.

"Wait!" she said. Pulling off her hat, she laid it on the tank lid and used it to rest her cheek. "That's better; okay." She raised her ass and flipped the skirt up over her back.

Denny lined up behind her, and plunged forth to discover the true joys of Christmas.

"Ah!" she cried at the top of her lungs. "Oh! Ah! Oh!"

Eyes glued to every move they both made, Alan stood to the side masturbating and watching so intently as to commit every detail to memory.

"Come here little man." Rocking in time to Denny's thrusts, the elf beckoned a manicured finger in his direction.

"Me?" With trepidation, Alan looked to her.

"Get over here," she said, not kindly at all. "Let me see that thing."

Alan let loose his penis and presented it straight and true for her approval.

"Huh." She scoffed in his face. "Grab that thing."

She told him exactly what to do. She told him exactly what she thought using terrible words--horrible--called him disgusting names, words his mother had used, things he had thought of himself in the darkest depths of his most private shames and believed that no one else knew. She did all this as Denny fucked her from behind and listened.

Alan's excitement rose until he could hold off no longer. Even thoughts of his mother couldn't keep the imminent orgasm at bay. "Denny, hurry," he begged, even as he beat himself faster.

She called him a filthy epitaph, said something vile about little boys who can't control themselves, lobbed a huge wad of spittle on him, and Alan gave it up all over her face and neck.

Denny called out his name and jackhammered wildly into her ass until he finally slipped out and collapsed against the corner and slid down the floor.

The stall door popped open. A man in black tie stared in. "Hey! You can't do that in there!"

The elf gave him the attitudinal eyeball. "Excuse you!" She adjusted her skirt down over her Christmas package, stepped over Denny, and clip-clopped out to the sinks.

Soon they heard water running.

"Law says handicapped stalls have to be provided, nothing about having to be handicapped to use 'em. Look it up. Denny Crane." Denny peeled off the condom and tossed it into the bowl as he spoke. He pulled the stall door closed again.

"I could use that smoke now," Alan said. He sat on the tile curled up with his sacroiliac pressed against the water shut-off valve.

"Hotel room? My treat."

"I was thinking sleepover." Alan sounded as drained as Denny felt.

Denny paused briefly. "Okay, but you're taking a shower first."

"Deal," said Alan. He slumped sideways and rested his head against the stall wall. "Denny?"


"I have no idea how I got along before you."

Denny smiled and shot a finger at him. "Don't worry about it; I'm not going anywhere without you."

"Do you ever wonder what would have happened if we hadn't met?"

Denny pushed up and flushed the toilet. He extended a hand down to Alan, who took it. Denny pulled him up with an enigmatically sad smile. "No," he said as they stood face to face. "There's a lot of things I don't think about anymore, but that one, I don't think about on purpose." Denny handed Alan his hankie.

Alan wiped his face and tucked the hankie into his own breast pocket.

"How do I look?" Denny asked.

"Denny Crane," said Alan, as if that were an answer unto itself.

"Alan Shore." Denny adjusted Alan's bow tie and smoothed the shoulders of his jacket back into place.

The locked arms and exited the stall together to a small crowd of gathered chamber members.

"Denny Crane. All Bran keeps you moving. Denny Crane."