Author's Note: As a special holiday treat, please enjoy this flashback from a new perspective: a fan-favorite character, Uncle Patrick Harding!
For more of the Harding family's adventures, check out the series, "Dad's Helping Hand".
The Christmas Special
PATRICK
December 2003
The cabin looked the way Christmas is meant to feel. Low ceilings. Rough beams. Red and green lights twinkled all over, hung up from the rafters. A big tree leaned toward the window, saddled with ornaments collected over the years. Everything smelled like pine and smoke and cinnamon.
My wife Christa’s family had owned this place in Massachusetts forever. You could tell by the way nothing was precious. The floors creaked, the attic was musty, and there were some old blankets piled up.
This year held a new tradition for us: inviting my brother Richard and his sons Justin and Matt to come up for a holiday weekend. Justin was now in college, and Matt followed closely behind. About five years had passed since Richard divorced the boys' mom, and he was now dating this new chick, Audrey. But with Audrey visiting her family, and Justin and Matt usually at their mom's, I didn't want Richard to feel alone this time of year.
We Harding boys have to stick together.
We arrived at the cabin after a long and winding drive through the hills of the Berkshires. Soon after we settled in and decorated, Christa and the girls left for a winter walk to the lake.
Meanwhile, Richard was already halfway into his coat.
“Hey Patrick, we’ll go pick up some more food,” he said, beckoning Matt over. “We’ll be back in an hour.”
“Take your time,” I said. “We ain't starving yet.”
Matt smiled -- polite and soft -- and followed his father out. The door closed again, slower this time, and the cabin exhaled. The fire crackled. Twinkle lights hummed faintly along the beams. Outside, the snow kept coming down.
Justin and I were the only ones left, which I hadn’t planned but didn’t mind. We drifted down the narrow, wooden steps to the lounge, the kind of half-basement you get when a place is built into a hill.
There were still windows there in the basement, but they were rimmed tightly with snow. Another Christmas tree glowed in the corner, overladen with tinsel, and an old TV sat against the wall with a VCR underneath. Multicolored lights were strung up here too, giving the room an extra-cozy glow.
I sat on the couch and Justin stretched out on the rug in front of the fireplace, socks on, shoes kicked off, hands wrapped around a mug. He had his feet pointed straight at the fire. I stretched my legs out and let the couch take my weight. Down here, the heat gathered low, thick and good.
“So how’s college?” I asked.
“College is… fine,” he said.
I laughed. “You’re really selling it, Justin.”
Justin huffed. He checked his flip-phone out of habit, then frowned and set it facedown on the rug.
“It’s good,” Justin went on, automatically. “I mean, classes are fine. Team’s good. Guys are cool.” He paused. “Food sucks.”
“There it is,” I said.
He smiled, then took a sip of cocoa and closed his eyes. “This is good though.”
He continued, “It’s just... different from high school. I don't know where I stand.” He laughed, but it was thin. “Everyone was somebody back home. I’m just not… the main guy anymore.”
"Not the bad-ass quarterback anymore? That’s hard,” I said, with a shade of irony.
The fire popped, a log shifting inward. Snow slid off the window softly.
“I met someone,” he said.
I waited.
“Her name’s Vanessa.”
“Uh-oh,” I said. “That sounds important.”
He smiled despite himself. “She’s older.”
“How much older?”
“Two years.”
I grunted.
He laughed, then sobered. "I don’t know if she wants something real. Or if I’m just... fun.”
“You're allowed to have your own fun too, J.J. Hell, you should."
Justin nodded. To think he was nineteen already. For a second, I remembered how he used to be, playing ball with me in the backyard till dark, convinced that he'd never run out of time.
He stood up from the rug and crossed over toward me to look outside the window behind the couch.
"Damn, it's still snowing," he said.
"Winter wonderland."
"I guess so. Where's that lake that Christa took the girls to?"
"It's pretty far -- maybe a 20 minute walk."
"Sounds nice," he said, then planting himself on the couch next to me.
I looked at him from the corner of my eye.
"Can I be honest, Uncle Pat?"
"Always."
"It's damn hard not being able to fuck for two weeks."
"Whoa, Justin," I said, laughing.
"It's true!" he grinned, voice rising. "I mean, on campus, with all that free time, I'm fuckin' Vanessa on the daily."
"Attaboy, that's what college is for."
"Yeah but not winter break. At most, I've been sneaking around to jack off, but all my material's back at the dorm."
"Pity."
"So where are the goods?"
"What goods?" I played dumb.
"The goods, man. I know you got some here somewhere. You have like a hundred at your place alone."
I looked at the fireplace and smirked. This guy doesn't waste any fuckin' time.
"All right, all right. But just because we have a sec before everyone gets back."
I crossed over to a closet in the corner of the room and rummaged through a small trunk on the floor. It had a false bottom. I pulled out a sample of six nudie mags that I'd stored here for safekeeping.
There was another artifact in the trunk too. I held it briefly.
After a moment's hesitation and some fiddling, I set it down discreetly on a shelf in the closet and draped a towel over it.
I brought the magazines back to the couch. Justin was already rubbing the front of his flannel pajama pants.
Back when I was in college, Justin's dad Richard and I were no strangers to some mutual fun. There were a few occasions of us banging the same chick, but it didn't seem that crazy to us. I'd actually helped set up his first hookup with a friend of a friend. Richard and I never fucked around together after college, but those were memories I'll never forget.
Last summer, after Justin graduated high school, he and I ended up bonding a bit more closely than I ever expected. We'd have fun riding in my Chevy outside of Austin, rock music blasting and singing along. Or sitting out in a field, when he'd tell me all about his anxieties and hopes for college.
One day under that stifling heat, we were hanging at my place while I had the day off. I caught Justin snooping in my closet, poring over a few of my Playboys and Hustlers. One thing led to another, and soon we shared the classic experience of busting a load together... but that's a story for another time.
I handed the stack of magazines to Justin and sat down next to him. He flipped through them quickly, grunting or humming as he assessed each cover. He landed on one with a big-titted MILF on the cover, stroking two cocks at once next to her face.
"Nice," he said.
Justin placed the magazine on the couch between us and began the familiar routine.
He lifted his seat and pulled down his flannel pants and Fruit of the Loom boxer briefs. I followed suit and let my burgundy sweatpants and briefs fall to the floor.
We began to slowly stroke our penises -- Justin's circumcised dick and my uncut cock. Justin's was about six inches, maybe six-and-a-half. We'd measured his dick last summer when he caught sight of how big mine got and was curious about his own size.
But the first thing I noticed today was that Justin's cock now stood straight up from a patch of pubes that were newly trimmed short. A hell of a lot different from last summer, when he had a full silky nest of a golden-brown bush. I'd encouraged him at the time to never trim it too short.
"Tsk, tsk," I said to him on the couch. "You buzzed it all off for that girl?"
Justin smirked. "Girls like easier access."
We continued to flip through the pages, and when one of our cocks throbbed a little harder, we let the page stick for a few more moments.
"Shit, Uncle Pat," he said, looking down at my lap with a nod. "Still wish I got that big."
"Never know, might still happen. We're not all early bloomers." Then I added with a smirk, "Maybe ask Santa this year."
I looked across at Justin. Crazy how much he's starting to look like Richard these days. Justin had the same bronze shade of hair as my younger brother, and now that he's been trying to grow a little scruff out, he seemed to mirror his father even more.
Justin put his hand to his lips and dropped a little spit on his fingers before returning to his cock.
"Fuck, that's a good one," he said, pointing to the centerfold. The MILF on the cover was riding one of the men and sucking off the other.
"For sure."
"You ever do a threesome?" he asked me. It was the kind of tone where he was scared to hear the answer but too curious not to ask.
"Nah," I said. I didn't think he was ready for the truth.
Justin flipped a few more pages, and now the MILF was getting double-penetrated.
"Dang."
After a few minutes, I was starting to reach the edge of orgasm when Justin said, "Fuck, I don't know. I'm not getting close."
"You want to try another one?" I asked.
"Nah..." Justin made moves to pull up his pajama pants again.
"Hey, here's a thought..." I said casually. I leaned to the left, behind Justin's back, and lay flat on the couch on my side. "Just lie down here."
"What..."
"Yeah, maybe if you just close your eyes and don't need to focus on pumping up your dick, that'll help."
Justin thought silently.
"You can think of your girl too," I added.
Justin slowly leaned onto his side too until he was flush up against me. The couch was deep enough that we both fit comfortably without risk of falling off.
My left arm was under the crook of Justin's neck and my right hand lay carefully on his hip.
"So... now what?" he asked awkwardly, facing ahead.
I placed my right hand in front of Justin's face.
"Spit," I said.
Quiet stillness. Then I felt a wet trickle pool into my palm.
"More."
A thicker wad of saliva now coated my hand.
I reached down toward Justin's crotch, careful not to spill any of his special lube. A moment before I reached his boner, I hesitated. I've never even done this with Richie, I thought.
"Is this OK?" I whispered.
"Yeah. I want it," he whispered back.
The back of my hand brushed against Justin's cockhead, smooth and warm. Then I flipped my hand over it swiftly and grasped his knob, letting his saliva trickle down the shaft. Justin exhaled. I scooted even closer to him.
Fuck. My grown nephew's cock.
Justin inhaled sharply and stretched his neck back. His hair smelled like apples. I liked that conditioner.
"Play with your balls," I said, letting my hand go further down his length as he obeyed.
The Christmas tree in the corner kept twinkling. The fireplace started crackling as the embers died down.
My cock pressed against Justin's ass, and my hips moved on their own accord. Not exactly lodged in his crack, my cockhead pressed against the soft give of his doughy asscheek. His booty was still firm from football season.
"So what's Vanessa like?" I asked.
"She's petite. Curvy. Black hair down to her tits."
"Nice."
"She shaves her pussy and it's -- fuck--" he muttered, "it's so fuckin' sweet diving in there, ugh--"
I began focusing on the tip of his mushroom head, pulling all of his pleasure into that one spot.
"Damn, that's good," he added reflectively. "You're right, it's way better to just lie back and take it."
"Told you, buddy." I pulled him in closer with my left hand and wrapped my right foot around his ankle.
"Uh... Uncle Pat, your dick's kinda... distracting," he laughed.
"Oh, it's fine. Just ignore it."
"Not sure I can? I think you're leaking..."
"Oh."
I reached my hand behind me and grabbed one of the chintzy throw pillows lying behind the couch. I sandwiched it between Justin's ass and my cock.
"There," I said. "Much more comfy." I resumed my service on Justin's dick.
Now placated, Justin relaxed ever further back. The hair on his arm brushed against mine, emitting just enough warmth on this cold winter day.
Now with the pillow between us, I realized that it was actually easier to press into the pillow harder without causing a jumpy reaction from Justin. With my left elbow still cradling his neck, I held onto Justin's chest for stability and pressed my crotch gradually further until the compression against the pillow hit the spot. I started stroking Justin's full length again.
"That's good," Justin murmured.
I buckled my hips slowly against the pillow, and my left hand snaked its way up inside Justin's holiday-themed PJ's.
He still had that single, defined treasure trail decorating his abs, about a half-inch wide. His pecs were definitely firmer now. And to my delight, I felt a bit of chest hair right in the center.
"Does Vanessa play with your nips?" I asked.
"No way, man."
"It feels pretty good -- even for guys." I grabbed and tweaked one of his nipples -- light brown and the size of a nickel, if I remember correctly.
"Mmm--" Justin said.
"Make sure you're still playing with your balls," I whispered, ensuring all of his erogenous zones were on fire.
I slapped his hand cradling his nutsack and gave it a firm shake. His balls felt huge, the size of two plums in a loose sack.
"Got a week's worth of splooge waiting in there, huh?"
Justin chuckled.
A mass of snow fell from the roof with a soft thud outside
I kept stroking his dick, mentally comparing it to what I've seen on my brother Richard. Richard had impressed me back in college with a cock that rivaled any other that I'd seen in a porno.
"Eight-Inch Richie," I'd called him behind his back to the girls I'd roped into our schemes. Justin's was definitely was no eight-incher, but he still felt plenty girthy.
"How's Vanessa's ass, J.J?" I asked, humping that poor pillow even harder. My foreskin retracted then fully covered my glans in long, smooth motions.
"Nice and plump. Been waiting for her to let me bend her over and stick it up her chute," he said, deliriously.
My fingernails clenched Justin's pec, as I rested my Adam's apple on his shoulder. I placed my other hand in front of his lips again.
"Spit."
Justin did so, and I continued jacking off my nephew with my freshly slick hand.
"Mmm--" he cried out, louder.
I was reaching the end myself and fucked the pillow harder into his ass.
Justin began fucking my fist, and his heavy low-hangers brushed against my knuckles. The temperature was warmest in that valley around his nutsack.
"That's so good, Uncle Pat," he whimpered.
"Yeah, fuck yeah, it is," I growled.
I felt the cum building up in my cockhead, but this felt too good to stop. I clenched onto Justin's other tit, my thumb brushing against his sleek chest hair.
Right as I pounded my fist down to the base of his cock, I clamped it down, pinning his lower body between my fist and the pillow.
I heard my breath falter with quick and shuddering sniffles as I tried to mask my orgasm. My chin pinned harder onto Justin's shoulder as I caught my breath. Justin didn't react, except for his breath quickening.
"I'm gonna-- dude, I'm gonna bust," he said, his hand grasping at mine to lay off.
"Just ride it, J.J. Ride it to the end."
Justin's fingers slipped away, as he put his hand behind his head. Lifting myself gently up on my elbow, I peered over Justin's side. I had a full view of the kind of fuckstick he had now, hard as a pole in my hand.
The North Pole, I thought to myself with a chuckle.
His cockhead was dark purple now, and a web of thick veins ran down the shaft, massaging the palm of my hand. For what it was worth, the trimmed bush did make his dick look bigger now.
From this angle, I was also centimeters away from his right armpit -- sleek, golden-brown fur, bushy as hell. But it's been bushy for a long while now, hasn't it? At least he didn't trim that part, I thought contentedly.
I seized the opportunity to whiff up my nephew there a couple of times. The faint scent of Irish Spring, I thought, with a bit of the man musk that I recalled after some of his longest football games.
"Are you thinking of ass or pussy, J.J.?"
"Gah--" he stammered, "--a nice tight ass, man. I wanna fuck it down to the base."
"Ball deep?"
"Fuck yeah."
"Attaboy, get that nut."
"Oh fffuuuuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," he muttered, his voice rising in pitch with each expletive.
A thick rope of heavy, white cum shot out. Right onto the blanket that lay underneath us, landing just by his chest. Followed by another rope. Then another. I clutched Justin closer to my chest. Remnants of his 19-year-old spunk dribbled out over my hand, which I wiped onto the blanket as well.
"Damn it, Uncle Pat," he said after a moment of stillness. "Sorry about the blanket."
"It's fine," I laughed heartily, flopping back against the seat of the couch. "We can wash it."
"That was actually pretty good."
"I'm glad," I said, rubbing his shoulder. "Now get your stuff back on and head upstairs. They'll be back soon."
When Justin got up from the couch, the pillow that had laid between us plopped down, and I saw the sticky mess that I left there myself.
I got a nice, long look at Justin's ass. It was firm and round and smooth, with a faint hint of hair growing between his cheeks. A heavy tan line spanned across his hips. Then he pulled on his flannel pajama pants and made his way to the stairs.
Turning to me, he said, "Hey, Uncle Pat... You won't... tell Dad, right?"
"Nah, buddy. Of course. Anyway -- remember what I said before? It's just guy shit."
"Yeah," he smirked. "Just guy shit."
He ambled back up the stairs. I lifted myself off the couch with a slow groan and dressed myself.
After picking up the blanket and unsheathing the throw pillow's cover from the cushion, I wandered to the laundry area in the next room.
I looked down at the blanket in my hands and inspected it. Damn, a nice big pool of jizz, I thought. He wasn't kidding when he said he was filled up.
I brought the blanket closer to my face for a closer look. Nice manmilk.
Thick and white... Fresh.
Oh, what the hell.
I stuck my tongue out, wide open, lapping it, slurping it all in my mouth.
At least that'll help with the laundry, I told myself.
It was the first time I ever tasted another man's cum. It was a bit sweeter than my own, I had to say, but just as thick and creamy. I made a mental note and tossed the fabrics into the washer.
Just overhead, I heard the crunch of tires plowing through the snow. Richard and Matty must be back.
I returned to the lounge that hosted Justin's and my latest escapade -- where we went further than ever before.
I picked up the porno magazines that now lay fluttered at the base of the couch and brought them back to the trunk in the closet.
Then I stood up and, facing the shelf at shoulder-height, lifted the towel that I'd placed on top of the camcorder earlier.
That special artifact, the camera that I'd left recording the whole scene.
I flicked a switch and the red light extinguished before I placed the camcorder, too, in the trunk for later arrangements.
I already have a special VHS tape that I can burn this segment into, I thought. It's called "2003 - Justin's Graduation".
I sauntered up the stairs to the main area of the cottage, a large grin plastered onto my face to welcome the guys. Richard and Matt were lugging in bags of groceries through the front door, flurries of snow chasing them inside.
"Wow, nice load," I said, helping my brother with some of the bags.
After we put all the groceries away, Matt dropped a CD onto the Hi-Fi stereo and started playing some Christmas tunes. First up was "Jingle Bell Rock."
Through the window over the kitchen sink, I saw Christa and the girls several yards away, trudging their path back to the cottage. Justin was running up to them, arms wide, playing tag with the girls.
Matt sat on the couch, a Santa hat propped on his head, and began reading a thick novel.
As the song reached its chorus, Richard began unpacking some wrapped presents from a large tote bag, placing them under the tree.
I stood behind him, adjusting some of the ornaments.
"So Richie," I cleared my throat. "You been naughty or nice this year?"
The End
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Twitter/X: @mharding1985
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