Chapter 3: Christmas

Over the weeks together, Cheryl got less nervous and timid around me. We had gotten very comfortable with each other. We had fun gabbing at night while we read whatever books or magazines were in the house or joking with each other while doing the jobs I gave her. The first hint of Cheryl’s attraction to me and wanting me to be attracted to her was when we finally went into town. The whole place was done up for Christmas, with wreaths on every other telephone pole and lighted snowmen and Santa’s on the others. Brightly colored lights hung high over Main Street, and businesses had sprayed white snow on their windows, not that it was needed.

She needed clothes to replace her signature outfit of my baggy sweatpants and a sweatshirt. Plus, she had been going without underwear the whole time. Once in town, we found the selection wasn’t great, as she tried on different clothes. She came out and modeled each outfit for me, and she asked me each time if I thought she looked sexy in the outfit. She did, but it wasn’t the outfits. The regular meals at the table had gotten rid of the pasty look of an underfed girl. The color returned, but she was careful not to overdo it. She ate only enough to put meat on her bones. She could have given her namesake a run for her money. Over the time she had been with me, she had come more and more out of her shell. Without hiding her personality, as well as her body, she became extremely sexy. I made the mistake of telling her as much by saying, “You know you look beautiful in anything you wear, even my sweats.”

She beamed, “No, I’m not. But I’m glad you think so.” After which, I noticed one other thing of interest. Each of the outfits she modeled after that got progressively more revealing, accentuating more of her honed legs, nice round butt, and the small tits on her chest.

The most revealing outfit was when she came out in a short sweater dress. Its length was such that had she bent over, she would’ve shown me all of her pussy. I said, “I love the outfit, but you know it snows a lot in Montana. And even though it looks damn good on you, I don’t believe you would get much wear out of it since you can’t really wear it outside the house.” She turned and hurried back into the dressing room. She pulled the curtain shut before I finished. “I think something a little heavier that covers your legs and arms is pretty much needed anytime you leave the house this time of year.”

Two seconds later, she threw the curtain back, coming into a small area where I was. My eyes just about came out of my head as she jokingly said, “So, no going outside in just this.” On her lush, lean body were only a lace bra and panties. Her blonde hair hung down, wavy across her shoulders and down her chest, covering most of the bra’s straps. The end curls touched the curve on the tops of her tits. And despite her tit’s diminutive size, they looked large in the bra. The tops of the pinkish soft cones on the lemons showed out the top, making little half circles. The tapper of her flat stomach directed my eyes further downward to the French-cut panties. They came up and hugged her full outer pussy lips, making a camel toe. I felt like my reaction was like one of the horn dogs in cartoons, with my eyes popping way out of my head, whistling, and having my tongue dripping saliva as it hung lewdly from my lips. She was fucking hotter than any woman I had ever seen. And over the years, I’d dated only women and girls who had been beauty queens; not intentionally, it just happened that way. I saw the joy she had in making my eyes bug out looking at her young, sexy body. I really hated to burst the girl’s bubble. She was intentionally trying to be more sexy and provocative than at any time since we had met. Yet there was one little flaw in her appearance. It wasn’t so much a flaw as an oversight. Or she was subconsciously wanting me to see her as more than a little girl. In a level voice, trying not to show too much excitement over the goddess-like view she was, I quietly said, “Not all the grass is in the shade.” She looked at me like she didn’t understand my peculiar statement. I tried a second time: “The rug is extended outside the room.” Initially, she didn’t know what I meant. She followed my eyes to her covered pussy where she saw the mini blonde hairs hanging out everywhere from the cream-colored lace underwear. All of her skin at once was blushing red; she was so embarrassed.

She turned around quickly and said, “Oh my God, I can’t believe you could see my pussyhairs.” She reached back and re-drew the dressing room curtain. When she came back out, she was in my sweats and had her arm tightly across her chest.

I told her, “It’s okay, you looked very sexy in the bra and panties. Actually, you’re more gorgeous than any girl I’ve seen. And any guy who had seen you like that would think so. And that a few stray hairs won’t change that ever. But if you really want the underwear set, I’ll buy it for you. But I don’t expect to see them anywhere but the wash. And we’ll get you a razor, so when you are eighty-four years old and want to model them again for me, that won’t happen a second time.”

She said, “Thank you. You’re so sweet.” At the same time, Cheryl jumped into my arms and wrapped her arms around my neck, hugging me for the first time since I had seen her in the back of my vehicle. Her warm body hugged tightly against mine, encouraging my cock to stand up straighter and bump against her as she hugged me. Cheryl didn’t back away from my hardness but jumped and climbed up even higher on my body. As she did, her pussy rubbed against my hardness.

We left the store with me, buying her clothes for school and the bra and panty set she had modeled just because. She had slipped in a couple others that I imagined were designed to be just as enticing as the modeled set, if not more so. The stowaway undergarments she had thought I didn’t see were between the respectable white panties and plain bras.

Outside the store, I gave her the bad news: “Cheryl, you know the clothes are so after Christmas break you can start a new school.”

“But I don’t want to go; I like hanging out with you and walking around in the woods.” She argued.

“Cheryl, these aren’t the pioneer days. You can’t think you can get by with so little education.” I told her. And, while I’m sure she would have made a great fuck toy, which required little more than a mouth, pussy, and asshole and the ability to follow directions, I was beginning to like this girl. I thought that she deserved more out of life than being someone’s plaything.

“But women back then did. Why can’t I?” She continued to argue.

“Well, let’s see. If it were back then, you’d be married and likely pregnant with your first child. A child you’d have with no drugs to ease the pain when giving birth. You’d be expected to do what your husband or parents said, no matter what you thought about it. You’d have to wash, cook, and clean without any discussion or argument.” I told her, setting her up for what I figured would come next.

“Hey, I do some of those.” Cheryl objected strongly and loudly. Then meekly she suggested, “And we could get married and have a baby.”

“Well, if I were your husband, I’d say you had to go to school. And, as your legal guardian, I say you have to go to school. So you’d have to go to school even if we lived one hundred years ago.” I grinned broadly, knowing I had won before the discussion had even started.

“Oh, you set me up. Fine, I won’t marry you.” She huffed. “But you can’t make me go to school.” I looked over at her and raised an eyebrow at her statement. She immediately went on to clarify, “No, not like I won’t go. I’ll go if you say I have to. But kids will make fun of my name. I’m not Cheryl Ladd, and she is so much prettier than me. The other kids will make fun of me.”

“I see, so all these weeks you have been giving me a fake name?” I said seriously. all the while laughing on the inside. “So, Cheryl, what is your surname? By the way, a surname is the last name. And have you been faking being pretty, also?”

“No! And I kinda figured out what a surname is. But I would still rather not say. Can I go by Wick?” She asked.

“But then people will think we’re married since you don’t look like me,” I teased. “And you just said you wouldn’t marry me. And now you ask me to marry you so you can take my name. Boy, that was a fast change of heart.”

She got red and flustered, “No ... No, nothing like that. I guess I could be called Smith or West, or anything else than Ladd. I just thought Wick would be nice. Kinda like a family.”

“I see, like I’m your third cousin, twice removed,” I said. Then I joked, “You know, in Alabama, they wouldn’t call you a third cousin, twice removed?”

“Oh, why not?” She was confused.

“They’d just call you my wife.” I chuckled. Getting back to being serious, “So it is good that the legal papers I have say you’re my ward have your name as Cheryl Wick.”

Not asking about how I managed the legal paperwork, she sounded disappointed. “So ward, not wife.”

“Yeah, again, we don’t live in Alabama, where it isn’t strange to be married to a pregnant middle schooler.

I knew I had slipped up with the pregnant comment when she grinned widely, making her dimples tight points in her cheeks. “I was in eighth grade, but it wasn’t all that hard. Could you make me a sophomore?”

“I guess I can have your school records show you’re in tenth grade. You didn’t go to Merrill Middle School or East High, did you?”

“No, I went to Kepner Middle School. Why?” she asked.

“Because I want it to be a school from the Denver area, but not the school you went to. It makes for fewer things you’ll have to remember when people ask you about your background.” I answered. She seemed impressed: “You must do this a lot, make-up names and backgrounds.” The look she got from me told her she was walking a little too close to the line of acceptable. So she hugged my arm, putting her head up against it. “Thanks. You’re wonderful.” With that, we headed home, knowing we weren’t done shopping.

The next day, we went back into town. More clothes were on the agenda, along with winter boots, a coat, shoes, and other items to go traipsing around in the snow. The first store had a sprig of mistletoe hanging over the entrance to the dressing room. Cheryl waited until no one was around, and without my being aware of it, she put me under the greenery.

She quickly wrapped her arms around my neck and raised herself up the last little bit, putting her lips to mine. The suddenness of her action was one thing, but her tongue poking at my lips in a clumsy attempt at a French kiss was something else. Clumsy or not, sudden or not, her lips on mine filled my dick with blood. I’m fairly sure she felt the rise as she held her lips to mine much longer than most kisses under the mistletoe.

When she pulled back, I inquired, “And what was that?”

“Haven’t you heard of that?” she asked in return. I had always thought it strange that people considered standing under a poisonous plant a reason to kiss someone.

“Yes. It’s just...” I didn’t finish before she broke in.

“What didn’t you like it? ... I’m a bad kisser ... Am I a bad kisser?” She looked defeated in her question.

I couldn’t say yes and crush the girl, but I wouldn’t lie to her either. I instead answered with a different reason for my hesitation. “I’m just used to those kisses being quick and on the cheek.”

“What? You’re under the mistletoe.” She pointed up. “You get a kiss when you’re under it.”

“OK?” I said, drawing it out into a question.

“Oh. I thought they were supposed to be on the lips.” She said.

I leaned in and kissed her soft, dimpled cheek. “I’ll tell you what. You do it your way, and I’ll do it mine. Because either is fine.” She smiled broadly, her dimples coming back into view.

I saw her start looking for more mistletoe as we continued shopping. It was fun acting oblivious to her working so hard to get me under the holiday tradition. Each time she succeeded, she did as she had the first time. Her soft lips and her probing tongue ended up on my lips, but there was a minimal improvement with each kiss. She continued to make the kisses last and make my dick harden. I kissed her cheek in return, having her smile. But I wasn’t sure if it was the kiss that had her smiling or that she got to surreptitiously grind on my hard dick longer. Either way, by the end of our shopping, I was ready to hammer nails with my cock.

Cheryl looked very pleased when she got into the station wagon. I don’t know if it was the shoes and clothes or the fact she had rubbed her sweatpants-covered clit against my dick a dozen times while she kissed me. I didn’t ask when she skipped happily back into the cabin when we got home.

The last week before Christmas, Cheryl had been being extra good. She cooked a couple of good dinners and cleaned the dishes by herself, even when I said I would do them with her. She also didn’t ask to go to town with me every time I went. The only thing she had done while I was away was mount a small bit of mistletoe above the chair I sat and read in at night. She used it as an excuse to give me a good-night kiss with an attempt at Frenching every night.

Early on Christmas Eve, I gave her an early Christmas present. She looked at the wrapped present and smiled. She asked, “Are you a let the wrapping paper fly kind of guy or cut the tape carefully with a knife neatly guy?”

“What do you think?” I asked, seeing if she read me right.

“I can see you going either way. So I’m gonna say I need to get a knife.” She said, starting to stand.

She had read me right, but today I wanted to see her exuberantly tearing into her presents. “You’re right But sit down and tear into it.” She did as instructed.

Cheryl’s eyes got big after she took the lid off the box. She stood up and held the full-length dress up to her body, swinging from side to side. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.” She hugged my neck tightly and again kissed me. Kind of sad after the initial joy, she stated, “But I didn’t get you anything for Christmas.”

Her pout after showing so much joy had me choose my words very poorly, “You’re more than enough of a Christmas present for me.” I went on to say, “Now you have to wear that tonight. We are going to midnight church. And sorry to say, church is going to be one of our new activities on Sundays. It’ll be a way to start fitting into the community.”

Cheryl obediently said, “OK, Sunday church. It won’t be one of those long-winded types of churches, will it?” She didn’t seem to be paying any attention to my answer but was still mulling over my last answer.

“No. Catholic Church. It’s the denomination I went to as a kid.” I said before saying, “Well, go put it on. I want to see if I got the right size.”

She came out of my room, where she dressed while I stayed in the main room. She looked gorgeous in the red dress that hugged her body in all the right places but wasn’t too sexual for her to wear to church. She finished the outfit off with a pair of black leggings that made her sculpted legs look unreal, as if, by some miracle, Cheryl had gotten the legs of Cheryl Tiegs and made them better. Unfortunately, her dainty feet had to be in fur-lined boots instead of two-inch heels, making her ass more shapely.

After looking at herself in the mirror, she got giddy and bounced all the way over into my arms, where she hugged me tightly, molding my body into hers. “I love it. It is so beautiful.”

“And you make it more so,” I said, hugging her back. I could tell she wanted to kiss me, but I held her tight so she couldn’t ruin the moment with a clumsy and imperfectly done kiss. And when escape was possible without our lips meeting, I quickly did so. I went to the one closet and pulled out a full-length fur-lined coat that went with the dress and said, “So you don’t get cold.”

Her smile illuminated the room even more. I went to dress after she tried on the coat. I came back in my suit. It was the only one I owned since, for the past couple of years, I had only worn my dress uniform when formal attire was needed. Blending in wouldn’t have been possible had I worn it with a chest full of medals and ribbons. Cheryl whistled when I came out, “You’re really cute, like that.”

“I’m glad you like it,” I said, and I shuffled her into the car. Cheryl got fidgety during church, but she saw there were a few other teens her age in the general area. I saw the older teen boys checking her out when she took her coat off. They, and some of the older men who ogled her, quickly stopped when I stared at them. I’ve been told I have a sweet face most of the time but can have the look of a cold-blooded assassin at others. I guess that makes sense.

Cheryl had one girl come up and introduce herself after church. The eighteen-year-old brunette had big, round charcoal eyes. Her name was Jane Fields. After talking with Cheryl, she realized Cheryl was much young. When Cheryl said she was a sophomore, Jane said she had a sister, Helen, who was Cheryl’s age. Jane dragged the overly shy Helen over to meet Cheryl. Helen was going to be the spitting image of her older sister one day, but she still had some developing to do. It turned out that Helen had skipped a grade early on. Being so much younger than her classmates had made her beyond bashful. Yet somehow, in the five minutes that the two girls talked, they hit it off. I knew, then, that Helen would be Cheryl’s best friend and confidant in the future.

Back at home, I let Cheryl have a little spiked egg nog, which she adored. I cut her off at one glass, not wanting her to get sick in her new dress. Which she refused to change out of. It was good since the pictures I took of her opening her other presents ended up looking stunning. After her dress, her favorite presents were the two guns I got her.

I got her a small twenty-two that was designed to be carried in a purse and an AR-10. The AR was for personal protection when I was gone. The twenty-two was for protection for when she was old enough to date. I think she liked the idea of spending time out in the woods with me learning to shoot them. When all of her presents were opened, she again looked sad and embarrassed; she hadn’t gotten me anything.

I again assured her, “Cheryl, having you is more than enough of a present for me.” Again, I had phased my thoughts badly after having one glass too many of the egg nog.

Christmas morning, the house was a bit colder than usual, as I hadn’t put extra logs on the fire before going to bed. But I had gone to bed in my usual night attire of nothing. It was something Cheryl didn’t know I did. So when a cold blast of air hit my bare skin, it immediately woke me, though not fully. The previous night’s alcohol had dulled my natural light sleeping. It was just enough to see a heavenly vision in a black lace thong and nothing else climb under the covers and basically on me.