Page 12 of Erotic Temptations 1

Ninety minutes in, my thighs burned. Pillow or not, the seat was concrete disguised as plastic. My lower back screamed, and my beard sagged dangerously. I started fantasizing about a future where the words “seasonal work” were banned from my vocabulary for life.

At some point, a little girl in sparkly pink shoes asked me how reindeer could possibly fly if they don’t have wings. I answered honestly.

“We use Amazon drones now,” I told her. “Santa doesn’t condone animal labor.”

She looked impressed. Pineflame did not.

I checked my phone when I could, sneakily, but in the suit, every subtle movement took three times the effort. At one point, my glove got wedged in my pocket. I yanked it free and ended up punching my beard in front of a line of toddlers. The parents gasped. I chose to believe it was out of holiday spirit.

Sweat pooled between my shoulder blades. My beard itched, probably because I assaulted it. The hat kept dipping into my eyes, like it was dozing off to sleep.

“Santa’s tired,” Pineflame said to someone in front of him I couldn’t see. For the first time, I agreed with him.

The next child in line took a seat by practically vaulting onto my lap. He must’ve weighed more than I did. My bones audibly popped.

The mom whipped out her phone and started snapping.

“You good?” she asked, and I realized, through the haze of beard fibers and artificial vanilla scent, that I’d been grimacing.

“Just enjoying the magic,” I managed. The kid demanded two candy canes and took a selfie with my beard partially in his mouth. I was surprised Pineflame wasn’t correcting me on the proper way to sit while being assaulted by a Naughty List MVP.

After a while, the line started thinning. Apparently, even the most enthusiastic parents understood that after so many crying kids, sneezes, and bribes, Santa sometimes needed a break.

Pineflame leaned over, sliding a jumbo bottle of hand sanitizer in my lap. “Don’t let the kids see you use it.”

I went for it like a drowning man.

By the end of the shift, both beard and pillow had lost structural integrity. So had the lower half of my body.

I excused myself to the “backstage” area, which was really just a folding chair by the emergency exit, and spent five minutes adjusting the tape on my face. The skin felt irritated. I debated just taking it off. Decided to leave it on.

For reasons unknown, Bryce’s suit had acquired the smell of gummy worms, cheap cologne, and relentless sneezes. I’d started out plump as a chopstick, but after sweating out what had to be a liter of water, it looked bigger on me.

Only halfway through the shift, yet it felt like I’d been here a week.

“Ready?” Pineflame asked, looking only slightly less miserable than I did.

“Never been readier,” I lied.

Round two started right away. A pair of twins immediately started fighting over who got to sit on my lap. The winner threw the loser’s hat into the mall fountain. I offered advice. “Santa says sharing is caring.” They ignored me.

Again, the parents didn’t care whether their child screamed, panicked, or drooled. The important thing was the photo. One dad even made his kid pose by yanking their arm into place then turned to me.

“Smile,” he said.

I tried. It came with me looking at him like he was a total jackass.

Pineflame coughed, but it looked more like he was hiding a smile. “Remember the ho-ho-ho.”

“Ho. Ho. Ho.” Even I didn’t believe it anymore.

* * * *

Pineflame’s breath tickled my ear. “Follow me.”

The sound of Pineflame’s voice so close to my ear startled me. I’d been wiping cookie crumbs off my lap from a two-year-old who’d tried force-feeding me moments ago. One cookie had nearly made it into my mouth. I’d turned my head, and my ear had eaten it instead. Might be hearing in peanut butter for days.

I hauled myself up with a dramatic sigh. “If this is about my ‘ho-ho-ho’ technique again, I’d rather eat the beard.”