The Christmas Lollipop

Hello Readers! This story is a little lengthier than I had intended it to be, therefore it takes a while to get to the juice. There's plenty of teasing and taunting along the way, but if you've got the patience for that sort of thing, then let's go for it! If not, no biggie. I hope you guys like it and thank you for reading!

Part One: A Jolly Reunion

The train shrieked forward as it made its way through the countryside. As Madeline rode in her seat next to the window, her young body was propelled forward and back from the motion of the train. Her big blue eyes feasted on the stark, naked trees deprived of their leaves, the patches of slushy snow scattered along the wet grass. But the snow that was falling - the pure, Santa's-workshop-snow - was now sprinkling itself down in contrast to all of Mother Nature's dirty squalor. The lightly falling snow promised her little pieces of heaven. Madeline had no idea why she thought that, except that it seemed appropriate it do so. She smiled slightly to herself and looked at the magazine on her lap.

Currently, she was headed an hour east to visit a friend who had just had an appendectomy. Routine surgery, sure, but Madeline - or "Maddy" as she was sometimes called - rarely missed a beat when it came to the ups and down of friendships and relationships. In the beginning of a romantic relationship, she was outrageously coy and suggestive, but, once in it, she was attentive, passionate, and humorous. This friend, however, was just that: a friend.

The time was November 2005 and Thanksgiving would be celebrated in a few weeks. She would have four days off then, but it was towards the end of the year, around Christmas and New Year's, that she was really pinning her hopes on resting and recharging her batteries. If you were to sum up her life on a sheet of paper, most people would be impressed: a 20-year-old junior in college studying to be a pediatrician while also juggling two jobs, one as a nude model in the university art classes, and the other working at a makeup counter in a drugstore. The students would receive nearly three weeks off for their winter break, and she had requested - months ago - that she get a two-week vacation from both her jobs to coincide with her school recess. The requests had been granted, and she looked forward to her time off.

Life had given her an unfair - but not an unmanageable - hand to deal with. When she was a baby, her father left the family; from then on, she was raised by her mother until she was 17. At the age of 17, Madeline's mother suffered from an aneurysm in her brain which eventually caused a stroke and led to her premature death. After a long period of mourning had taken place, Madeline found a ray of light in the profession she wanted to pursue: Children's medicine. This took the sullen teenager and lifted her from the trenches of grief. In its place she found passion, ambition, optimism, charisma, humor, and beauty - both inside and out. She had returned.

As she flipped through her glossy magazine, the occasional man would pass by and always be struck by her physical attractiveness. It was noticeable to just about anyone who encountered her. She stood about 5'4" and her weight hovered around 115 lbs. She was full breasted but not outrageously so; her legs were long for her height. Her long brown hair landed to her waist and there was just a light layering of bangs upon her forehead. Underneath the edge of those bangs were plucked eyebrows, and underneath the eyebrows shone two great blue orbs that were eyes, big planets the color of the ocean. She had a straight, well-crafted nose, sensuous lips, and behind those lips, planted firmly, were two sets of white teeth, perfect rows (with a slight overbite) that shone cosmically when she grinned and laughed.

Currently stuck on an article about how to achieve multiple orgasms telepathically, her eyes were drawn from the periodical, and she looked up to see a man staring at her from the aisle of the swaying train. She recognized him immediately. It was Tony, her music tutor from her old Catholic high school. It was nearly factual opinion of Madeline's mother that music was a needed subject in school, so Madeline was forced to take piano lessons from Tony - a musical instrument she could never master. But at the age of 14 till the age of 16 when this one-named, nearly Godlike creature had entered her life, he didn't need (or want) a last name: to call him Mister So-and-So was much too formal for him.

She grinned brightly, looking up at him from her seat. "Hi Tony. Do you remember me? My name is Madeline Weber."

He nodded and smiled. "Yes, I remember. Sorry I was staring." He laughed. "I didn't mean to look like a pervert."

"No no," Madeline reassured him, gesturing to the empty seat across from her. "You're not at all. Would you like to join me? These rides can get a little boring."

He grinned and nodded, holding up his hand in a gesture of gratitude and took the seat across from her. He still carried himself like the same old Tony, and this was confirmed when he took a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it with a gas station lighter. Same old Tony, she thought, and put her magazine down, practicing that attentiveness she was always so good at it.

When Tony had tutored her for those two years in her adolescence, she had developed a very quick but long-lasting crush on him. Back then, at that point, she was just a typical Catholic schoolgirl: Shy around boys, prone to blushing at a compliment, frizzy Bride of Frankenstein hair knotted down in two pigtails, moon-faced with acne craters, and the typical parochial schoolgirl outfit of a dowdy, baggy plaid skirt, a blouse, and an equally dowdy sweater.

So, with all that said, one could easily see how a young, impressionable woman would be dazzled by the rebellious, hip, musician type. They grew close as tutor and pupil in those two years, and, on certain occasions, Madeline would even ask him advice on boys, a topic she could never broach with her distant, if loving, mother. Three days a week after school they would sit on the piano seat together, practicing in the luxury of her living room, sharing snacks and milk during small breaks, and getting to know each other in the bashful way that only a young lady would with a man who is older and off-limits.

Madeline asked him what he was doing with himself these days. He puffed on his cigarette and crossed his ankle over his knee in a casual gesture. He was wearing jeans - like she always remembered - worn out boots, and a heavy winter coat. In the Northeastern region of the United States in winter, one could not get by without a heavy coat to shield them from the ice and snow and sleet and wind.

"Well, I'm actually a record producer in New York now," he answered, grinning.

"Really." Madeline replied, still like a schoolgirl in awe of his charismatic presence.

He nodded. "Yeah, that's why I decided to leave my job as a tutor. You know how much I love my music, so I got into it through the help of a musician buddy of mine. A guitarist. Like Clapton, only stupider. Know what I mean?"

"Almost," Madeline replied and tossed her head back laughing.

"How about you, what have you been up to these last few years?" he asked, glancing at her above the fiery, orange end of his chimney-like cigarette.

She went into all the things that had happened over the last four years. The death of her mother being the darkness that eventually propelled her into the light of a college career and professional career that she most desperately needed; they were her life preservers during those years. They gave her something to hang onto. But she did not say all this, she merely gave the basics; she didn't want to wax poetic.

Tony looked concerned and empathetic when hearing about the death of her mother, but his expression changed and lightened when he heard the positives that had come to her, especially in these last couple of years after she had started her college career. When his expression lightened like that, his whole demeanor changed: his eyebrows fell back and opened his face, a twinkle in his eye showed he was engaged, and a crooked grin and nod showed he was impressed by her moxie and ambition.

As she told her story of the past several years, she absentmindedly played with the pages of the magazine, flipping them back and forth, her glances only occasionally meeting his steady one. Even after four years of having not seen each other, he had not changed at all: he was still standing tall at maybe 5'11", slim with a broad upper body, strong legs, a head of thick black hair thanks to his Italian heritage, dark eyes, and a bona fide black mustache that hugged his upper lip like a motorcyclist's might. He looked 38-39 years old - old enough to know better, but still young enough to have a good time.

They spoke of where they were headed that day and about their holiday plans. Tony, too, was getting a large chunk of time off around the end of the year just as she was and, not surprisingly, some of their vacation days overlapped with one another. A lightbulb went off in Tony's head, but he did not verbalize his thoughts. He learned the hard way not to speak without thinking when he was around women.

While Madeline noticed how little he had changed in the last several years, Tony couldn't help but notice how much his little pupil had changed since she was 16. Everything had gotten better. As they sat there across from each other, both having removed their coats, and both eyeing the other's frame, there was much to like on both sides. But Tony couldn't help but notice that this shrimpy kid had blossomed into a curvy, pert-breasted beauty. He estimated her bra size at maybe a 32C. She really filled up her sweater these days, he observed. She hadn't grown any taller, but at the same time he didn't remember her legs being so long. In the tight jeans she wore, her thighs bloomed out to the roundness of her hips and tucked in at the tautness of her waist.

"Excuse me, sir," a train employee stopped by and spoke to Tony. "Please put your cigarette out. It's bothering the other passengers."

Tony looked up at the man with a charming smile and nodded. "Will do, good man." The train employee walked away, and Tony extinguished the cigarette on the bottom of his boot.

"So," Tony said, brushing his hands clean at the start of a new topic. "Do you have a boyfriend?"

Madeline looked down at her magazine for a moment. "No. He and I broke up back in September."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Tony said apologetically. "Breakups are tough, no question about it."

"Yeah. How about you, do you have a girlfriend? Or wife? Or maybe both?"

Now it was Tony's turn to laugh. "Oh Lord," he said. "I wish I had both. But no, I don't have either. Not right now."

Their eyes glanced at each other sheepishly. It was a very rare thing for Tony to ever feel sheepish or bashful, but when he did it was very attractive. The interest that they had shown in each other's dating lives indicated a mutual pull and they both took note of it. Realizing this, Madeline's cheeks glowed into a jolly red blush, and she smiled. It was the kind of smile that made the skin of her face shine, not in an acned angst, but in a shimmering happiness. Tony couldn't help but notice this, and commented about it:

"You know, you have a beautiful smile, Madeline. It'd be dangerous if I was still your tutor."

She arched her left eyebrow at him but did not say anything. As Tony's destination was approaching, they decided to exchange email addresses and phone numbers to keep in touch. A new flirtatious vibrancy had picked up where their platonic tutor/pupil relationship had left off. It was exciting. But there was still plenty of time for enormous mishaps and hurt feelings to happen. Besides, it was not a relationship at that point, merely the beginning of a flirty friendship. Tony got off at the station where he was bound, and Madeline headed eastward even more so, wondering where this thing would take her, if, indeed, it took her anywhere at all.

Part Two: The Winter Interlude

The next several weeks were busy for Madeline: studying, working, and going Christmas shopping. She had always been an early shopper for the holiday season and this year was no exception. The stores in the mall were decorated with wintery colors of green, red, silver, blue, and gold. From the heartbeat of the shopping mall boomed the carols of Frank Sinatra and Bing Crosby and on nearly every streetcorner were Salvation Army Santa Clauses ringing and singing for donations.

Madeline had also been keeping in contact with Tony during this time. They exchanged emails and phone calls, laughing and reminiscing about old times. Tony certainly was persistent; he called and emailed her nearly every day, or occasionally would just leave her little messages to ask her how her day had gone. It was sweet and endearing, but at the same time she was overwhelmed with things to do - it felt as though, at times, her stitches were about to burst.

But, for the most part, she kept a cool head and prevailed; she was going to pour every ounce of energy and grit into these last weeks of school and work. Also, she had the winter exams to think about that reared their ugly heads at the end of each semester. But during her everyday life -when she floated in and out of push/pull retail store doors, modeled in the nude to excruciating boredom and rigidity, and leaned upon the makeup counter waiting for a customer, counting the bottles of mascara as she did so - thoughts of Tony popped into her head. Particularly when she was modeling for the art classes. She had a sculpted, toned body that was just right for an artist's hand, and she couldn't help but wonder what Tony would think of her naked body if he were ever to see it. (He wondered too, though he did not vocalize this).

Of course, as most people know, sometimes emails cannot always be translated and deciphered in the way that they're meant; there's no inflection to read from like you would a phone call or an in-person get together. Madeline brushed aside the compliments Tony gave her in his emails - she hadn't seen him for four years; maybe he was just a nice guy to everyone, one of those likeable goodfellows that got along with everybody. She didn't particularly remember him being that way when she was a high school student, but people change.

However, when they talked on the phone, his intent was clear as a bell, even when he was saying something completely platonic such as about the hole in his winter socks or complaining that he was out of beer but couldn't brave the cold to go out and get himself another six pack. She smiled quietly at his complaints, realizing how childish he sounded, but there was a charm to his bickering and there was a charm to his silences as well. There would be times where they would be conversing and suddenly their laughter would fade, and they'd smile softly, imagining each other on the other end of the line.

His intentions and his feelings were evident from the way he cleared his throat to the occasional sigh he'd exhale. But Madeline was confused by her reaction. Her panties would moisten whenever she heard his deep, rustic voice. It was a gravelly kind of voice, sounds and words that matched his rough exterior. Having just broken up with her most serious boyfriend in September she wondered if she was maybe trying too hard to get over the breakup. She had to give herself time to heal; she didn't want to react or mislead anyone if she felt she wasn't ready for something that might turn romantic.

Tony would often remark on what a beauty she had turned in to, and she'd thank him kindly for his compliments; she was being polite, well-mannered, courteous. But even she had to admit to herself that his flattery was getting the best of her. Sometimes, when she was nude in her apartment, she would think of Tony and his handsome face and slightly muscled body, that big, contagious grin he seemed to carry around everywhere with him. He was good-looking but not in a conventional way. Still, in some ways, she felt like the parochial schoolgirl who was impressed with the big, bad older boy she knew who smoked, drank, and rode a motorbike. He may have been pushing 40 but he had the spirit of a 25-year-old.

Soon, the tail end of November had lapsed into the icy blue of December. Having just celebrated Thanksgiving not too many days ago, they talked on the phone and asked each other how their holiday went.

"Yeah, I had dinner at a girlfriend's house on Thanksgiving," Madeline said, replying to his question. "The guys there totally stuffed their faces and watched football."

Tony could almost hear her roll her eyes on the other side of the line and he laughed. "Yeah, that's pretty much what men are good for on the holidays - or any day, really."

She smiled, listening to his voice intently, listening to every pebble or rock that might fall or rise in his inflection. "What did you do for Thanksgiving?"

"Oh man," he chuckled. "I went out to a bar with some guys from the studio. They're good old bastards, although cheap as they come. I probably have less money than any of them and they made me pay. Can you believe that?"

She giggled and, unbeknownst to her, he smiled at her laugh. "I guess that's what good old bastards are for," she replied.

"Damn straight, little one."

Their laughter fell into a comfortable silence. They felt familiar with each other, comfortable - comfortable, but not without the usual jitters that accompany flirtation and attraction. This was the same girl who had come to him, five years ago, on what to wear for her first date, the same girl who cried and found his shoulder when she was a wilting wallflower at the school dance. But things were different now. She was a woman, capable of handling herself. He braced himself; he wanted to ask her a question but was afraid of her reaction. He didn't want their reunion to be blown to smithereens.

He spoke softly, smoothing out the rough edges of his voice. "Listen, Madeline, there's been something I've been wanting to ask you. I, uh, I own this cabin up in Vermont, real nice place, you know, fireplaces, good food, clean beds, the whole deal. Well, anyway, I was going to head up there for my winter break and I was wondering if you'd like to join me." He could hear a quick intake of a nervous, feminine breath, and he quickly added: "Just as friends."

She smiled and curled the telephone cord with her painted fingernail. It was a brilliant idea. "Yes, that sounds like fun, Tony, thanks for the invitation. But remember, just friends."

"Yeah, I know you're coming off a bad breakup, so there's no problem there. What do you say? Deal?"

She nodded. "Yes, Tony. I'd love to."

He grinned and they began to look at their daily planners to sort out the nitty-gritty: what day they would arrive, what day they would leave, and what time he would pick her up that first morning. Before she could bring the subject up of attire, he said just to bring clothes that were "warm and cozy, like you would at home," but there was a bit of hesitation, a bit of withdrawal to his voice that supplied her with doubt. It was not a troublesome doubt, it was a thrilling doubt chockful of possibility and excitement. The unknown, the territory unventured - a territory that she had dreamed about when she was a teenager - had presented itself to her. And so they solidified their plans and hung up the phone, both certain that the other had fallen for their façade of innocence.

Part Three: Santa's Workshop (The Cabin, Perfected):

Tony wanted to leave no stone unturned; a few days before the vacation was to begin, he drove up to Vermont from New York and began to romance the cabin like he knew a young woman would want. It had not been occupied since the previous winter; the cobwebs and the old, musty smell were proof of this.