OK, this is a bit of a cheat. I published it last year -- but to

another list. But thought it might find a home here this year.

I'd love it if others would publish Christmas stories from years

past. As "A Christmas Carol" proves, a good Christmas story is just

as much a pleasure to read again with each passing year.

No warnings -- enjoy!

HOLIDAY STORY

with apologies to Frank Capra

It had been a rotten day, with things going wrong at regular

intervals, and I was tired and irritable by the time I climbed into

my truck and headed for home. It was becoming unlikely that I was

going to finish my remodel job in time; the folks who owned the

house wanted it done before their relatives started showing up for

Christmas.

I could probably get it done if I worked extra hours for a

couple weeks, but I didn't want to do that, either, because it would

mean leaving Nick alone in the evenings. Normally that wouldn't be

a problem, if it just went on for a couple of weeks, but this was

December, the holidays, and I wanted to spend time with Nick. On

top of that, Nick was going through some deadline pressure himself

right now: he was having his first run-in with finals at college,

and also had a term paper due, and he was not coping well. He

needed me there, both to hound him into studying and to help him

keep the thing in perspective.

Damn it, this was my first Christmas with Nick, and I had

wanted it to be special. Instead it was turning into a mess.

I got home to find Nick in the kitchen, books and papers

spread out all over the table, his laptop computer open in front of

him. He jumped a bit as I came into the room and I thought I saw a

computer game being hastily shut down. Nick would engage in almost

any activity to keep from studying, and although he normally didn't

spend much time playing computer games, they seemed to have become

almost irresistibly attractive to him these past days. As had

watching TV, reading anything but what he was supposed to be

reading, surfing the Web, staring into space -- even doing household

chores appealed to him compared to studying for finals.

After watching him struggle for the first couple days, and

seeing how lost and overwhelmed he looked, I had sat down with him

and we had planned out a schedule of what he needed to study or work

on in order to have his term paper done and be ready for his

finals. Then I had forbidden him to do anything but study each day

until he had completed the tasks on the schedule for that day. But

I was having a bit of a struggle getting him to see that I meant

this -- or even getting him to see that it was necessary so that he

would be ready in time for the exams.

For the moment, I chose to ignore the computer game I'd seen

him playing. If he was keeping up with his schedule, that was

enough. And besides, I'd just gotten home. I could at least spend

a bit of time enjoying his company before we headed into what had

become a nightly battle.

"Hi, honey," I greeted him, leaning down as he turned up his

face for a kiss.

"Hi, Jake. How'd it go today?"

"Lousy. My deliveries showed up late, and they were mostly

wrong when they did show up. I feel like I spent all day just

sorting out other people's mistakes. How about you? How much

progress did you make?"

Nick was desperately bad at prevaricating; his every thought

showed on his face. I could see the worry in his expression, could

clearly see him squirm as he said, "Not bad."

"Okay, let's have some dinner, then you can show me where

you are on your schedule."

More fidgeting. "I really don't have time to stop for a

meal, Jake. Maybe I'll just have a bowl of cereal or something."

"You know better than that. You need a decent meal to fuel

your brain, and we both could use a little break from all this

pressure. And you don't have to cook. I stopped for Chinese on the

way home." I brandished the bag I was carrying.

Nick loved Chinese food, but he didn't look convinced this

time. Still, at my instructions he cleared a place at the table and

set it while I reheated the cartons in the microwave. But when we

sat to eat, he mostly pushed the food around, a sure sign that

something was bothering him -- probably guilt, I thought.

I didn't pressure him to eat, but I did make him sit there

and converse with me until I'd finished my own meal. I let him go

back to his books then, while I cleaned up. I could see him

shooting me worried glances the whole time.

The reason for his worried demeanor became clear when I sat

to look over his schedule. He seemed to be behind in just about

every task on the list.

"What's up, Nicky?" I asked. "I can't really believe this

is too difficult for you. When you've put your mind to it, you've

done fine all semester on the coursework."

"I don't know, Jake -- this is different! It's all piling

up, and I can't take the pressure! I'm just not cut out for this

academic stuff, you know I'm not!"

I knew that there were some people for whom schooling was

not the path to success. I was far from convinced that Nick was one

of those. I wasn't overly obsessed with the idea of a degree being

the only way to get a decent job, but it certainly opened up

additional options. "This is your first semester, Nick. And you've

been out of high school for years. It'll take a while to settle

back into it. If you go a couple more semesters and are still

completely miserable, we'll discuss it again. But I'm not letting

you throw away all the work you've done this semester just because

you don't want to make that last push of effort to get through your

final exams. Now explain to me why you're so far behind."

"Because I hate it and I'm no good at it!" he snapped

angrily. I didn't take umbrage at his tone. He was miserable and

frustrated and needed to blow off a bit of steam. But that didn't

qualify as an answer.

"What were you doing instead?" I asked.

"Why do you assume I was doing something else instead?

Maybe I just can't concentrate!"

I noted that he hadn't denied doing something else. I sat

in silence and waited. Nick hated long silences and would feel

compelled at some point to fill them in. The time dragged on quite

a while this time, maybe a couple of minutes, but finally he huffed

in exasperation and said, "Okay, so maybe I took just a SHORT break

and watched some TV, and played a game or two -- but I need the

breaks, I can't just study all afternoon! It fries my brain!"

"So, are we talking ten or fifteen minutes?" I

prodded. "That's what I would consider a short break."

"That would only be long enough to watch half a show!" he

pointed out.

"So what, exactly, did you watch?"

He was silent again, which meant he didn't want to answer.

I waited. The truth would come out; lying just wasn't part of

Nick's repertoire. Finally he mumbled, "There was a rerun

of 'Speed' on one of the movie channels."

I sighed. I saw no need to lecture; it was clear what he'd

done wrong, and what my response needed to be. "Fetch the spoon,

Nick," I said.

I don't think he was the least bit surprised by the

sentence, but he wasn't happy about it. "NO, Jake, you can't paddle

me!" he exclaimed. "How am I supposed to study with a sore butt?

It's hard enough for me to concentrate when I'm feeling fine!"

"You've got almost a week and a half to catch up with your

studying," I pointed out, "but you won't be able to catch up unless

you can stay focused. I'm supplying the motivation to stay

focused. Please fetch the spoon, Nicky."

"But it's not fair, Jake, I can't help it if I can't

concentrate, I'm just not cut out for this!"

"I'm going to ask you one more time, and then we're going

into the study." The study was the venue for more serious spankings

and almost always involved the paddle, and I saw Nick's eyes widen a

bit. "Fetch the spoon," I repeated.

I could see the tears start up in his eyes, and had to fight

a strong desire to relent. It was clear he was already miserable

and I didn't relish the idea of adding to his unhappiness. But if I

did relent, we'd just have the same scene the next day, or the day

after, and he'd be that much further behind in his work.

Under threat of the paddle, Nick didn't argue any further;

he got up and went to the drawer to fetch the implement I

called "the spoon". It wasn't a classic wooden spoon; it was more

of a stirring paddle -- flat, made of hardwood, flared at one end.

But though made for stirring, it worked great for spanking. Lighter

than the paddle I kept in my study, it stung intensely, but the

sting would fade fairly quickly once the spanking was done. It was

just the thing to show him I meant business but still leave him able

to sit and get back to work in relatively short order.

Nick was making it clear through his posture and demeanor,

though, that his obedience was forced and he was not accepting the

justice of this punishment. His jaw was set and as he handed me the

spoon there was reproach in his eyes. He didn't look at me further

as he shoved his pants down and draped himself across my lap, but

his whole body was stiff with unspoken protest.

I decided to try one more time to establish that he did

deserve the spanking. "What was the rule about watching TV, Nick?"

I asked.

"Not until after I'm done studying for the day," he

admitted, through clenched teeth. "But that was YOUR rule. I

didn't agree to it."

"Who did we agree makes the rules in this household, Nicky?"

I prompted.

"YOU do, for godsakes, you KNOW that -- do you get a kick

out of making me say it?" he snapped. "You make the rules, you

decide when I get my butt beaten, and I know there's no way out of

it, so could you please just DO it already?"

I was feeling enough sympathy for Nick, and the ordeal he

was going through, to keep from escalating his punishment due to his

outburst. It was also clear to me that there was no point in

continuing this conversation. So I just said, "As you wish," and

administered the spanking. I snapped the spoon down against his

bottom in a hard, steady rhythm, and he responded to the escalating

sting with even more vehemence than usual, his cries sounding not

just pained but hoarse and angry. I tightened my hold on him as his

struggles intensified and his cries turned to pleas -- but even his

pleading was angry.

"Ow, OW! I get it, I GET it, okay? OWWW! You win, I'll

never -- OW! -- watch TV again -- ow, owww! -- I'll be the best --

awww! -- little boy in the world, I -- geez, OW! -- I swear!"

I refrained from responding in any way; I just kept

spanking. He was starting to buck under the burn of the paddle,

pressing his feet into the floor, and his voice was choked and husky

as the tone of his pleas changed. "PLEASE, Jake, I'm sorry, it

hurts, it HURTS!" This was desperation, not remorse, but I was

thinking he'd just about had enough, when he started to cry.

Nick had never been pushed to tears, as far as I remembered,

by a paddling with the wooden spoon. The fact that he was crying

was an indication to me of just how miserable and frustrated he'd

already been before I ever started the spanking. I felt for him, I

really did, but I also knew that he had to learn to work through

daunting tasks even when they made him miserable and frustrated. So

I applied several more smacks of the spoon to his thoroughly

reddened backside before putting the paddle aside.

I sat looking at him for a short while, wanting to comfort

him, but not at all sure he was ready to accept comfort. I slid a

hand up under his T-shirt and let it rest in the small of his back,

and when I didn't feel tension there, I rubbed gently. He slid

down off my lap until he was on his knees, his face pressed into one

of my thighs as he continued to cry, and I responded by stroking his

hair for a minute. Finally I took his arm and pulled him gently to

his feet, then pulled his underwear and jeans back up, stood, and

led him into the living room, where we curled up together in the big

armchair, and I soothed him until he got control of his tears, and

then we talked about the trouble he was having, keeping up with his

studying. I let him vent for a bit, and then led him back around to

the fact that he might not like this, but he needed to do it, and I

would help as much as I could. And then I spent the rest of the

evening helping him with his studying.

For a couple of days, things were better. I spent a lot of

time with Nick in the evenings, helping him break his tasks into

manageable chunks so he wouldn't get overwhelmed and discouraged,

checking with him frequently -- even calling home from work several

times a day -- to make sure he stuck with it, and quizzing him in

the evenings to see how things were coming along. He still wasn't

enjoying himself by any means, but between my assistance and a

couple of pointed reminders that sneaking TV or any other forbidden

activity before his daily assignment was done would earn him another

spanking, he was starting to knuckle down and make progress.

But then things got even more complicated. I got a frantic

phone call from my sister, who lived in the same town. I loved

Jeannie, but she was easily overwhelmed by life's challenges. In

this case she was calling in a panic because her husband's uncle, an

octogenarian named Reuben, was staying with them, but her husband

was out of town on business, and her two young sons had both come

down with the flu and she was afraid Reuben might catch the flu and

besides, she couldn't very well attend to a guest while she was

nursing her sons, so could Reuben please, PLEASE stay with me for

just a few days? A week or two at the most?

Normally I wouldn't have hesitated for a moment to have her

send him on over. I knew Reuben, and liked him, and it really

wouldn't do for a man his age to risk catching the flu. But I did

hesitate this time, wondering how Nick would fare, with all the

pressure he was under, having a guest in the house -- a stranger, as

far as Nick was concerned.

In the end, though, I did what I had to do. I said yes to

my sister, let Nick know what was up, and drove over to fetch

Reuben. I installed him in Nick's room -- that is, the room I had

allocated to Nick to keep his stuff and use as a private retreat

when he needed to, although he always slept with me.

Reuben turned out to be a very easy guest in some ways. He

didn't expect us to entertain him or keep him company, he ate

whatever was put in front of him with enthusiasm, and he kept

himself busy all day by watching the TV in his -- Nick's -- room,

which kept him out of our way.

But I had been right in the fear that it was a very bad time

to have a guest in the house. Nick was starting to melt down again

under the pressure of studying -- or, more accurately, under his

resentment and frustration at what was being demanded of him. He

was slacking off again, but I couldn't deal with it effectively with

someone else in the house. When I'd come home in the evening to

find him behind in his work, I was inhibited from being as firm with

him as I ought to be in discussing it with him, for fear tbat it

would escalate into a fight that Reuben might overhear. And I

didn't see how I could possibly give Nick the walloping he seemed

increasingly intent on earning, with someone else in the house. I

didn't know Reuben well enough to be comfortable with him

overhearing something like that, and it wouldn't be fair to Nick.

For that matter, it would probably shock the hell out of Reuben, who

was probably having a hard enough time with the idea that two men

were sharing a bed just down the hall -- although if he did feel

that way, he never let on.

In any case, it added another layer of complication to a

situation that was already spiraling out of control.

---------------

NICK

-----------------

Christmas was ruined, ruined, RUINED.

I had SO been looking forward to my first Christmas with

Jake. I had been living with him for five months now and had grown

ever more convinced that this thing with him had a chance of being

permanent. This would be first time I would celebrate Christmas

with the first person I'd ever loved who loved me back, in the first

place I ever considered to be my home. I'd had visions of cuddling

in front of the fire with brandied eggnog, decorating the tree,

watching "It's a Wonderful Life", going for a long walk in the snow

on a moonlit night -- okay, we'd have to go up into the mountains

for the last, since it didn't snow down here in the valley, but what

better place for a moonlit walk? I imagined giving him a perfect

gift, maybe something I'd made myself -- the fantasy didn't specify

what the gift WAS, only that Jake was deeply moved by it. In other

words, I had some major expectations built up.

Instead, we were both running at full speed just to keep up

with our lives. I had finals coming up, and a term paper to write,

and I was overwhelmed. And Jake was running behind in his remodel

job, so he was stressed and preoccupied. Not only did we not have

a tree, but there wasn't a sprig of greenery or touch of festiveness

anywhere in the house, and I hadn't even begun to think what I might

get Jake for Christmas.

And now, to make things even worse, a strange old guy --

Jake's dippy sister's husband's uncle -- had taken over my room, and

I resented that more than anything. It wasn't the fact that he was

in my room that I particularly resented; I'd never spent a lot of

time in my room, given that I slept with Jake, and that when Jake

was home I tended to want to be where he was. And these days I

found it easiest to study at the kitchen table, where I could spread

things out. It was more just the idea that there was someone else

in the house that drove me crazy. It was hard enough to cope with

the stress without having to always watch our behavior. Not that

the guy seemed to have any problem with the idea of two men in an

intimate relationship, which kind of surprised me, given how ancient

he was. But I was still aware of his presence in the house, and it

affected the way I acted around Jake.

And as the days ticked by, and the situation kept getting

worse, I kept growing more miserable. Jake was spending longer

hours on the job site, so he was getting home two or three hours

later than usual. And I was getting further behind in my studying

and in writing my paper. Before Reuben had come along, Jake had

really stayed on top of things, pushing me along, and when he'd

found out I'd been watching TV against his express rules he'd

paddled my butt with the wooden spoon -- HARD. I had deeply

resented the spanking while I was getting it, but by bringing me to

tears it had helped me blow off a lot of the tension I'd been

accumulating. Plus it had given me motivation to concentrate for

the next two or three days, since Jake had made it clear that he

would repeat the punishment, or even escalate it to a session with

the real paddle, if I continued to goof off as I had been. And he

had been there to help me along, to help me break the work down into

chunks and to quiz me as I went along to make sure I was getting it,

and I'd begun to get a bit of momentum and to grow optimistic that I

was going to be able to pull this thing off.

But then Reuben had moved in, and Jake had started staying

longer on the job in the evenings, and my study habits had fallen

apart. Reuben's presence might not have affected my study habits

much, except that I was pretty sure that while he was in the house,

Jake would not spank me. And I'm ashamed to admit that once that

threat was removed, I lost a lot of my motivation to concentrate. I

know that I should have been motivated purely by the desire to do

decently on the exams, and to make Jake proud of me; but the

absolute fact was that the immediate threat of getting my butt

blistered was a lot more effective than the relatively distant

threat of getting bad grades, and with that threat removed, most of

my sense of urgency went with it.

And Jake's late hours meant he wasn't there to either hound

me or help and encourage me. Even when he got home, he was

preoccupied with his job, and tended to spend a lot of the evening

running spreadsheets and making phone calls to his suppliers and

subcontractors, trying to get caught up. I can't say he was really

ignoring me -- at least once an evening, sometimes more than once,

he would ask how I was doing with my studying and my term paper.

And I would tell him I was doing okay, even though it was quite

clear to me that I wasn't doing okay at all. I managed to convince

myself that I wasn't really lying, I was just trying to keep from

burdening him any further with my own demands when he was already so

swamped with the demands of his job.

And I'm once again ashamed to admit it, but I resented his

absence. One part of me knew that he was only doing what he had to

do; an unhappy customer and the resulting bad word-of-mouth could

damage his business, and his business was what kept both of us

sheltered, fed, and clothed. It was terribly petty for me to resent

him doing what he had to do for both our sakes. But sometimes, when

I was frustrated and unhappy with the situation, I couldn't seem to

help it.

At the same time I felt miserably guilty. I felt I should

be working with Jake, not going to school. If I was working with

him, I thought, we might be able to get the job done on time. In

any case, I'd be with him all day, instead of at home missing him

like crazy, and I'd feel like I was accomplishing something -- not

spinning my wheels trying to absorb facts and information that I'd

never use again as long as I lived.

But then, it had been Jake's idea that I go to school, I'd

think, switching back to resentment. I hadn't wanted to.

But then, he had insisted on it purely with my welfare in

mind, I'd think, switching back to guilty. And even with him

working so hard to give me this opportunity, I couldn't seem to

muster up the fortitude to get through a couple weeks of studying

and writing my term paper.

And Christmas was coming, and I had so many hopes and

fantasies pinned on Christmas, and at this rate, we were going to

miss it entirely.

And a total stranger was living in my room, his presence

making me feel that Jake and I couldn't be ourselves in our own

home, and increasing the distance from Jake that I was feeling.

I was one unhappy brat.

It was a Wednesday evening about four weeks before Christmas

when it all came to a head. Jake wasn't home until about eight that

night. I had actually put in about two diligent hours that

afternoon, trying to make headway on my term paper, before I had

bogged down in my own ineptitude and had become totally discouraged,

and spent the rest of the time, waiting for Jake to come home,

playing solitaire on the computer and watching TV. By this time I

was vaguely aware that there was a willful component to my slacking

off: I wanted Jake to notice and set me back on track. Even

getting thoroughly spanked seemed, by that time, like a good

alternative to this feeling of aimlessness, of getting nowhere, of

accomplishing nothing -- and of feeling like I was just one more

item on Jake's list of troubles.

I decided to cook dinner that night, so I was at least doing

something to make Jake's day better. He had taken cooking dinner

off of my list of chores during the period leading up to finals, not

wanting me to spend the time on it, and there was a good chance he

would be annoyed with me for doing it, but at that point I didn't

care. Maybe it would draw his attention back to the fact that I not

making any headway in my studies.

I had received a call from Jake letting me know when he

would be home, so I had everything ready just as he walked in the

door. He came right into the kitchen and the first thing I noticed

was how tired he looked, which caused a clench in my chest.

"Something smells good," he said, bending his head to kiss

me as I put the finishing touches on the salad. "You must be all

caught up, huh, to have time to cook like this?"

I was on the verge of confessing all, I swear I was -- of

letting him know how far behind I was, and how I couldn't seem to

concentrate, and how I'd been spending a large part of my last few

days goofing off. I knew he would be unhappy with me -- unhappy

enough, quite possibly, to be motivated to find some place

sufficiently private to give me exactly what I had coming. I

dreaded the idea, but at the same time recognized that I would

readily accept it if that's what it took to get me going on my

studying again, and relieve my guilt, and -- most importantly --

make me feel closer to Jake again.

But then in walked Reuben. "I could smell cooking from

upstairs," he said, with obvious interest on his face.

Reuben was a perfectly nice old man, but at that moment I

felt a surge of fury at him. How could he interrupt at a time like

this? How could I make my confession and reconnect with Jake with

this stranger hovering nearby? I wanted to tell Reuben where he

could go, but knew exactly what Jake would think of that -- a march

to the study might very well become part of the evening's agenda,

even with Reuben right there in the kitchen -- and besides, I really

didn't have it in me to attack a nice old man like that, so I held

my tongue.

Jake smiled at both of us, then said, "Just give me a few

minutes to wash up, then we can eat."

Dinner was strange. I was stewing over my problems, and

resentful of Reuben, and trying not to show it; Jake was cheerful,

but it seemed a forced cheer, and I knew he was getting frustrated

trying to get me to join in the conversation; and Reuben seemed

oblivious to the undercurrents of emotion swirling around him,

eating heartily and genially holding up his end of the conversation

with Jake. When we were finished, he helped clean up, as he always

did; then, instead of disappearing back into "his" room, he

surprised us both by saying, "You know, I'm feeling a bit cooped up

in that room upstairs. Would you mind if I watched TV in the living

room for a while?"

Well, what could Jake say? "Not at all, Reuben, go ahead,"

he agreed, and Reuben thanked him and headed for the living room.

Then Jake looked over at me. I was standing there with my arms

crossed and what was probably a mutinous look on my face. "Was

there something you wanted to talk about?" he asked after a moment.

Feeling too sorry for myself to be entirely rational, I

shook my head -- although I really did want to talk to him, badly.

But somehow I couldn't admit it. And besides, Reuben was right in

the next room.

"Well, I'll be in my study for a while, then," he said, and

he turned to go.

"Wait!" I exclaimed, and he turned back to me. "Can't you --

sit in here with me, for a while?" I stammered. "Seems like I

hardly get to see you any more!"

To my relief, he smiled and said, "Sure, Nicky, that sounds

like a good idea. Let me go get my laptop, I'll be right back."

He left the room, to reappear with his notebook computer and

a roll of blueprints. He took half the table, spreading out the

blueprints; I spread my stuff on the other half, and we sat. I was

happy enough to have him there that I thought it might actually

motivate me to accomplish something, and I went to it with as much

enthusiasm as I could muster. But I got bogged down again pretty

quickly. I looked over at Jake, trying to gauge how absorbed he was

in what he was doing, whether is would be okay to interrupt him. He

looked to be concentrating pretty hard, so I sighed and bent back

over one of the books I was using to research my term paper. He

glanced up at my sigh, but didn't say anything.

A while later I humphed in irritation as the ideas on the

printed page in front of me repeatedly refused to stick in my head.

Jake looked up again. "What is it, Nicky?" he asked.

"Nothing. It's just … hard."

"Do you need some help?"

YES! my mind shrieked to me. "No," I said aloud.

A bit later, I was quizzing myself with questions from the

end of a chapter in my book and finding that I could hardly answer

one of them. I was going to fail every damned exam, I was sure of

it. I was growing increasingly agitated, mumbling to myself, and

Jake finally closed his laptop. "Nick, tell me what's wrong," he

said.

"What makes you think something's wrong?" I demanded

petulantly.

"You're talking to yourself over there -- and you don't

sound happy," he replied. "Are you having trouble with your

studying?"

Suddenly I just couldn't hold on any more. "Fuck YES I'm

having trouble!" I exclaimed angrily. "I hate this stuff, and I'm

no good at it, I feel like a fucking IDIOT and I'm never going to

use most of it ever AGAIN, so why am I putting myself through

this?" I could see the surprise on Jake's face at my outburst, but

I couldn't seem to stop myself. "I'll tell you why: because YOU

told me I ought to, you practically told me I HAD to! I don't know

what gives you the right to meddle in my life like this, to decide I

should be going to college when I KNOW I can't do it and KNOW it's

not going to do me any good, and I'm SICK of it!"

"Nick, get hold of yourself!" Jake ordered, in a tone that

usually stopped me in my tracks, but this time had no effect

whatsoever.

"I CAN'T get hold of myself, I don't WANT to, I'm fucking

FED UP with this!" I shouted, springing to my feet.

"Nicholas, I'll be happy to discuss this, but you need to

rein in your temper first," Jake said firmly.

"I don't want to discuss it, it's too late to discuss it!

I'm going to fail ALL my classes and you are going to HATE me, and

you shouldn't have interfered in my life like this to begin with!

How do you know what's best for me? You aren't me! I'm just so

sick of this WHOLE THING!" I swept my hand in a dramatic gesture to

take in the spread of books and papers that constituted "this whole

thing" -- and in the process knocked over a can of Coke I had

sitting there. And I watched, frozen in horror, as a flood of Coke

soaked the blueprints that Jake had spread on the table, making the

ink run even as I watched.

Oh, Christ. Now I'd done it, I'd had a tantrum and ruined

Jake's blueprints. He was never going to get this job done on time,

and it was all my fault. I wasn't afraid of what Jake might do to

me over it; if he beat me black and blue, it would only be exactly

what I deserved. But my guilt over having done it, on top of my

guilt over disappointing Jake by being such a failure in my fledging

college career, completely overwhelmed me. I couldn't stay in the

room with him another minute, and I fled the kitchen even as I heard

his voice behind me: "No, Nick, don't go, get back here, NICK!"

------------

JAKE

------------

I stared at the kitchen door, still swinging gently back and

forth in the wake of Nick's dash from the room, and then back down

at the soggy blueprints. I was almost certain that he hadn't

knocked his Coke onto them on purpose, or at least that it hadn't

been premeditated. He'd lashed out in frustration, and the can had

been in his path, and maybe, unconsciously, he'd aimed for it -- but

clearly he'd been horrified when it had flooded over my blueprints.

It hardly mattered, anyway. I had other copies of the

blueprints, and even if I didn't, I wasn't upset with Nick over the

loss of them. I certainly shared some of the blame for the level of

his frustration that had caused the outburst. As he had so

indignantly pointed out, it had been my coaxing that had gotten him

into school to begin with -- he wasn't really much of an academic

type. I was okay with the idea that he might not be college

material, but I wanted him to give it his best shot before he gave

up. And now, at possibly the most critical juncture in his launch

into college, the pressure was making him fall apart … and I wasn't

giving him the support he needed to get through it. I had problems

of my own, but that was no excuse. He should be my first priority,

and I'd failed him.

My first impulse, when he fled the kitchen, was to follow

him, but I checked that impulse. I needed a bit of time to decide

how to deal with this, and he needed a bit of time to get hold of

himself. He was obviously flooded with emotions he could barely

deal with, and I thought that leaving him alone for a bit was

probably the most prudent course at this point.

But I couldn't possibly focus any attention on my work right

now, so I dumped the soggy blueprints in the trash and wandered out

of the kitchen into the living room, where Reuben was sitting on the

couch, watching TV. He nodded as I came in, then focused his

attention back on the TV. I took a seat in the armchair and stared

at the TV, but I wasn't watching it; my mind was far away.

Suddenly I heard myself saying to Reuben, "I guess you must

have heard that."

Reuben turned to look at me, nodding, and he looked

sympathetic. "Nick sounded pretty upset," he said.

"Poor guy, I think I've pushed him beyond his limits," I

sighed. "He didn't want to go back to school, but I insisted. And

now he's coming unglued with the pressure, and with thinking I'm

going to be really disappointed with him if he fails." I didn't

know why I was telling Reuben all this: I just had the strangest

urge to confide in him.

"Would you be disappointed?" he asked, as naturally as if we

were best friends and talked about my private life on a regular

basis.

"I want him to give it his best, but if it turns out it's

just not the thing for him … no, I wouldn't be disappointed.

Concerned, maybe, since having a college degree would give him

options he doesn't have now. But I could never think less of him,

no matter what happened." I thought about it, and sighed

again. "I'm afraid I've made a mess of things with him. Pushing

him so hard, then not being there to help him. … I thought I was

doing the right thing, but maybe he's right. Maybe I've just been

interfering in things I had no business tampering with, meddling in

his life. Maybe he'd be better off without me."

"Do you honestly believe that?" Reuben demanded, sounding,

well, exasperated. And it didn't even occur to me how odd it was

that he might have an opinion on the subject at all. After all, he

really knew nothing about my relationship with Nick, but somehow his

outrage at my statement seemed entirely logical.

"No, I guess not." I paused. "Shit, I don't know. Right

now, I don't know what to think."

"Well, if I may, I'd like to clarify your thinking," Reuben

said. And, almost to himself, he added, "This shouldn't take long."

"Huh?" And that was the last thing I had a chance to say

before the room went dark, and then it got considerably colder. I

stood, aware that something strange was going on, something beyond

just a normal power outage. And then the light came back, and I was

so disoriented by what I saw that I felt dizzy.

I was in Nick's old basement apartment, the place he'd been

living before he met me. I was just as appalled as I had been the

first time I'd seen it, at the squalor, the cinder block walls and

cement floor, the damp and cold of it. But beyond all that, of

course, was the shock of finding myself there when only seconds

before I'd been in my own warm living room.

And Reuben was standing next to me. So naturally I took my

surprise out on him, turning to him and exclaiming, "What the hell

is going on?"

Reuben answered coolly, as if this sort of thing happened

every day, "You've seen that James Stewart movie, haven't

you? 'It's a Wonderful Life'?"

"What? What has an old movie got to do with this -- this

hallucination I'm having?"

"It's no hallucination. Think of it as … an alternate

universe. An opportunity to find out what Nick's life would be like

it you'd never met him. Kind of like in the movie."

I was about to let him know just how crazy I thought his

statement was, but … I was the one who thought I was standing in

Nick's old apartment, talking to Reuben. So who, exactly, was the

crazy one?

And then a movement in the room caught my attention -- the

lump of blankets on the bed moved. And Nick stuck his head out.

And suddenly all my attention was focused on him.

"Nick!" I exclaimed.

"He can't hear or see you," Reuben told me.

I ignored him, but it became obvious that what he said was

true. Nick was getting up out of bed, and I shouted his name, but

he paid no attention. I tried to go take his arm, but my hand went

right through him, which freaked me out even more.

But what really bothered me was Nick's appearance. Even if

I reminded myself this was an hallucination -- a dream, maybe -- I

was knotted up with concern over how thin he looked, how pale and

tired. He wore boxers and a rumpled T-shirt, and his face was

shadowed with beard, and there were dark circles under his eyes. He

stumbled into the bathroom and came out a couple minutes later

rubbing his face, and wearily sat on the side of the bed and stared

at the wall.

"What's wrong with him?" I asked.

"Well, he was on a downward spiral when you met him.

Without you in his life, he's just kept on heading down. He's

jobless, broke, and about to be evicted. And it gets worse."

"How could it get worse?" I wanted to know. But then I

found out. There was a knock at the door, and after a moment Nick

levered himself up from the bed and shuffled over to answer it.

Three guys came in, one a slick-looking character about Nick's size,

the other two quite a bit bigger than Nick.

"Where's my money?" the smaller guy demanded.

"I don't have it, Vin, I've already told you," Nick answered

wearily.

"That's not the right answer."

"Well, it's the only one I've got."

"You remember what I said we'd do if you didn't have it?"

Nick shrugged. "Go ahead. I really don't care any more."

And at a nod from Vin, the two bigger guys moved in on

Nick. One of them gave him a punch to the mouth that sent him

sprawling, and I launched myself at the guy who'd thrown the punch --

but of course I couldn't do a thing, I went right through him. I

turned wildly to Reuben. "Do something!" I ordered.

"There's really nothing I can do. This is Nick's life

without you."

I took a deep breath, clenched and unclenched my fists, and

said, "Reuben, I know you're an old man, but I swear -- if you don't

bring Nick back to me NOW, if you don't make things the way they

were THIS INSTANT, I am going to have to hurt you." I saw the other

guy moving towards Nick, who lay stunned on the floor, and

yelled, "NOW!"

"I'll have to see what Nick's decision is first."

"What?"

"He has to decide to be with you, too."

The guy near Nick pulled a foot back to give him a kick, and

I was about to yell at Reuben again … when I abruptly lost

consciousness.

----------

NICK

----------

After blowing up and knocking my Coke all over Jake's

blueprints, I ran straight to my room, ignoring Jake's calls to

stop. I was grateful that Reuben was down in the living room

instead of in my room, but once I was there I felt closed in, and I

paced and stewed in anxiety, thinking Jake must surely hate me,

thinking that he must surely be very, very sorry he'd ever met me.

I expected him to come charging up the stairs after me, in a fury,

but he didn't -- and that seemed to confirm that he simply didn't

want anything to do with me any more. And I couldn't go back out

there, couldn't face him after what I'd done, so all I could do was

try to keep from falling apart completely as the emotions rolled

over me.

After I'd been in my room about a half hour, feeling by

turns guilty and angry, bratty and neglected, there was a soft knock

at the door. I hesitated to open it, thinking it was Jake, and not

at all sure what kind of mood he would be in, but at the same time

wanting to get whatever was going to happen over with. But to my

mingled disappointment and relief, it was Reuben. He didn't say

anything, and after a few moments I said sullenly, "I suppose you

want the room back."

"Only if you don't need it any more," he replied. I found

myself looking into his eyes; eyes that were a vivid blue, not at

all faded by age. He looked sympathetic, and before I knew it I was

pouring out my guilt and anxiety.

"Oh Christ, Reuben, I've done a stupid thing," I said. "I

dumped a can of Coke all over Jake's blueprints, and he's already

running behind on this job, he's already completely stressed…"

"Did you do it on purpose?" Reuben asked, startling me. I

hadn't really intended to be discussing this with him, I'd just been

venting. But I responded to his question immediately.

"NO! At least … not consciously." I could feel tears

burning my eyes and, embarrassed, I went and flopped onto my back on

the bed, covering my eyes with my forearm. "I'm so pathetic," I

said. "Jake does so much for me, and he's putting me through

school, and I can't even muster up the concentration to study for my

finals, and I've got a term paper due, and I'm so far behind … I'm

just so pathetic, I can't do ANYTHING right! And now I've wrecked

his blueprints, and put him even further behind, and I'm going to

fail all my classes, and he's going to be SO disappointed in me.

I'm not worth the time or trouble he puts into me, I'm just an

anchor around his neck, weighing him down, wrecking his life, and

he's too softhearted to get rid of me…" I realized I'd been

babbling, and forced myself to shut up and inhale. Then I added

softly, "It would be a whole lot better for him if he'd never met

me."

"That could be arranged," I heard Reuben say.

I slid my arm from my eyes to see that he had come into the

room behind me and taken a seat in the chair by the wall. "What?" I

said, wondering what he was talking about.

"I can make it as if you've never met Jake, if you really

think that would be better."

I sputtered a puzzled, unhappy laugh. Maybe Reuben was

getting a bit senile. "Oh yeah? What are you, that angel

from 'It's a Wonderful Life'? Next you'll be telling me that you

can show me what things would be like if I'd never been born!"

"I'm no angel," Reuben said with a wry smile, "but that's

the basic idea. I can show you what Jake's life would be like if

he'd never met you. And after you see that, if you think he's

better off without you, then we can leave it at that. As if he'd

never met you, I mean."

I stared at him, wondering seriously if he was crazy. He

looked sane, but obviously he had a screw loose somewhere -- or else

he was playing with me. I opened my mouth to respond, but suddenly

the lights went out. "Hey!" I exclaimed, and then I felt a chill --

literally, as if the temperature in the room had dropped twenty

degrees. The cold was accompanied by a damp, musty smell that was

strangely familiar. I started to scramble from the bed to go to the

door and call for Jake, but I hadn't gone two steps when I'd scraped

my shin on something that shouldn't be there. And then the lights

came back on.

And my stomach dropped away.

I wasn't in my room at Jake's any more. I was in my old

basement flat, where I'd lived before moving in with Jake. I'd just

stumbled over one of the packing crates I used to hold my junk. The

place was even gloomier and damper and colder and more of a mess

than I remembered, and it scared me to death to find myself there --

as if the last many months with Jake had all been a dream.

Except that Reuben was there, sitting at my makeshift

table.

"What's going on?" I asked wildly.

"Well, you haven't met Jake, so you're back at your old

place," Reuben said. "But don't worry, we won't stay here for

long. The whole point is that I want you to see what Jake's life is

like without you. So we'll be heading on back to his house, but

before we go, I should let you know that he's not going to be able

to hear us or see us."

"But -- in the movie, they could all SEE Jimmy Stewart, they

just didn't know who he was!" I pointed out stupidly. I was so numb

from the shock of what was happening that I was obsessing over

trivia.

"Okay then, maybe there's a bit of 'A Christmas Carol'

thrown into this little drama, too. In fact, I think it would help

set the scene if we traveled a bit into the past."

And then there was a kind of … ripple. I don't know how

else to describe it. It only lasted a couple moments, and then … we

weren't in my old room any more. It took me a few stunned moments

to realize we were in the house of Jake's best friend Ray and his

partner Scott. We were in their kitchen -- and the two of them were

there, eating dinner; right there in the room that we had just

popped into out of nowhere, yet they didn't seem to have noticed us -

- not even when I called their names.

"I told you, they can't hear or see you," Reuben said.

"What the FUCK is going on?" I demanded, feeling sick. I

swallowed hard, and forced myself to calm down. I was obviously

having a a dream -- a really weird dream, but just a dream. The

thing was, I couldn't remember actually having gone to sleep. But

that was undoubtedly all just part of the dream.

"Just listen," Reuben said.

I was about to demand to know what he was talking about,

when suddenly Scott spoke up. "I'm kind of worried about Jake," he

said. And suddenly he had my attention.

"Yeah, I know. Ever since that fire, it's like a lot of the

life has gone out of him."

Scott was silent for a bit, then said, "I guess it's kind of

our fault. For meddling."

Ray sighed. "Yeah, I've thought that, too. But … it was a

reasonable idea. We had no way of knowing it would backfire so

badly. "

"Maybe we should quit trying to fix him up with someone,

Ray. For one thing, I think he's catching on. For another … well,

maybe he just wants to be alone. Why do are you so insistent that

he needs someone in this life? Maybe he's one of those people who's

just fine on his own."

"Oh, Jake's an independent guy, all right," Ray

agreed. "But he's got too big a heart to be on his own all the

time. Believe me, I've known him a long time. Jake needs someone

to look after."

"Maybe he should get a dog," Scott suggested dryly.

Ray chuckled and said, "Maybe." But after a moment he shook

his head. "I'm worried about him too, Scott. I've never seen him

this reclusive, and he's getting worse."

"What are they talking about?" I hissed to Reuben. In my

fascination with the conversation I'd almost forgotten how

completely weird this whole situation -- this DREAM, I corrected

myself -- really was.

"What we're watching happened about five months ago," Reuben

whispered back. "Ray has a friend, Wayne, who runs a counseling

center for gay teens and young adults."

"Yeah, I know Wayne -- he's the one who got me the job with

Jake."

"No, he didn't. You've never had a job with Jake."

"Yes, I did! That's how I met him, going to work for him!"

"That was in another universe. In this one, you've never

met him, remember? But even in this universe, Ray did persuade Jake

to become a mentor for the Wayne's program. Only the kid they sent

him was a real mess. He didn't show up to work half the time, and

Jake docked the time from his paycheck -- and the kid got so mad

about it, during the night he set fire to the house Jake was working

on."

I was horrified. "What happened?"

"Well, insurance paid for the damage -- but Jake was put off

the whole mentoring business, permanently. And he's tended to stay

kind of holed up by himself ever since."

I couldn't stand imagining Jake in this situation --

betrayed by a person he was trying to help, and retreating into

himself as a result. I wanted to break the nose of the guy who'd

done that to him.

Ray and Scott had gone on to another topic. I thought back

on what they'd said about Jake, and asked Reuben softly, "Do you

really think Jake needs someone to look after?" I didn't stop to

question why I thought Reuben might actually know such a thing.

Reuben shrugged a bit and said, "His best friend seems to

think so. Well, we've seen enough here -- let's move on."

There was another weird ripple -- and then we were at home

again. Not my old basement room, but the house I shared with Jake,

the only place I'd ever considered "home". But it didn't feel quite

right. We were in the living room, and the house was dark and

quiet and somehow kind of … gloomy. Colder than usual. And --

different, somehow. There was no sign of Jake. "Where is he?" I

demanded of Reuben, then started calling for him. "Jake! JAKE!"

"I've already told you, he won't be able to see or hear

you," Reuben reminded me.

"Is he here?"

"He's up in his room."

I headed for the stairs, and that's when it hit me what was

different about the house. There was no sign of ME in the house.

When I had moved in with Jake, the house had been beautifully

restored -- Jake's handiwork -- but still kind of bare and not as

warm as it could be. Jake had indulged me by letting me add little

touches -- framed prints, odd pieces of furniture, rugs, plants,

that sort of thing. But there wasn't one of them in this house. It

was back the way it had been before I moved in.

Seriously spooked, I called for Jake again -- despite

Reuben's assurance that he wouldn't hear me -- and took the stairs

two at a time, heading for his room. I found him up there, all

right -- huddled up in bed, despite it being afternoon, judging from

the light coming in the windows. I knew there was only one reason

Jake would be in bed in the middle of the day: he was seriously

ill. I crossed to the bed, saying, "Jake, what's wrong?"

Of course he didn't answer -- he couldn't hear me, just like

Reuben had told me. I couldn't keep from trying to touch him, and I

completely freaked out when my hands went right through him, as

though he was a hologram, not there at all. I didn't try to touch

him again.

"What's wrong with him?" I demanded, realizing the Reuben

was standing behind me.

"Remember that major migraine attack he had in the fall?"

Reuben asked.

God, did I remember. Jake suffered from migraines, but his

attacks were rare; I'd only seen two since I'd known him. Of

course, knowing Jake, he could have had minor attacks and I'd never

have known it, because he would have kept them from me, knowing how

much they worried me. But that attack in the fall had been

terrible. He'd been bedridden for three days. I'd never imagined

that anything could take him down like that, and it had terrified

me. But I'd done what I could for him. He didn't have an appetite,

but I made sure he stayed hydrated, and that he got his meds at the

right times, and cleaned up when he threw up; and when he started

feeling better, I sat for hours holding his head in my lap and

rubbing his temples. I don't know if it helped at all, but he

seemed to want me there, so I was there.

But now he was alone. I turned to Reuben. "Isn't anyone

taking care of him?" I asked worriedly. "Where's Ray and Scott?"

"They show up once in a while, do what they can. But Jake

doesn't want them here. He's never let anyone fuss over him except

you, Nick. He's never let anyone as close to him as you. And you

aren't in his life right now, so he's toughing it out on his own."

That hit me like a ton of bricks. I'd really had no idea I

held that unique of a position in his life. I believed that he

loved me as much or more than other people in his life, but the idea

that I was the only one he had ever let completely into his shell

just about overwhelmed me.

"Time to go," Reuben said.

"No, he needs me!" I objected. But then there was another

ripple, and we were back in the living room, and Jake was there,

talking on the phone. "Thanks for the invite, Ray," he was

saying, "but I really don't feel much like going out tonight." A

pause, and then, "I know it's Christmas Eve. And I think I'll just

celebrate it here at home. I appreciate your invitation, but I'd

rather just stay in."

I felt uneasy, listening to this. Who was he staying in

with? Another boyfriend?

But after wishing Ray a merry Christmas, Jake hung up, and

went over to turn on the TV, then settled on the couch. I saw then

that there was pizza -- cooked from frozen, from the look of it --

and beer on the coffee table. Jake picked up a bottle of beer took

a big slug of it before leaning back into the couch, picking up the

remote, and starting to surf the channels. The food went uneaten as

Jake went a complete round of the channels without finding anything

to watch. Then he turned off the TV and just sat there staring at

the blank screen. With the TV off, the room seemed very dark.

"What's he doing?" I asked Reuben. "He's not acting like MY

Jake at all."

"He's not your Jake," Reuben pointed out. "Your Jake has

YOU. THIS Jake is going through a bit of an -- identity crisis

right now. He knows something is missing in his life, but he's not

sure what it is. And being a solitary person by nature, it's made

him become all the more solitary."

"So he's sitting alone on Christmas Eve?" I really had no

idea how THIS Jake felt about sitting alone on Christmas Eve --

maybe it was exactly what he wanted to be doing. But I knew how I

felt about it. I couldn't stand it. I turned to Reuben. "I want

to go back," I said firmly.

"Back where?"

"To the other universe, where I belong to Jake! To the way

it was before!"

"The problems will still all be there when you get back,

Nick. Finals coming up, Jake coming home late, the ruined

blueprints…"

"I don't care! I'll go without sleep for the next week if I

have to, to get caught up, and I won't resent Jake coming in late,

and he can spank the daylights out of me for losing my temper and

ruining his blueprints … but I DON'T want him alone on Christmas

Eve!" I didn't think twice about admitting to Reuben that Jake

would likely spank me over the ruined blueprints -- he seemed to

know everything about us, so I didn't think it would come as much of

a shock.

Reuben looked intently at me, and for a few moments I

thought he was going to say "no". And that panicked me, despite the

fact that this was a dream, because -- well, it didn't feel like a

dream, and I HAD to get back to Jake. But then he smiled. "Good

choice, Nick," he said.

And then I blacked out.

JAKE

Somehow I'd dozed off in the living room armchair after

talking to Reuben. And I'd had the strangest dream. But however

odd it had been, it had left me with one thought: that I needed to

get back to normal with Nick, as soon as possible. I had clearly

been neglecting him, and that needed to stop, now. And the first

thing I needed to do was let him know in no uncertain terms that I

was still there, ready to put him back on track when he was

veering. I had promised him I'd never let him head back down the

path to disaster that he'd been on when I met him; I had to keep

that promise.

Reuben was sitting there, watching TV, as if nothing had

happened. "Reuben?" I said.

He turned to look at me, his eyebrows raised in inquiry.

"I wonder if I could get you to go out for a while. I need

some … time alone with Nick right now."

He smiled. "Absolutely, Jake. Actually, I'd love to get

out of the house. Mind if I borrow your car for a while? Don't

worry, I still have a valid license -- and I'm still a decent

driver."

I willingly surrendered the keys to him, saw him off, and

then headed for Nick's room.

NICK

I found myself stirring awake, even though I didn't really

remember having fallen asleep. When I suddenly recalled the events

of the last half hour or so, which I'd spent bouncing around in some

kind of alternate universe with Reuben, I sat bolt upright with a

gasp and a sense of panic -- but then looked around to find myself

in my room at Jake's house, and it looked exactly like it should.

So it really HAD all been a dream, I thought, chiding myself

somewhat for ever thinking it might be otherwise -- but I was still

lightheaded with my sense of relief when there was a knock at the

door.

Feeling a sense of déjà vu, I went to answer it, but this

time it was Jake standing there, rather than Reuben. "I'm so sorry

about your blueprints!" I burst out immediately.

I was so wound up with guilt and misery that I genuinely

thought he might tell me he was fed up with me, tell me to pack my

bags -- so I shuddered with relief when he folded his arms firmly

around me and drew me up against his chest, kissing me firmly before

tucking my head under his chin. "It's okay, baby, I know it was an

accident. Anyway, I have another set. I'm not upset with you for

that."

"But I had a tantrum … and … you hate tantrums…" I offered,

confused by his gentleness when I'd expected fury.

"Everyone's entitled to an outburst once in a while, when

things just get to be too much. And I know that lately, things

really have been too much," Jake responded, kissing me, rumpling my

hair. He paused; I waited, knowing more was coming. "However, I do

think we have to have a bit of a talk about what you've been doing

with yourself for the past few days while I've been busy with my

job."

He sat me on the bed and drew up a chair, took both my

hands, and grilled me -- gently, but firmly -- on how I'd been

spending my time for the past several days. I confessed willingly

to all of my infractions, glad to get it off my chest, more than

ready for him to take charge of the situation. And he didn't

disappoint me.

"Nicky, I know I've been working extra hours lately," he

said, "but that doesn't excuse you ignoring my rules about studying

before watching TV or playing games."

"Yessir," I agreed.

"You should have come to me right away when you started

getting bogged down."

"But you were so busy…"

"I'm sorry if I gave you the impression that you couldn't

approach me," he cut in, "but I thought we had a longstanding

agreement that you would come to me whenever you needed my help.

And especially that you wouldn't wait until you'd gotten into a mess

that even I couldn't really get you out of. You could have come to

me, you could have at least tried to let me know what was happening,

but you didn't -- not even when I asked you point blank."

"Yessir," I agreed guiltily.

"You are always my first priority and first concern," he

went on, "but you have a responsibility, too, to let me know when

you're having trouble with something. And in this case, you've lost

a lot of days that you really needed, to be able to get done in

time. Which is going to make it that much harder, on both of us, to

get you caught up at this point."

"I know, sir," I acknowledged miserably.

He looked at me for a while, then said, "So between all the

goofing off you've been doing against my express rules to the

contrary, and the fact that you neglected to let me know you needed

my help, and lied to me when I asked you about it … I'd say we're

well overdue for a trip to the study."

That meant I was, at the very least, going to get the

paddle. Not at all a surprise, but certainly not something I could

be sanguine about. Dread mingled with honest relief as I swallowed

hard and said softly, "Yessir."

Down the stairs we went. Jake saw me looking around and

correctly interpreted my concern. "Reuben's gone out for a while,"

he said. "We have the house to ourselves." And he took my arm and

guided me into the study.

My stomach was in serious churn by then, and tears were

already burning my eyes, but I gave no thought to protesting or

resisting in any way. I just wanted to get this over with so we

could get back to normal. Jake went to his desk and pulled the

paddle from its drawer, then turned back to me. "Strip from the

waist down," he instructed, and I did so -- reluctantly, fumbling

with my shoelaces and the fastenings of my jeans, blushing hard with

that strange sense of shame that always accompanied baring myself

for a spanking. Finally I stood there in nothing but my T-shirt,

and my throat knotted as Jake guided me into position -- not over

his knees, but over the arm of the sofa, the position he typically

put me in for a serious paddling.

JAKE

I felt a mingled sense of relief and regret as I prepared to

give Nick the paddling I should have given him days ago -- relief

because I was finally doing what I'd known I ought to be doing;

regret because, well, I always hated having to give Nicky a really

serious walloping. And this was going to have to be pretty serious

if it was going to get us all the way back to normal.

Nick gathered up a throw pillow, hugging it to him hard and

hiding his face in it. He looked so vulnerable, and I'd seen that

his eyes were already brimming with tears before he'd even gotten

into position. Well, no point in delaying things. I pressed a hand

into the small of his back, drew back the paddle, and let fire.

Nick jumped and yelled into the pillow. I paused for a moment,

gathered my resolve, and then applied the paddle solidly to Nick's

bare behind in a steady rhythm, until his skin was red hot, and he

was kicking and thrashing and sobbing his heart out.

When I was done, I drew him to his feet, and he stood there

shaking and swiping at the tears pouring down his face, stammering

over and over how sorry he was for being such a brat and causing me

so much trouble. Without a word I took his hands and drew his arms

up around my neck, then swung him up into my arms and carried him up

to the bedroom. Arming myself with a box of tissue, I slid into bed

with him and held him while he calmed down. I could feel the

tension drain out of him with his tears and was satisfied that the

paddling had accomplished at least one of its goals.

He was obviously exhausted after all that had happened, the

fight and the spanking and the tears, but I wasn't inclined to let

him drift off to sleep. I knew that when Nick was feeling tense and

guilty, when his life was galloping out of his control, there wasn't

anything that restored his equilibrium faster than getting his butt

blistered; and ironically, there were also few things that bonded

him to me more thoroughly and intimately than me giving him a

spanking that he knew he deserved. And I wanted to take advantage

of his emotional state to reconnect with him and to figure out how

we were going to cope with the rest of the month. So I coaxed him

back out of bed, and washed his face, and helped him into a pair of

soft flannel sleep pants, and then led him back downstairs to curl

up together in the big armchair. His bottom was still pretty sore,

but he got comfortable by resting his weight on his hip and leaning

into me, and then we sat in silence for a while.

It was Nick who broke the silence. "I really am sorry,

Jake."

"No need to apologize any more, Nick. It's over. Anyway, I

owe you an apology, too, for not being there when you needed me."

"It's not your fault, I kept telling you I didn't need help…"

"Okay, let's just agree to put it behind us and move on to

deciding how we're going to get through the next couple of weeks."

"Okay," he agreed.

NICK

My butt really hurt -- that had been a really intense

paddling, the worst I'd had in a long time -- but I honestly hadn't

resented it at all. It had all been worth it, because now I was

back in Jake's good graces, and feeling closer to him than I had in

weeks. In a way I felt closer to him than ever before. It had to

do with that strange dream I'd had, the one with Reuben in it. Even

though it had only been a dream, it had convinced me, like nothing

else ever had, that I really did play a significant part in Jake's

life -- that he did get something out of his relationship with me

besides just worry and trouble.

I still didn't see how I was ever going to pass my exams, or

get my term paper done in time, and I wasn't sure Jake was going to

get his remodel job done on time, so I didn't have much hope of

salvaging Christmas. But none of that seemed to matter. Jake loved

me; to ask anything else of life would be greedy.

But I found, to my surprise, that sometimes things have a

way of working themselves out, even when they seem pretty much

hopeless.

Reuben came back from his drive to find Jake and I still

curled up in the armchair, trying to figure out how to get Jake the

time he needed on the job and still get me through my exams. And I

didn't feel my usual desire to spring apart from Jake at Reuben's

entrance, at least in part because Reuben seemed completely

comfortable with the sight of us cuddled up together -- but also

because I still remembered how I felt towards him in my dream, that

strange sense that he knew all about me, that I could confide in him

and be confident of his sympathy. Jake seemed to feel a certain

comfort level, too, because he volunteered to Reuben what we were

talking about. And Reuben neatly solved our problem by volunteering

to take over tutoring duties with me so Jake could concentrate on

finishing his job.

"I'm bored as hell watching TV all day," he commented. "I

would love the opportunity to be useful, and I was a pretty good

student in my day."

I was skeptical, but I'll admit it, Reuben turned out to be

a great tutor. Despite his age, he didn't seem to be missing any

brain cells; he caught up to where I was in no time, then learned

the stuff along with me. He was very good at explaining things so

they would stick in my head, and he was extremely patient with me.

He worked with me for hours every day, and the time went much faster

now that I had company. Between Reuben's help and company, and

Jake's not-at-all-subtle promise that any slacking would earn me

another red hot backside, I found that I was able to knuckle down

and make really good progress.

Reuben's tutoring freed Jake up to work the hours he needed

to work, and although I missed him, I didn't think of complaining.

And when Jake's nephews recovered from the flu, and Reuben went back

to stay with Jake's sister, I genuinely missed him -- but we all

agreed to keep in touch.

Finals week came and went, and although I didn't think I was

going to win any awards for my exam scores, I did feel pretty

confident I'd passed them all. And thanks to Reuben, I got my term

paper turned in on time, too. It was like a huge weight lifted from

my shoulders, but the best part was that I could start going to work

with Jake again. It was great to spend all day with him after we'd

seen so little of each other, and it felt great to be able to help

him out. I worked with him for six days, straight through the

weekend, twelve hours a day … but by Christmas Eve the job was

done.

We slept late Christmas Eve morning, both of us exhausted

from the schedule we'd been keeping. It didn't feel in any way like

Christmas Eve to me; we hadn't had any time to get into the holiday

spirit. And I found myself reluctant to just let it go by with no

acknowledgement at all, even though Jake hadn't said a word about

it. Over breakfast, I hesitantly asked, "Jake?"

"What's up, babe?" he asked, looking up from the newspaper

he was reading.

"Do you think -- there would be anyplace open, selling

Christmas trees, today?"

He smiled. "Yeah, I think so. As a matter of fact, there's

a particular place I have in mind. We can head out there a little

later, if you want."

I was happy to hear that Jake had been thinking about

Christmas trees, too, and found myself looking forward excitedly to

a trip out to get a tree. Then something occurred to me. "Do you

have any tree ornaments?" I asked.

"I think I can dig some up from somewhere."

An hour later, we were in the car, heading out to get a

tree, and I was starting to get into the holiday spirit. Jake got

right onto the freeway, heading east, and although I spotted a

couple of Christmas tree lots that appeared to be open, he passed

them up, saying he had another one in mind.

Soon we were in the foothills, and I began to guess that we

were headed for a tree farm. But we just kept heading up, towards

Lake Tahoe, and after a while we reached the snow level. I had

given up asking Jake to tell me where this elusive Christmas tree

lot was, and just sat and watched the scenery go by. The view was

spectacular; there had been a heavy snow only a couple days before,

and it lay like a creamy, pristine white blanket over the folded

peaks of the Sierras, the trees laden with it, the roadside markers

piled high with it.

We went through Truckee and then headed south down the west

shore of Lake Tahoe, and I grew ever more mystified about where we

were headed. Finally Jake took a side road and headed down a

winding road lined with houses. They were beautiful houses, mostly

styled after Swiss chalets or log cabins, set in among the pines,

their steep roofs thick with snow, smoke curling from chimneys.

And then he pulled into the driveway of one of

them. "Unless I miss my guess," he said, "this place is a very good

source of last-minute Christmas trees."

By now I was too puzzled and curious to say a word, and I

followed him silently to the front door. He knocked, and after a

moment the door was opened -- and Ray and Scott stood there. Ray

was obviously trying to suppress a smile, although he had a distinct

twinkle in his eye, and Scott was grinning like a maniac.

They invited us in, and we stepped into a sight that took my

breath away. It was the main room of the house, and the ceiling

soared maybe twenty feet to the peak of the rafters, and one wall

was floor-to-ceiling windows looking out on a snowy, forested

wonderland. There was a big stone fireplace with a fire crackling

warmly, and there was Christmas music on the stereo, and the smell

of mulling spices in the air. And in the corner stood a Christmas

tree, bare of ornaments, beautifully shaped, that must have been

twelve feet tall.

"Will that one do?" Jake asked, and I turned to him and

stared in genuine, total bewilderment.

"What's going on?" I asked.

"We're staying here for the next few days, with Ray and

Scott," Jake explained. "They set it all up, rented the place, got

the tree -- I know the past few weeks have been awful, Nick, and I'm

so proud of the way you worked so hard, and didn't complain, and I

didn't want us to miss Christmas entirely, so … here we are."

I stared at him, and then at Ray and Scott, and then at the

tree … and then I embarrassed myself completely by bursting into

tears. I turned quickly to Jake, burrowed against him, and hid my

face in his shirt, and he put his arms around me and murmured, "Hey

now, what's up, sweetheart? Are you all right?"

I nodded vigorously, and clung to him. "It's just … s-so …

amazing!" I hiccupped.

He nuzzled his face down to the side of mine and kissed me

and stroked my hair until I'd pulled myself together a bit. Then I

turned a bit sheepishly to Ray and Scott, taking the tissue that

Scott offered to scrub my face and blow my nose before

saying, "Thank you, it's perfect!"

Scott was practically bouncing with excitement. "It was

Jake's idea," he said. "But Ray and I set it up. Jake wanted it to

be a surprise, so he snuck clothes out of your drawers so we could

pack them for you, and we've gathered up a bunch of ornaments to

decorate the tree with, and we've got all kinds of good food. So

you didn't suspect a thing?"

My throat clenched up again as I imagined all of them

conspiring to surprise me, and I shook my head mutely.

It was the most perfect day of my life. It started with a

snowball fight outside -- Jake had had Ray and Scott pick me up some

gloves and boots for the occasion -- and after that we spent a

riotous afternoon decorating the tree, getting tangled in miles of

white fairy lights and using Jake's big construction ladder to reach

the top, with Ray yelling regularly at Scott to be CAREFUL. Dinner

was tacos -- a Christmas Eve tradition for Ray and Scott,

apparently -- and then we all watched "It's a Wonderful Life" and

drank brandied eggnog in front of the fire.

As it approached midnight, Jake told me to go bundle up, and

we went out for a walk. It was a full moon, and the moonlight shone

off the snow, giving everything an ethereal, otherworldly beauty.

Snow had started to fall, lightly, the shimmering flakes drifting

slowly down in the still air. Jake held my gloved hand firmly in

his and neither of us said anything as we walked. We came to a

ridge where we could see a vista of Lake Tahoe, and we stopped and

gazed in silence for a while, and then Jake turned and took me in

his arms and gave me a long kiss. "Merry Christmas, baby," he

whispered.

"Merry Christmas," I whispered back. But even as I was

leaning contentedly against him, a terrible thought struck

me. "Jake, I just realized -- I don't have a gift for you!"

"I don't have one for you, either. We've both been too

busy."

"But -- I feel like this whole trip is a gift! The cabin,

the tree … everything!"

"But I'm enjoying it just as much as you. It's for both of

us. Anyway, you've already given me the best gift you possibly

could."

"What's that?" I asked.

His answer floored me. "When Reuben gave you a choice," he

said softly, "you chose a life with me."

My breath caught. "What -- what are you talking about?" I

asked.

"You know."

"But -- that was a dream! How would you know what happened

in my dream?"

"Because … maybe it wasn't a dream. It happened to me, too,

Nick."

I stared at him. At first I was staring in shock at the

idea that Jake had had the same strange experience as me. But once

I got a bit used to that idea, another thought became foremost in my

mind. And I said softly, "So -- you chose life with me, too?"

"Christ, of course I did. I love you more than my next

breath, Nick. I never want to be without you. Having you here with

me, right now, sharing this moment … I couldn't ask for a better

gift."

My voice shaking, I said, "Me neither." And Jake kissed me

again.

That night, after a long session of lovemaking -- in the big

four poster bed of the cabin's master bedroom, and on the rug in

front of the gas fireplace in the bedroom -- I was slipping off to

sleep with Jake's big, warm body curled around me, and a thought

occurred to me. All of my Christmas fantasies had come true. We'd

decorated a tree, cuddled up with eggnog in front of the fire,

watched a Christmas movie, gone for a moonlit walk in the snow … and

I'd even managed to give Jake a gift that he cherished. And all

after I'd given up hope of having any kind of Christmas at all.

With a sigh of contentment, I snuggled back against Jake, and as I

drifted off to sleep, I murmured, "Thanks, Reuben."

And I thought, it really IS a wonderful life.