The Beary Best Holiday Party Ever (9 page)

Ron looked at him in shock.

“I don’t want to be president. You need to be president. I could never have done all you’ve done. This club is your baby. I just want to help you raise it. Please, Ron. Tell me you’ll stay….”

DECEMBER

R
ON
STAYED
.

Paddy had pleaded for him to stay, practically getting down on his knees (he did that later). The other board members voiced their opinions almost as vociferously. Paddy threatened to resign, even leave the club. And hell! What was Ron to do? If Paddy did that, it could have meant that Cueball wouldn’t play, and the party might go down the drain…. Ron couldn’t very well do that.

And as it turned out, it wasn’t like Paddy had won by
that
many votes. Not even a half dozen (which, despite the fact that no one had even heard of Paddy a year ago, still did Ron’s ego some good).

The board apologized. More than once. They’d lied, after all. To the whole club. And there was a lot of discussion about that one—whether to tell the members or not.

Gary Alverez took it into his own hands with a white lie at the next meeting. He told the club they’d discovered they had miscounted and that technically meant Paddy should be their president, and then Paddy jumped up and said, “Forget that! To Ron! To Ron!” The room had roared its approval. Ron still wasn’t sure he liked it—considering a vote was a vote. But the board promised to never,
ever
do such a thing again. For any reason whatsoever.

And after all, if the board had been found to have lied and resignations had been demanded, not only would the party have fallen apart, but the club could have wound up disbanded as well.

So, for the good of the boys!

And the party did not fall apart.

Five hundred people showed up. The Heartland Bear Clan had never had such a turnout in all its years of operation. It was a smash.

People came from as far away as Florida, although the farthest most came was Wichita or Topeka or St. Louis. Still, there were a few from Eureka Springs, Arkansas, and Springfield, Missouri, and Illinois. One group had come from Sacramento, California.

Ron’s little bear articles helped. Paddy had sent a portfolio of his work to gay papers all over the country, and soon a half dozen or more were carrying his essays. From some of the comments he’d heard, they had helped bring the people in. That’s what the crew from Sacramento said.

The cave was a wondrous miracle. People were in awe. Part real and part manmade, it looked marvelous before it was decorated. And boy, was it decorated. Not only with the huge bears the club had made together, but with the money they’d made on the bake sale, they’d been able to buy lots of lights and streamers and ribbons and other decorations. Some people donated stuff. A department store on Crown Center donated an enormous tree, complete with decorations. And, of course, there were the banners. Huge. With the words “Beary Best Holiday Party Ever” painted across them in sparkling, glittery letters.

Cueball—proving that it was more than his smoking-hot looks that made him one of Kansas City’s most talented and desired DJs—played music and turned the place into total magic. As it turned out, he and Paddy went to high school together. Yes, they’d fooled around a couple times—when they were fourteen. Ron had not a reason in the world to be jealous.

Plus, he really was tired of the whole jealousy thing.

Everywhere Ron looked, he saw men having a wonderful time.

Men danced.

Men ate—of course they did; most of them were bears.

And over and over again men came up to him—
him
!—and told him what a fantastic time they were having.

Even Mel Gunter.

“You did good, kid. Fuck tradition. You shook things up. And that’s good.”

They had to stop things at three in the morning, and thank God the owner of the cave had a liquor license that allowed them to go that late. But even then, with the booze put away, men still lingered on. They just didn’t want to go home.

Finally they did.

But only after making Ron and the board promise to do it again next year.

It really was the beary best holiday party ever.

T
HAT
NIGHT
Ron spent the night at Paddy’s. It was a bigger place and a lot more modern than Ron’s apartment. But Paddy worked in finance. He could afford it. “Boring,” he often said. “But it pays well.”

To Billy’s disgruntlement, Ron was spending more and more nights there.

“I’m sorry, Billy.”

“
No hay problema
,” he’d said. “I just want to know how you could go from hating a guy to loving him so much!”

That’s when Ron told him the story.

Billy nodded, his eyes filled with mirth. “Ah. Now I get it. And it’s sort of sweet. Even with the whole misunderstanding thing. I hope you’ve learned something, young padawan.”

He had. In fact, every day was new lessons with Paddy.

Case in point: Paddy had gotten him talking to his parents. There was discussion of a visit.

Tonight they stood next to the Christmas tree they had picked out together. It was balled, its root system wrapped up in a big burlap bag, which meant it wouldn’t die, and they were giving it to Paddy’s parents when the holidays were over. Paddy’s big, wonderful parents.

It was a beautiful tree.

“I always wanted to have a tree with someone I loved,” said Ron.

“Well, now you do.” Paddy said.

Ron sighed. For the past two months, he had known nothing but bliss. There was a part of him that still expected to wake one morning and find it had all been a dream. Not only Paddy, his sweet Paddington Bear, but everything else. Being the president of the Heartland Bear Clan, the way the party happened, the growing number of volunteers, all of it.

And then he would find himself spooned up to Paddy, or feel him spooned up behind, and his heart would speed up, and a smile would spread across his face. No matter how rough his day might get—he knew Paddy would be there waiting for him when he got home.

And, once in a while, making Death By Chocolate Cake.

He reached down and touched his belly. He thought maybe he was getting bigger… not that Paddy minded. It was nice to have a boyfriend who liked him just the way he was and had no interest in the whole “thin is in” concept.

He hadn’t minded the first night they made love—really made love. Without Ron worrying about his body.

They’d gone to Ron’s place after they left the Halloween party two months earlier, because it was closer. They both figured they’d waited long enough. They kissed in the car in the parking lot. They kissed in the lobby, waiting for the elevator—and who cared, with all the gay people living in the building. A man and woman kissing would have gotten more stares. They kissed in the elevator and outside the door to Ron’s apartment—Paddy rubbing his hands all over Ron’s belly and growling the whole time—and for the first time, someone paying attention to his stomach made Ron hot. And Ron couldn’t get over how much he liked kissing the two little stainless steel hoops in Paddy’s eyebrow. Sucking on them.

Had he thought they were stupid?

All this kissing and rubbing and sucking made it difficult to get the door open. Once inside, Paddy surprised Ron by not claiming yet another round of kisses.

“Bedroom,” Paddy stated. “Where is it?”

Taking Paddy’s hand, Ron led the way, and once there, the kissing began in earnest. This time with clothes being flung hither and yon. That was when Ron found out that Paddy really did love his body. His kisses quickly went from Ron’s mouth to his neck, and then while Paddy slowly lowered himself down to his knees, kissed and sucked at Ron’s chest and nipples and then all but worshipped his belly—touching it, stroking, covering it with kisses, digging his tongue into Ron’s belly button.

“That tickles!” he’d cried and then moaned when Paddy took his cock into his mouth. He’d wanted a turn, but Paddy was having none of it. Then just as he thought he would explode into Paddy’s mouth, he was spun around, legs tangling in the pants still around his ankles, and shoved down onto the bed.

“Oh my God,” gasped Paddy. “Look at that gorgeous big butt!”

Not fatass.

Paddy made love to him then, as he’d said he wanted to and in other ways as well. He started by running his hands lightly all over the cheeks of Ron’s ass, then following that with kisses. Then fingers around and in places and opening him to prepare for more deep, shockingly erotic kisses. The pleasure had been exquisite. Then just as he was about to beg Paddy to take him, Paddy asked if he could. Asked if Ron had condoms. He did.

Then Paddy was inside him, and the loving was sweet.

The next morning Paddy had insisted that Ron fuck him. He happily obliged.

Two months later they were still at the height of their limerence. They still had sex at least once a day and often, more.

Feeling himself getting hard, Ron rested his cheek on Paddy’s shoulder and said, “I love you.”

“I love this tree!” Paddy said enthusiastically.

Ron laughed.

“And I love the decorations.”

Ron smiled. “Me too,” he said. They had picked out each and every one together. Some of them were from Paddy’s childhood decorations. There weren’t any from Ron’s.

But that was okay.

Maybe one day. It was possible.

He had a favorite. He pointed. “That one,” he said. “That’s the one I like the best.”

It was two bears cuddling. One had “Paddy” painted on its tummy, the other said “Ron.”

“Yeah, I like that one a lot.” Paddy nodded. “But it’s not my favorite.”

Ron pouted. “No? Which one do you like?”

“That one.” Paddy pointed.

Ron looked where he was pointing. He squinted. “The Terminator one?” He laughed. Paddy had insisted on it. The newest version had been their first date, after all. That’s what Paddy claimed—even though Ron wasn’t so sure. But if it made Paddy happy, then—

“No! Not that one.” He pointed again.

“The Paddington Bear?” Ron asked, leaning in closer.

“No!” He gave Ron a gentle little push toward the tree. “Look closer….”

So he did.

“Right next to the Paddington.”

Ron got closer.

And saw it.

“Oh my God.”

Stuck on one of the branches was a gold ring. He shivered. Goose bumps traveled down his arms.

It was a gold wedding band.

“Paddy?”

And then Paddy was sweeping forward, taking the ring off the end of the branch, and dropping to one knee.

Ron’s eyes went wide. “
Paddy
?”

“Ronald Corbin, will you marry me?”

Ron had to fight to keep his mouth from falling open. Because years from now when they were telling this story, how romantic would that be?

You’re going to say yes…. Oh God.

“I know we have only been seeing each other for two months—”

Ron felt the smile spreading over his face. “According to you,
five
months.”

“—but I promise to make you happy. And I will be true to you, in good times and bad, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part. And if you need me to prove myself, I’ll wait a year—”

Ron went down to his knees. “Yes, Padraic Brennan, I will marry you.”

And his heart soared.

“Oh Ron! This is the—”

“—beary best Christmas ever,” Ron finished.

“Shouldn’t that be ‘holiday’?” Paddy asked.

Ron pushed Paddy back onto his back and then crawled up on top of him and looked down into his eyes. “Not in this case,” he answered. “
I
celebrate Christmas.”

And then they kissed.

Don’t miss the 2015 Advent Calendar:

31 stories of holiday love!

www.dreamspinnerpress.com

B.G. T
HOMAS
lives in Kansas City with his husband of more than a decade and their fabulous little dog. He is lucky enough to have a lovely daughter as well as many extraordinary friends. He has a great passion for life.

B.G. loves romance, comedies, fantasy, science fiction, and even horror—as far as he is concerned, as long as the stories are character driven and entertaining, it doesn’t matter the genre. He has gone to literature conventions his entire adult life where he’s been lucky enough to meet many of his favorite writers. He has made up stories since he was a child; it is where he finds his joy.

In the nineties, he wrote for gay magazines but stopped because the editors wanted all sex without plot. “The sex is never as important as the characters,” he says. “Who cares what they are doing if we don’t care about them?” Excited about the growing male/male romance market, he began writing again. Gay men are what he knows best, after all—since he grew out of being a “practicing” homosexual long ago. He submitted a story and was thrilled when it was accepted in four days. Since then the stories have poured out of him. “It’s like I’m somehow making up for a lifetime’s worth of stories!”