“It really is lovely.”
“As it should be, as Jesus’ children compensate the church well, I am sure to compensate myself well!”
“Oh, Percy, you always know how to make me laugh…ah…hum…”
“If that’s ‘laughter,’ then I really gotta work on my material!”
Kristine and Father Creed sit across from each other in the warm, cozy, and, most importantly, child-murder-free lounge of the Parish Center.
The roaring natural stone tile fireplace separates them, symbolizing the inbound holy Christian purge by flame upon the filthy heathens.
Just kidding.
Oh, by the way, that polar bear skin rug is v–i-n-t-a-g-e! And those seats? Genuine imitation leather! They were donated to Father Creed as a prize for the best karaoke performance at last year's canned food drive. One thousand cans of chopped spinach raised for the poor, now THAT must have been one hell of a show!
“Thank you for seeing me at this hour…” Kristine fidgets with her hair.
“God’s doors are always open to a friend, as are mine.” Father Creed smiles. “Please. Is it warm enough for you? Do you need a blanket?”
“Ah, no. I’m fine. I’m fine.” Kristine sniffles as a tear rolls down her cheek.
Father Creed has a pretty on-point guesstimation as to what’s upsetting her, but he must play the fool. “Hmm, I don't know anybody fine that would walk all the way here in the snow without any boots! Except you, of course.” He winks.
Kristine squeezes herself in pain.
Here it comes… Father Creed prepares himself. Internally yawning. Checking his nails.
“IT’S HOLLY!” Kristine’s face wrinkles hard.
See? I told you his guesstimation was on point.
“She, she, she wasn’t home, Percy…” Kristine clenches her hair. “Earlier, we, we, and…” The poor girl is falling apart. “...it was another fight…”
Father Creed keeps checking his nails while Kristine’s eyes aren't on him. “What? Noooooooo. You and Holly?” Father Creed leans in, pretending to be confused and interested.
“No, no. Kris and I…had another fight…”
Ah. Kris refers to Kristopher Kringle, Kristine’s husband. They are always on the teetering edge of divorce. Kristopher always pushes her closer off the cliff, and Kristine having no conviction or self-respect to just fall off already…
“KRISTIE! Don’t tell me he struck the child again! I outta give him a piece of my mind!” Father Creed punches his palm with fake concern and stands up.
“No, no, no. He promised he wouldn't anymore…and he hasn't…”
“Hmph, if I ever see so much as a microscopic bruise on her…” Father Creed's eyes and voice are fueled by feigned friendliness. “Then what happened, my dear?” He’s a damned snake, but a damn good snake.
Kristine sighs. “She hit him. She was throwing things, Percy. Oh God, Percy. A vase hit Kris in the face and…”
Father Creed secretly smiles. He always thought Kris Kringle was a dick and never lived up to his name. “My…my…”
“He grounded her, told her she couldn’t go to the party with us. So we left her home. I wanted to say something…but all I could do was watch as she cried on the floor beside our tree…” She holds herself. “...I'm a bad mother, Percy…”
“Oh, no, nooooo.” Father Creee rechecks his nails.
“...I don’t wanna go back there…” Kristie moans and breaks out into hysterical tears.
“Then don't! Why, we'll find Holly together, and the two of you can stay over for the night!”
Kristine wipes her tender eyes and smiles. “Thank you…oh…where could she have gone?”
“Have you…called the police?” Father Creed raises an eyebrow. Tapping his fingers together.
Kristine's face turns red. “Oh my Godddddd…..I ran over here so quickly…I didn't call yet…”
Stupid bitch, this is all Father Creed needs to know as he hatches an idea. A silly little idea. An awful, silly little priest idea. He fakes remembering something and raises his finger. “Why, she’s with Mindy!”
“...Mindy…?” Kristie looks at him as if the suggestion was blatantly obvious and the most logical explanation.
“That’s right.” Father Creed winks. “The two of them stopped by looking for construction paper and glitter! I'll let you in on a little secret…they were making Christmas cards…for two moms and two dads.”
“...oh…” Kristie laughs. “Of course, Mindy. Oh, I feel so silly. I’m glad I didn’t call the police.”
Me too, bitch! Me fucking too! Father Creed laughs along. “Feel better now?”
“...you always know how to make me feel better, Percy.” Kristie brushes her toes across the floor.
“Making people feel better is part of my priestly duties!” Father Creed huffs. “And after all, I want to be on Santa’s nice list.” He laaaaaaaaays back. ...the nice list…
…
…
Father Creed’s mind wanders wistfully down to the North Pole…
…
“You’ve been such a good boy this year, Percy, but what about me?” Mrs. Claus gets down on her knees.
“Hmm, I don’t know, you’ve been a bad girl this year. The big man said so.” Father Creed adheres to the rules, and that’s that.
“The big man said so? There’s only one big man here, and Santa isn’t on his way~❤️”
“Hmmmmmm, but the boss is the boss…”
“Maybe we can work something out~?”
“Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm……..”
“Maybe you can put in a good word for a bad girl~?”
“Maybe if you suck on my candy cane, I’ll think about it…”
“Oh~❤️ Like this~?
“...I’m still thinking about it…”
“...what if I went a little faster~?”
“Hmmm, what if you did indeed? If you finish it too quickly, you might stay on the naughty list…”
“...hehe…hold still~❤️”
“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!! HO!!!!!!! HOHOHOHOHOHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! MERRY CHRIST-
-TIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINE!?!?!?!?” Father Creed strangles the arms of his seat as he snaps back to reality and realizes that Kristine is slobbering on his stocking harder than any candy cane! “Kristine, why? Why are you sucking my Christmas tree? Why?”
*POP* Kristine releases his priestly penis from her mouth. “You said I’m on the naughty list~❤️ I wanna show you why~❤️” She gets back to business. *SLLLLUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRP*
“OoooOOooooOOOOOoOoOoOooooOh…” Father Creed's voice goes up a few pitches. “I think you showed me enough.”
*POP* “Oh? I don’t think so. This is your present for being on the nice list~❤️ I don’t mind being naughty~❤️” Kristine resumes with “rewarding” our humble priest. “And naughty girls need to be punished~❤️”
Father Creed hangs on to his seat for dear life. It feels like riding a sleigh through deep and wet pockets of snow, and the only way out is to close your eyes and embrace each crash. Each BAM and POW! “I’m about to…I’m about to…” He can’t handle this raunchy rollercoaster anymore because Kristine’s “pocket” of snow ain’t getting colder. It’s getting HOOOOOOOTTTTTT in there, and Winter is fighting the good fight before Spring is here.
“About to what~?” Kristine hunkers down with no intention of backing off. She’s ready to make this Frosty the Snowman melt.
“LET IT SNOW! LET IT SNOW! LEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEETTTTT IT SNOOOOOOOWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!” Father Creed sings from the metaphorical hilltops like a church choir boy as he rises from his seat and cries to join the triumph of the skies! With th’angelic host proclaim-
“...eh?” Kristine sounds a little far away for some odd reason.
Father Creed, flabbergasted, looks down and sees nothing and nobody. Even his pants are still fully buckled. And his silly priest cock is firmly inside his trousers. He looks back up…
Kristine is just sitting in her cozy chair. Equally confused. “...Percy?”
It now dawns on our silly little priest like a bowling ball through glass pins that everything that happened moments ago was all in his silly little priest's head.
Father Creed coughs nervously. “Oh, em hem, you know me…when I feel a song coming on, I gotta let it out…” He turns around. ...and something else was coming on… He sweats a little. ...you took your pills late this afternoon, that’s what it was…that’s what it was… He doesn’t understand. Father Creed has learned to live with his visions of Mrs. Claus and knows how to pull himself out (if you know what I mean), but what happened in his head with Kristine felt so “real” in a way…
“...Percy?”
“Ohhhhh, well, what did you think?” Father Creed tries to play it off.
“...I didn’t know your voice could go that high…”
“And when it does, boy, does it get parched.” Father Creed smacks his lips. “And boy, am I thirsty…” He stares at Kristine’s chest. “...and I know exactly how to quench this mighty thirst…”
Without warning, Father Creed CHARGES ON like searching for a treasured oasis in the desert of Bethlehem…and like following the North Star, soon he finds the source of his divine calling…
…which is Kristine’s magnificent mammaries…and this ain’t no nativity scene…but they can try to make one, if you know what I mean...
“Percy~❤️ Percy~❤️ What are you doing~?” Kristine moans.
“Baby is thirsty!” Father Creed suckles on her succulent nipples. *pok-a-pok-a-pok-a*
“Oh, Percy, be more gentle, you silly boy~❤️ You’re being too spoiled. There won’t be any milk and cookies left for Santa~❤️”
“NO! Baby needs more! Baby needs his milk!” Father Creed FEASTS on those tits like trying to swallow a whole holiday ham. “I need more milk! I NEED MILK!” *NOM* *NOM* *NOM*
“...eh?” Kristine sounds a little far away again.
Father Creed looks around…
“...you need milk?” Kristine asks. Doting, being the innocent sweetie that she is.
Oh God…Percy’s hallucinations are getting worse…it happened again and felt just as real…
“I sure do! Which is in the kitchen! For hot cocoa! Which is also in the kitchen!” Father Creed breaks out into an icy cold downpour of sweat. “I’ll make us some mugs, and then I’ll be right back.”
“...eh? But what about Holly?”
Father Creed zips off. “I’ll make her an extra large mug with lots of marshmallows!!!” Soon, he’s outta sight and outta his mind.
Kristine shuffles around in her seat, unsure what to make of it, but she’s happy to wait.
If there was an audience or a camera, which there isn’t, she would turn to shrug at the audience or the camera, again, which there isn’t, while some hilarious cue music plays, but as there is no audience or camera, she just waits the only way she knows how to do best…
“...eh?”
