All I Want For Christmas Is…

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Disclaimer: All fuckers in this dated, vapid, flash fiction are over 18. Tags: fuckfest, humor, Mendocino, radio, restraint. If you object to any such, stop reading. Views expressed may not be the author’s. Details may be incorrect. Enjoy this WINTER HOLIDAYS CONTEST 2020 entry!


All I Want For Christmas Is…

…A puppy? A Daddy or Mommy? A dildo?

A view of the fun? Revenge?


“KKFB SwapMeet, Holiday Edition. Merry Christmas, citizen. Whaddya want?”

The Mendocino coast’s leading radio station had warmed up for a new day. By FCC rules, the coastal Fort Bragg, California broadcaster went low-power overnight and ramped-up during daylight. Their signal sometimes reached over the redwood-forested Coast Range as far as the cannabis plantations around Ukiah.

Daybreak necessities had been tended to. Notices; adverts; weather, surf, and crop-price news; the overnight police log — mostly wasted drivers and domestic abusers of all alleged genders — and the lefty Pacifica Network news feed. But now was time for serious local matters: SwapMeet!

Josh, the station manager, lead engineer, morning personality, and necessary janitor, puffed his hand-rolled spliff of long-cut golden Turkish tobacco and Ukiah black pot and slugged another rum-spiked slurp of great Guatemalan coffee from the Krups espresso machine. He did not fuck around with attitude adjusters, nope.

He had been KKFB’s mainstay for a couple of decades and phone-ins were his strength. The phone-in SwapMeet was like classified or online adverts, back in pre-Internet days. The station did not even put a tape-delay system on phones before 1970. One call changed that.

“KKFB SwapMeet, whaddya got?”

“I got three Road Apple Red laying hens, a 17-foot Yazoo canoe in good shape, and the hood from a ’65 Chevy pickup. I’ll trade-em for three cases of winter 30-weight Pennzoil. I’m Gil Gilstrap at 555-8576.”

No, not that call. The next one.

“KKFB SwapMeet, whaddya got?”

“I don’t know, but it’s twelve inches long, and it itches and drips.”

That is when Tris the station owner sprang for a tape-delay unit.


Rugged, dark-haired Josh was into the radio SwapMeet’s second half-hour now. The first segment, for traders, was “Whaddya got?” This holiday segment was, “Whaddya want?” Send your gift wishes out on the airwaves and see if they are answered.

“KKFB Holiday SwapMeet, whaddya want for Christmas?”

“All I want for Christmas is a Daddy. Call Zandra at 555-5341”

“Okay. Next call. KKFB Holiday SwapMeet, whaddya want for Christmas?”

“That was my sister. She wants a Daddy. I’m Zack and I want a Mommy. Same number.”

“Uh, right. Next. KKFB Holiday SwapMeet, whaddya want for Christmas?”

“I just want a gift certificate to the Good Vibrations dildo shop down in Sebastopol. I’m pretty loose and easy. Call Jan at 555-8294.”

That did not quite rise to the level of beeping-out or tape-delay.

“Next. KKFB Holiday SwapMeet, whaddya want for Christmas?”

“I’m so lonely! All I want for Christmas is a man. A big, black man, with a big, thick, black cock, bigger and blacker than yours, Josh, you fucking measly toad!”

Josh recognized his ex-wife’s voice and blanked her call after ‘lonely.’ She usually called on-air two or three times each morning. He was used to her.

“Happy holidays! KKFB SwapMeet, what’s your Christmas gift wish?”

“Can I say ‘gangbang’ on the air?”

Instant tape-delayed censorship. Same for the next.

“Good morning. KKFB SwapMeet, whaddya want for Christmas?”

“Virgins. Sisters. Twins. As long as they’re young. Swedes, Basques, Arabs, I don’t care.”

Hit the blank-out button and go on to the next.

“Hello, KKFB Holiday SwapMeet, whaddya want? And keep it clean.”

“Can I have a puppy?” asked a child’s voice. “A pit bull. To scare off the thieves who keep raiding Daddy’s pot farm. I’m Toby. Call me at 555-0397.”

“Thank you, Toby. Good morning, KKFB Holiday SwapMeet, whaddya want?”

“Hello, Josh. Sabrina here. I want a couple dozen open-minded adults in good fitness and health to come to my Winter Solstice party. I’ve reserved the Edgewater Inn for two days and a night and everything is included, if you know what I mean.” She chuckled. “Call me at 555-0666 to register. See you there, hon.”

Josh was not sure whether to smile or frown at the invite. Sabrina’s orgies were memorable but often hazardous. He shook himself back into phone mode.

“Er, right, Sabrina. Next caller: KKFB Holiday SwapMeet, whaddya want?”

And on and on. More requests. Some honest. Some honestly sexual. Some nutz.

Just another ordinary call-in morning.


He was ready for the streakers now. A thick studio window oversaw a bovine meadow cut in the redwood forest. He saw boring Herefords — but most mornings about this time, residents of the adjacent commune ran naked and barefoot through the cow lezbiyen porno droppings. No communards were fat. Or modest. Some delayed to look for psychedelic psilocybe mushrooms sprouting in the turds. Whatever gets-em off, he thought.

Josh remembered his first paid radio job. After an internship at a college FM station, he scored a lucky gig as substitute engineer at a network news-talk station in downtown San Francisco. Announce booths sat behind fat glass, right on the city sidewalk. Pedestrians stopped and stared at the on-air ‘talent’ talking — and might give the talent something to see and remember.

Folks came nightly to give strip- and fuck-shows. Someone in a long coat would walk up, give a lengthy flash of male or female or whatever nakedness, maybe decorated with vivid skin art, and saunter on. Or a limo van would stop illegally, the door opening to reveal cock-sucking, pussy-licking, butt-poking, toe-jamming, or even something weird.

That was fun to watch but the station bricked-up the sidewalk windows after a disgruntled listener tried to shoot one of the Talent for repeatedly saying ‘reptilioid’ instead of ‘reptiloid’ when discussing space aliens. This really happened.

Josh sometimes viewed live sex shows out the KKFB station window, and not just ruddy bulls lustily mounting cows. Every week or so, if the weather was right, his bright, bosomy, blonde bimbo ex-wife Zelda would sneak as close as possible — ten yards — strip off her poncho, and fuck herself with the big black dildo she had named Otis. This was supposed to remind Josh of his alleged shortcomings. He always waved at her.

Josh was out on medical leave (i.e. his morale was low) one Thursday, so Zelda would not have known she was performing for his backup engineer, who shook her head and said the gal wore makeup in the wrong places.


Today’s SwapMeet segment was over. Josh switched to the Democracy Now! feed from Pacifica and looked at the ceiling. Tris, the station owner, was not especially politically liberal but she knew the anti-authoritarian leanings of her Redwood Coast audience — the listeners who spent money with her advertisers.

Josh was organizing and maintaining stuff that needed it when the call-in line rang. He was not on the toilet so he answered.

“Good morning, KKFB radio, golden voice of the Redwood Coast.”

“Hi hon, it’s Sabrina. You don’t have to call and register. I want YOU at the solstice party as Guest of Honor! Don’t argue! Resistance is futile!”

She was certainly direct. Redwood Coast women were like that.

“I don’t know, Sabrina. You damn near killed me at the equinox party and I wasn’t even in the center.”

“Oh piffle, Josh hon. That was purely accidental. And the batteries were nearly dead by then.”

“Hey, *I* was nearly dead by then, you mean. I’m lucky a paramedic was there. Naked and cute, sure, but… Look, I’ll have to think about it.”

“Think about it all you want. But you WILL be there! I will not be denied!”

She was certainly determined. Redwood Coast women were like that, sure.

A light flashed on his control board.

“Woops, gotta go, Sabrina. Thanks for calling. See ya later. Bye.”

Click. That was his escape. Whew.


He returned to his off-air endeavor. All phone numbers were automatically stored in the PC’s database of called-in wishes. He noted which wishes seemed compatible. He would match the caller who said “I’m a tall girl, six foot seven, looking for the same,” with the gal whose wish was, “All I want for Christmas is a basketball uniform tall enough for me.” The guy who wanted a Mommy was matched to the gal wishing, “I want a good boy to take care of.” Subs and doms. Guys wanting guys. Guys wanting gals with toys. Gals wanting bisexual Hispanic triplets.

Yes, Josh was a digital matchmaker. Find a likely match, call the callers, and give them the candidate numbers to call. Josh had performed his good deed. The rest was up to them.

Those stored phone numbers could be backtracked to physical addresses. Josh spent some evenings bicycling to likely sites and peering in open windows. Yes, those guys are at it. Yes, those gals are at it. Yes, the domination is strong. Oops, he did not expect a dog, too.

Josh saw his peeping-Tom views as rewards for his good deeds. Yes, they were fun to watch. He also took notes — on the kinks and corruptions of many dignified community leaders. The police chief’s wish for a Daddy. The county council chairwoman’s toys and slaves. The Baptist pastor’s French maid uniform with pink jockstrap.

He intended no blackmail — but fuck, information is power. Stored power in this case, like a boulder atop a cliff, whose devastating energy could be released with a simple slight kick. Potential power. Just in case.


Josh worked ten-hour days, six each week. Such was the onerous life of a small-town radio laborer. He was in by 6:00 AM to relieve liseli porno the overnight engineer, usually Irina, unless she was deep in PMS again. Donuts and coffee awaited. During the pre-noon BBC feed, he lunched at his desk on a sandwich-and-beer package sent by the brewpub he ran free spots for. He was off the controls at 2:00 PM, passed on to the PM engineer, usually Marco unless he was on the rag too. And out by 4:00 PM after paperwork, equipment work, and janitor work.

He took Sundays off. Elisha, a Seventh-Day Adventist, could handle the routine signal feeds then, and hours of gospel, philosophy, ranting, ragas, whatever, with no on-air call-ins.

Josh’s pay was okay and he got full benefits. He got Tris the owner’s old BMW when she upgraded every few years. He got Tris’s deep pussy when she was desperate. Myra, the advert sales gal, made twice as much, hustling sponsors all over the county. That redhead was so damn persuasive! She wore fresh lipstick whenever Josh saw her — necessary, after all the butts she kissed and cocks she sucked daily. His too, but only if she wanted airtime for herself.

Watching Myra merrily go down on Tris on the office couch was fun. Blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail; a pale face between dark thighs; a pink tongue parting a curly black muff and juicy labia to caress a wiggly clit and probe into red depths. That svelte girl kept the jiggly boss happy!

Josh was in good health for a guy just past forty. He jogged the round-the-station trail during breaks. He bicycled around town. He avoided overloading on food, drink, smoke, sex, and worry. Zelda had cured him of worry and frantic sex. He lived quietly now, alone in his A-frame cabin but for Prince Charles. The English bulldog mostly drooled, slept, and farted.

“Hey Charlie,” Josh said one evening, waving his room-temperature Anchor Steam Beer bottle. “You know I try to forget my years with Zelda. She never wanted kids. I didn’t push her. Then she wanted more, and she left. Now I have you. Did I get a good trade?”

Prince Charles, somewhat awake, royally drooled and farted. Josh took that as a ‘yes’.

“But we don’t do sex, do we, Charlie? Good thing. We’re no pervs, no way.” Prince Charles drooled in agreement.

“You wouldn’t know — before your time – but after Zelda left I had Kathy and Carol, the folksingers. They were fun until they took that gig down in San Diego. Then there was Sharon from the fishing boat. She was strong and her hours were like mine, but I just couldn’t get past the salmon odor. Oh sure, you know Sharon. You loved her smell.”

Prince Charles did not disagree. Josh popped another spicy beer and opened windows.

“It’s hard finding girls here who aren’t too crazy and don’t mind being woke-up at 5:00 AM every morning. So I get Tris or Myra, or maybe a tourista looking for an evening adventure. Some of those girls get crazy. Some are just fun to watch.”

Josh liked to watch. Not video porn — that was too flat and staged. Peeping in windows was fun, especially those of prominent townsfolk. Cruising lovers’ lanes was fun, especially carrying his compact Russian infrared night-vision goggles. That vantage point near the nudist free-love commune was fun, and they probably knew he was there.

He crewed on the MC Aphrodite some Sundays for its sex excursions up the Lost Coast around Cape Mendocino. The helm was high astern, giving the helmsman an expansive view. The big foredeck was plexiglas-domed for comfort and padded for pleasure. Cap’n Midnight (yes, that was his name) let Josh take the helm while he, the Cap’n, swarmed with the paying partiers.

People paid for the boat and to suck or fuck the Cap’n. He had a sweet gig.

An occasional customer or three crawled up to blow Josh. He never waved-off her, or him, or them, but he mainly kept his eyes on the fun below. And on the coastal rocks, sure. Steer a course a few miles offshore, no problem. Those waters were not shallow.

Josh’s eyes de-focused from the wave-lashed painting across the room.

“But life is pretty good now, hey Charlie? We only have to put up with each other and you never argue, never make excuses, or bring home feral folk to fuck. We have it made.”

Prince Charles rolled over and licked his royal balls. Josh took that as, “If you say so.”


Holiday SwapMeet season was almost done. Winter Solstice 1991, just before Christmas Eve, was a Sunday, Josh’s day off. He thought about Sabrina’s party invitation but decided he would be safer at home — after an unseasonably balmy day at sea on MC Aphrodite.

Cap’n Midnight had booked a party of Bay Area pagan pan-sexualists for the sacred day, a day warm enough — but not quite 80F, like a few years before — that several of the deck’s plexiglas panels were open to ocean air.

Josh marveled at the scene below as MC Aphrodite rode swells blown in from Alaska. Maybe three dozen fairly-fit naked folk of various skin shades were mature porno joined in every feasible sexual combination. Long oral and anal daisychains formed. Men and women went spit-roasted or airtight. Multiple cocks in one mouth; multiple mouths at a cock or vulva; multiple hands worked a body. Liquids were poured or dribbled on anatomies, and licked off. Quick- and slow-fuck games were played. Wines, and blindfolds, and toys, and more wines, were applied. Crew played too.

And they were all too busy to bother with Josh. That was okay. The view was fine enough.

Cap’n Midnight piloted into his Noyo Harbor berth before sunset. Survivors staggered ashore, more or less decently dressed, same as after every cruise. Josh bid ‘later!’ and bicycled up the steep slope from harbor to headland. The day was too nice for driving.

Josh reached the top of the grade and paused to catch his breath before taking the level ride home. A white cargo van rumbled out of a side alley and stopped beside him. Sabrina’s fiery red head looked from the passenger window.

“Party tonight — remember, Josh? I sure didn’t forget.”

Josh did not recognize the van but he knew the driver — Zelda, his ex! He did not know the three buff guys who popped from the van’s side door and dragged him and his bike inside. Someone put a cloth laced with volatile scents to his face. That is all he remembered.

Water splashed in his face to wake him. Awareness returned. He recognized the space — the Edgewater Inn’s rococo ballroom. He realized his position. He was naked and strapped in a throne-like armchair overlooking the ballroom and its few dozen naked inhabitants, their faces mostly obscured behind colorful domino masks. He saw naked, maskless Sabrina standing in front of him, wagging a finger like a vindictive goddess.

“Oh, Joshua Ball, you naughty, naughty boy! Poor Zelda has told me of all the unpleasant things you did to her and you made her do. She told me of your nasty, nasty habits. Really, I thought better of you. But I thought to balance things a little by having you here, yes, as Guest of Honor! Everything you wanted done to her? Well, you can just watch!”

The cloth gag in his mouth prevented his protests. What unpleasantries? He never demanded anything pervy. Zelda was the one who freakily fucked around! And he had not wanted to watch her cheating. That’s why she was his ex now.

Sabrina slapped his face, and again, not real hard, but not gently, either.

“Pay attention now!” she said. “Poor Zelda will be well-fucked tonight, and you won’t!”

Sabrina snapped her fingers. Naked masked people of various genders wheeled out a decorated gurney occupied by naked maskless Zelda, who blew a kiss at Josh before grabbing the cocks of the nearest guys pushing her along. She pulled one to her mouth, then the other.

“All right kids, it’s showtime!” Sabrina announced. The naked, masked crowd seemed to form conga lines at either end of Zelda.

Josh watched naked, masked women take turns licking Zelda’s open pussy and setting their own torrid twats on her face, on her questing tongue and active lips. That took a while.

Then Josh watched naked, masked, mostly well-hung men of various colors and body shapes insert their cocks in her mouth and pussy, sawing in-and-out, and obviously cumming inside her. After a bit of this, she rolled over and crouched on hands and knees while more cocks stuffed her mouth and others pierced her wide-open anus in their turns. Some bystanders jerked-off and spewed semen on her naked body. Josh found the optics tedious.

Zelda yelled loudly during orgasms in rare moments when her mouth was not otherwise filled by cock or cunt. She merely gurgled then.

Other than the discomfort of restraint, Josh was mostly bored. He had seen more unexciting fucking in porno shows but without the funky abundant scents here. He was unsure of the purpose of these displays. Did anyone expect him to be bothered? He only wanted his gag and bonds gone so he could go home and shower.

The festivities rolled on as those not engaging with Zelda fell into a general orgy. Josh would have yawned, were his mouth not gagged. He thought he recognized some of the participants but he did not really care unless they were station advertisers. He would not piss them off.

Zelda and all those who had sex with her eventually collapsed in exhaustion. Sabrina had spent the whole time with a dildo extruded from her pussy but was otherwise untouched. She came to still-bound Josh and pulled the gag from his mouth. Finally!

“Did you learn anything here tonight, little man?” she asked snarkily.

“Was this supposed to prove anything?” he replied. “Other than all your susceptibility to venereal diseases? I bet the clap clinics will be full next week. Zelda was always a scag.” He shook his head. “I never did anything pervy to her, y’know. I don’t know what she told you but she sure seems to have fun this evening. Maybe that was her goal, hmmm?”

Sabrina slapped his face again, harder this time. “You are unrepentant, aren’t you?”

“I’ve nothing to repent. But I think I’ll skip your next parties.”

More slaps, and then she unstrapped him. She pushed her mouth close to his. He stood and pushed her back.

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