Eric’s Journal
The air in the community center basement was thick with the scent of dampness and freshly made coffee. People buzzed as if they were at a social event rather than Operation Santa. For three hours, I’d been a cog in a machine of manufactured cheer, opening letters from children and scrawling generic promises on the backs of glossy postcards. “I got your letter and am trying to decide which gift is best for you. Santa.” The words felt hollow, a lie I told myself was for a good cause. My fingers were smudged with the graphite of so many scrawls written in pencil, and my heart felt a little heavier with every envelope I sealed. Most letters were a riot of greed, a laundry list of toys and gadgets. But then, I pulled one from the stack. The envelope was thin, the paper a cheap, lined stock, and the handwriting was a careful, determined print.
Dear Santa,
I don’t know what to do. My daddy is so sad all the time. He had a fight with his best friend, and his best friend hit him. Then he had to change jobs when his office closed. I hear him crying sometimes when he thinks I’m asleep. I wrote my new address at the top; we had to move. This place isn’t as nice, but it’s ok. Please help him. It’s all I want for Christmas.
Love, Joshua
PS I’ve been praying to Jesus to help. Maybe you can talk to him and the two of you can figure it out. Thanks.
A sharp pang of emotion, so potent it was almost painful, shot through my chest. I blinked back a sudden burn of tears. This wasn’t a request for a toy; it was a cry from a child’s soul, a desperate plea to fix a broken father. I looked around the bustling room, at the other volunteers dutifully scribbling their platitudes, spending more time talking to their neighbors than doing the actual task, and I knew I couldn’t let this letter disappear into the void. I folded it carefully, the creases feeling like a sacred vow, and slipped it into my pocket. For the rest of my shift, I went through the motions, my mind miles away, replaying the boy’s words. What could I possibly do? I was just a guy who answered Santa’s mail. But I knew, with a certainty that settled deep in my bones, that I had to do something.
Jacob’s Journal
The blank page of this journal feels like an accusation. Dr. Miller said it would help, suggested I start by recalling the events that led me here. “When did you stop being in control?” he’d asked. “When did the unhappiness begin?” I’ve been staring at the empty lines for over an hour, and the only answer I can come up with is: when did it ever end? But he wants a starting point.
I met Sandy in the third grade. She was all sunshine and scraped knees, and from that day on, we were a unit. We lived two streets apart, a constant presence in each other’s lives. We weren’t a couple, not really, but we weren’t looking for one either. She was my anchor. When I was sixteen, the world tilted on its axis. I couldn’t stop thinking about Eric Thompson, the way his blue eyes crinkled when he laughed, the strong line of his jaw, the cleft in his chin I used to daydream about tracing with my finger. I confessed my confusing obsession to Sandy, expecting ridicule, possibly shame. Instead, she just shrugged. “Some guys are bisexual, Jake. Maybe you just have a crush.” It was the lifeline I needed. I clung to the idea of it being a phase, a simple crush, and I carefully avoided looking at boys too closely after that.
Sandy and I went to college together, a comfortable continuation of our friendship. In our sophomore year, that comfort evolved into physical intimacy. We both had the pent-up desire for something, and we offered it to one another. Sex with Sandy was… nice. It was warm and familiar, and it felt good. She was usually the one to initiate, and I never said no. It seemed like the natural next step, so when we graduated, we got married. Our life was a steady, predictable rhythm. I went to law school, and while I felt flickers of attraction to a few men in my class, they were never strong enough to rock the boat of the life I’d built with Sandy. Then Joshua was born. I remember holding him, this tiny, perfect human, and feeling a love so immense it scared me. It was, without a doubt, the happiest day of my life.
Life became a beautiful, chaotic blur. Sandy worked, I studied and cared for Joshua, who was the most remarkable child, helpful and sweet from an age when most kids were just tornadoes of destruction. In my third year of law school, we found out we were having another. It would be hard, but we were a team, and we were happy. Then, in an instant, the team was shattered. The stroke was unexpected, brutal, and final. Sandy was gone, and with her, our unborn child. The world went gray. My mother moved in to help piece us back together, holding us together until I graduated and passed the bar. I got a job at a decent firm, and Joshua and I moved into a small apartment near my work, trying to start over. My mother went home; a house-keeper picked Joshua up from day care. Things were tight, but we were on a good path.
Then I met Roger. He was a senior associate at the firm, sharp and confident, and the way he looked at me… it was a fire I hadn’t known I was missing. The thrill of being wanted, of falling in love, was intoxicating. It felt like I was finally living the life I was meant to. When he asked me and Joshua to move in, it felt like a dream come true. The dream lasted two months. A bad day at work, a fight over a dishwasher, and his fist connecting with my face. The violence was a shock, but the coldness in his eyes as he screamed at me to get out was what froze my soul. A dislocated shoulder, a trip to the ER, and the next day, a polite meeting with HR where I was informed my services were no longer required. The ER doctor, bless her, had reported the incident.
Now, I’m a law clerk. I cannot prove it, but I’m sure Roger has the word out. I may need to change cities. Joshua and I live in a place that feels like a punishment. The walls are thin, the neighbors are loud, and the air always smells faintly of despair. I see a therapist as part of the domestic violence case. As great as my life had been, it is now a shithole. The only light, the only thing that matters, is Joshua. He is my reason for breathing.
Eric’s Journal
I feel like a stalker, a creep. But I have to know. I drove to the address on Joshua’s letter, a tired-looking apartment complex on the edge of town. I sat in my car for an hour, just watching, until I saw him. A man, maybe my age, with a weary slump to his shoulders, walking with a little boy whose hand he held tightly. It had to be them. I followed at a distance, my heart thumping a nervous rhythm, as he walked his son to school before continuing on to a small, nondescript office building. A shingle on the door read “Martin & Stein, Attorneys at Law.” An ambulance chaser. It wasn’t prestigious, but it was a job. I got the number from the directory online. My original, insane plan to “accidentally” run into him evaporated. The man I saw wasn’t just a hot babe with a swimmer’s build; he looked exhausted. And vulnerable. I had to help, but the sight of him, even from a distance, still sent a jolt through me that fogged my thoughts.
The next day, my palms were sweating as I made the call. “I’m looking for a man who has a son named Joshua,” I said, my voice sounding strangely high. “I was given this number. His name was on my paper, but I spilled water on it. Under the number is his son’s name.”
“May I ask your name, sir?” a woman’s voice, sharp and clipped with a New York accent, demanded.
“Eric Thompson. It’s a personal matter.”
“Hold, please.” The line went dead, no music, just a sterile silence. Then, a click. “Jacob Jones. How may I help you?” His voice was deeper, richer than I expected, and it sent a shiver down my spine.
“Jacob, I know this will sound strange, but I really need to talk to you. You don’t know me. Actually, now that I say this aloud, it sounds crazy.”
“Is it crazy?” he asked, a hint of dry amusement in his tone. “I don’t do crazy.”
“Will you make an exception in this case? How about if I buy you lunch? Or, even better, how about dinner for you and Joshua.”
“You want to take me and my son to dinner? To what end?”
“Christmas. It has to do with Christmas.” It was the only thing I could think of that wasn’t a complete lie.
“Well, I’m intrigued. It’s against my better judgement. But…” He paused for a moment. “How about the pizza place on the corner of 31st and Zephyr? It’s my son’s favorite. I’m sure he’d get a kick out of it.”
“Tonight? Will tonight work? Is six-thirty good?”
“That’s perfect. I’ll see you then.” I hung up, my head spinning. His image formed in my mind, and I felt a warmth spread through my chest, a stirring of something I hadn’t let myself feel in a very long time.
Jacob’s Journal
I’m not sure why, but a man named Eric Thompson called me at work today and invited me and Joshua to dinner. It’s strange, but also… something. A flicker of excitement I haven’t felt in months. I hurried home, the weight of the day feeling a little lighter. After our showers, Joshua and I dug through the clothes my mother had given us. We emerged in matching Star Wars t-shirts and shorts, a small, united front against the world. We should be wearing long pants; it was December, after all, but December in south Texas is sometimes a little too warm. Joshua was practically vibrating with excitement, and it was contagious. He skipped all the way to the restaurant, while I just took longer, faster strides than I had in ages.
We got there just before six-thirty. The place was warm and smelled of garlic and melted cheese. As we walked inside, a man seated near the door stood up. He was tall, with broad shoulders, and as he stepped toward me, something in his face snagged in my memory. The sharp, intelligent eyes, the strong line of his jaw… Fuck. Those eyes. Those beautiful blue eyes with that arched brow and those long eyelashes I’d spent a ridiculous amount of my teenage years thinking about. That strong chin; that cleft I used to dream about kissing as my tongue traced its depth.
“Eric,” I breathed, the name a ghost from my past. “It’s been a long time.”
His face, which had been open and friendly, clouded with confusion. Then, like a curtain lifting, recognition dawned. “High school,” he said softly. “Jacob Jones. Of course. But you married that girl; the one you were always with.”
“That’s right.” I managed a small smile, my heart thudding erratically. “May I present my son, Joshua.” Joshua, ever the polite boy, put out his hand.
“Nice to meet you,” he said with solemn importance.
“Nice to meet you, too,” Eric replied, his voice gentle. He looked down at Joshua, and his whole demeanor softened. “Let’s go order your favorite pizza.”
“Wow, can we?” Joshua’s head snapped up to me, his eyes wide with hopeful disbelief.
“Of course,” I smiled, ruffling his hair. He took off like a shot toward the counter.
“What’s your favorite thing to drink with pizza?” Eric called after him.
Joshua skidded to a halt and looked back at me, his uncertainty returning. I pulled him into a hug, his head pressing against my thigh. “Sweetie, we can afford a drink,” I whispered, my face feeling hot with embarrassment as I glanced at Eric.
Eric looked down, his expression full of a kindness that made my throat tighten. “Hey, bud,” he said to Joshua, his voice low and reassuring. “This is my treat. I asked you and your dad for dinner. You get whatever you want.”
“We’re splitting it,” I insisted, a surge of pride warring with my gratitude.
“I won’t argue, Jacob,” Eric said, turning to me and holding my gaze. “I asked you.” He turned back to the clerk. “Three drinks to go with a super large.”
“So that’s a Super Large hamburger with extra mushroom and three drinks,” the clerk confirmed.
Eric handed over a card before I could protest again. We found a booth in the corner, the vinyl cracked but clean. “So you know my dad from when he was a kid?” Joshua asked, his curiosity piqued.
“That’s right,” Eric said.
“Why didn’t you tell him that when you called him today?”
“How do you know I called him today?” Eric asked, feigning surprise.
“Cause he told me,” Joshua said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Are you being silly?” He giggled.
“I didn’t know he was the Jacob Jones I knew when we were kids,” Eric admitted.
“Grown-ups are strange,” Joshua announced with a profound sigh that made us both chuckle.
“I’ve got to go to the bathroom,” Joshua declared, sliding out of the booth. “But I want to go by myself. Can Eric wait outside?”
“Sure,” I told him, watching as the two of them walked toward the hall. I saw Joshua whispering instructions to Eric, pointing at the restroom door with great seriousness. Eric glanced over at me from across the dining room, and the look in his eyes was so familiar it hurt. He was still so handsome; even after all these years, the sight of him still made my heart skip. Why was he here? He acted surprised, but he was the one who called. What did he want? In that moment, I realized with stunning clarity that despite everything, the grief, the violence, the shame, I still wanted him.
Eric’s Journal
I nearly shit a brick when I saw him. Up close, he was even more devastatingly attractive, and the shock of realizing he was my Jacob, the Jacob from high school, almost knocked me over. He was the guy I had pined for, the one I wanted to date, to kiss, to hold. The one I’d fantasized about, the one I wanted to fuck and the one whose dick I wanted inside me. But he was always with that girl, Sandy. I remember crying myself to sleep more than once because the one guy I wanted was straight.
Now, here he was. His son’s letter was a heavy, poignant weight in my pocket, a reminder of the pain this man had endured. Joshua looked so much like him, with a hint of what I imagined Sandy’s softness must have been. He was beyond adorable, this little man who worried about ordering a soda because he thought his dad couldn’t afford it. It made me want to weep. When he asked me to stand guard outside the bathroom, I wanted to scoop him up and smother him with kisses. He had my heart, instantly and completely.
I looked back at his father. Jacob was watching me, and the feelings I’d suppressed for two decades came flooding back, raw and powerful. We made small talk over the pizza, the conversation flowing easily. Joshua, in his innocent way, filled in the gaps of their recent life without ever revealing the truly painful details. I told them about my quiet life since high school, leaving out the part about how I’d ended up here. When we finished, Joshua insisted we walk back to their apartment, holding my hand in his left and Jacob’s in his right. I left my car and went with them, feeling like I was being welcomed into something fragile and precious.
Their apartment was small and run-down, but it was spotless. Joshua had clearly done his best to make it a home. In his bedroom, two twin beds were pushed against opposite walls. Jacob sent his son to get ready for bed, and Joshua asked if I would read him a story. I agreed, and after I settled on the edge of the second bed, Jacob closed the door, leaving us alone. Joshua immediately leaned in, his voice a conspiratorial whisper.
“Do you like my dad?”
“Yeah, I do,” I told him, my heart swelling.
“You’ll be nice to him?”
“Of course. I would never hurt him.” I knew exactly what he was asking, and the trust he was placing in me was immense.
“Okay,” he said, satisfied. “I’m going to stay in my room now, so if you want to hold hands, you can.” He gave me a brilliant, gap-toothed smile.
“You’re a sweet kid, you know that?”
“No, I’m not,” he said, his face darkening. “I hate somebody. A lot.”
“You know what,” I said softly, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “Hating evil is OK. You can ask God to help the person, but you never have to stop hating the evil things people do.” I kissed his forehead, a benediction, and turned out the light as I left the room.
Jacob was waiting for me in the small living room, his arms crossed as if he were hugging himself. “He wanted to talk to you, didn’t he?” he asked, his voice quiet.
“Yeah,” I said, turning to face him. “He wanted me to know that he’d stay in his room, so we could hold hands.”
“He’s such a great kid.” Jacob’s eyes glistened. He looked at me, really looked at me, and the walls between us seemed to crumble. “Oh, Jake,” I whispered, the old nickname slipping out. “I want to do more than hold your hand, but I need to tell you why I called you, and about high school, and… I need you to know.”
He took my hand, his grip firm and warm. “Then come over here and tell me.”
We sank onto the worn-out couch, the springs groaning in protest. I told him everything, how I’d felt about him in high school, the years of wondering what if. He listened, and then he told me how he had felt, the confusion, the denial. When I said I regretted not saying something back then, he shook his head. “Don’t,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “If things had been different, I wouldn’t have Joshua. I wouldn’t know the joy he’s brought into my life.” He was right. “Joshua brought us together,” I said.
“How’s that?” he asked, his brow furrowed.
“Joshua wrote to Santa.”
“Yeah, I know. I mailed it for him.” Jacob looked puzzled.
“Do you know what he asked for?”
“No,” Jacob looked down at his hands. “Knowing him, he probably asked for a new pencil.” Tears filled his eyes. “You saw him tonight. He didn’t even want to order a soda because he worries that it will cost too much.”
My own vision blurred. “He asked Santa for help because you’re lonely,” I said, my voice cracking. “He wants Santa to talk to Jesus so you won't be sad anymore.” I pulled the letter from my pocket and handed it to him. He unfolded it with trembling hands, his eyes scanning the familiar, careful print. A single tear escaped and traced a path down his cheek.
“How’d you get it?” he whispered, his voice hoarse.
“I volunteered to answer Santa letters. God put that letter in my stack. I don’t know if I’m the answer to Joshua’s prayers, but you're the answer to mine.” I gently lifted his chin, my thumb wiping away the moisture on his skin. I leaned in and kissed him. It was a soft, tentative press of lips, full of years of unspoken longing. He kissed me back, and it was like coming home. I never knew that a kiss could feel so much like peace.
Jacob leaned back, pulling me with him. I shifted, settling between his legs as our kiss deepened. My tongue met his, a slow, gentle exploration that quickly ignited into a passionate dance. I felt myself grow hard, a natural response to the overwhelming intimacy, and I pressed my hips against his, a silent question. He answered by arching up to meet me. I moved down his body, my lips tracing the line of his throat, the hollow of his collarbone. He sat up, and I helped him pull his shirt over his head, my hands mapping the familiar yet new terrain of his chest and shoulders. I wanted him, with a hunger that had been dormant for half my life.
I stood and quickly shed my own clothes, then knelt to pull his pants and underwear off. He was semi-hard, and I took him into my mouth, feeling him swell and grow firm against my tongue. “I need you to make love to me, Jacob,” I murmured, looking up at him. “Put yourself inside me.”
I pulled him into a seated position on the edge of the couch and straddled his lap. I lowered myself onto him, the wetness from my mouth easing the way. The head of his penis breached me, a sensation so intense, so right, it stole my breath. It was what I had wanted since I was sixteen. Tears of pure happiness spilled from my eyes and onto my chest. I began to move, a slow, steady rhythm, taking him deeper with each downward thrust. After a moment, I stood up and turned to face him, intending to sink back down, but the angle was awkward.
“Lay on your back,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.
I did as he asked, on the narrow couch, and he got between my knees, pushing them up toward my chest. I grabbed my ankles, and he pushed himself deep inside me. The new position was perfect, allowing him to fill me completely. Jacob’s lips met mine in a tender kiss as he began to move, a slow, powerful rhythm that connected us in every way possible. I heard his whisper, a confession against my mouth. “Eric, I think I’ve always loved you.”
“I want you to come inside me, Jacob, please,” I begged, my voice breaking. He kissed me again, his movements becoming more urgent. I loved the way he filled me, the way his body felt moving with mine, the way his lips claimed me. With a final, deep thrust, he grunted and I felt the warmth of his release spread through me. I reached down and grabbed his ass, pulling him tight, wanting to hold onto him, onto this moment, forever.
As we lay there, our bodies held together with more than muscle I told him my plans. “I’m going to look for a new apartment tomorrow; I’m going to need your help. We’re going to need to get Joshua his own bedroom.”
I felt his hands move up and massage my pecs. “And once we’re moved into the new place, if you’re not happy with your current job, I want you to have the time to find one that will make you happy.”
Jacob moved and place the head of my still erect penis against him; hebegan to flex his hips to meet my slowing thrusts, and the renewed stimulation sent me over the edge. I slipped inside him and within moments I came inside him with a shuddering cry, and he pulled me down for a deep, possessive kiss. “Eric, will you always remember this moment?”
He wiggled next to me, my softening shaft slipping out, and a small trickle of warmth followed. “We need to shower,” I chuckled, the sound full of contentment. “This is a new day for us. I will always remember it. I promise that from this day forward, only good things.”
We showered in the cramped bathroom, washing away the day and the past. Jacob slept in his bed, and I took the couch, my body aching in the most satisfying way. In the morning, Joshua’s only comment was that he thought I was crazy not to sleep in the bedroom with them. I ruffled his hair and told him the bed just wasn’t big enough. “Which is why,” I added, “we’re all going to a bigger place. A place where you can have your own bedroom, and we can get a big Christmas tree.”
He looked up at me, his expression serious and wise beyond his years. “I don’t need a Christmas tree,” he said. Then he wrapped his small arms around my neck and kissed my cheek. “God has already given me my Christmas present.”
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