Channel Nine on Thanksgiving Day
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Jane brought Dale to a second Thanksgiving dinner to her father’s place. Jane’s brother, Sean, prayed they would have split up, but they didn’t. Their father, Greg would host turkey day, and for several past years now, Greg’s ex-wife Sarah, would come with pumpkin pies just to see her son and daughter, now in their twenties.
Halfway into dinner, Sean controlled his rage towards what will become his future brother-in-law of piercing blue eyes that stabbed him from across the white clothed table. Dale became drunk and verbally abusive to everyone seated around him, like last year. Sean wanted to take his sister and her lover by the hair and drag them out past the metal threshold of the front door and yell, “You are not welcome for Thanksgiving anymore.”
Sean was intimidated by Dale who was an ignorant redneck hick. Someone that could be in the Klan. Someone that could bash gays. Sean sat on his father’s dining room chair completely shaved, even Brazilian waxed underneath his long-sleeved black shirt and slacks. He was paranoid that Dale could see right through his clothes and chastise his bisexuality. Dale’s silver tongue flapped all over the place: “Greg, you ever clean this place?”; “Sarah, smoking is a dirty habit.”; “Jane, your brother is pissing me off.”; “Sean, you’re doing the dishes bitch.”
Sean just turned twenty-one for this Thanksgiving and after four glasses of wine, walked to his lover Brian’s house, six blocks over. Sean was still in the closet with his folks. Brian was in his sixties, a retired accountant, with a huge swimming pool in his backyard. “I hate my sister’s boyfriend,” Sean said.
“Why don’t you just skip Thanksgiving dinner altogether?” Brian said.
“My family will be upset. I will be blamed as the instigator. Someone who has broken apart the family…I know it sounds weird,” Sean said.
Brian unrobed naked and walked down the soft white steps of his heated swimming pool. “Pour us some wine dear,” Brian said.
After several sips of wine. Sean flattened his forearms against the pool deck. He rose on the balls of his feet to raise his bubble ass above the shallow end’s surface. Brian slid his cock in. He held Sean’s hips with firm grips as he smacked his cheeks with his upper thighs into a sweet rhythm. The pool water energized by the fucking, turned into an ocean. Brian’s dick became the moon. “You want me to beat your brother-in-law’s ass? You will earn it after a fill your pussy with my come in a minute baby.”
On the fourth Thanksgiving with Dale included, he transformed into an official brother-in-law. Sean sat on the couch flipping channels for the Cowboy verse Lions football game. He prayed his brother-in-law would change and be nicer, but it never happened. “The game is on nine. What the fuck are you doing? Get your ass in here and have a drink with your family,” Dale said.
Instead, Dale gaziantep escort got worse. He watched his family leading themselves into the dining room like sheep to a Lion’s den. All because his sister Jane, adored this toxic piece of shit.
“Give me a minute. I am chilling,” Sean said.
“Chilling? What, did your jobless ass sleep into noon? You still need chilling time?” Dale said.
Sean dumped a bottle of wine in his lap at the table. “Fuck. I am going to hop in the shower and change really quick,” Sean said.
“Fucking dumbass,” Dale said.
Sean ran the shower water on cold and opened the bathroom window for Chris. Chris, a forty-year-old mechanic climbed in with a boner. Sean dumped his wine-soaked clothes in the hamper and splayed his palms out on each side of the sink. He watched his reflection in the vanity mirror of his bubble butt shimmy in the palms of this mechanic who he just met last week at a local dive. Sean spun around and landed on his knees while Chris flooded his forehead and tongue with hot goo. Sean let the man out, showered, dressed, and returned to dinner. He was so vulnerable that he kissed Dale’s ass. “You watched your latest karate tournament video. You looked really good man.”
“Fucking right I do,” Dale said.
Sean had enough of four consecutive Thanksgiving dinners with Dale. He decided that he will no longer sit down amicably with Dale. He returned to the couch to watch football. A game that did nothing for him. It had no point. Just numbers and an inflatable ball bouncing around and men yelling.
Sean could here Dale whispering wine spit into his sister’s ear as she leaned in to him. Their mother Sarah went out back to smoke. Their dad Greg followed jingling with a gin and tonic. His drinking, the reason they divorced and now both lived separate and alone in their sixties. Dale’s whispering and laughter flew whimsically from the dining room to the living room and tapped Sean on the shoulder.
Sean lifted himself off the couch with legs that shook like a naked Eskimo’s. He entered the dining room table and controlled his rage.
Sean thought: If I scream at this idiot. If I punch in his crooked nose. If I walk out the front door and say, ‘fuck this’. If I pour wine on my sister’s head. The family will blame me for being too sensitive and unstable and the family will break up and matters will be worse. It is only one dinner a year and you only see this guy on Birthdays and Christmas. Suck it up.
Sean pretended to be someone else and asked Dale about his karate. “My sister said you just got your blue belt that is awesome.”
Dale’s blue eyes like marble stones being squeezed out by his sockets followed Sean lifting a glass of red wine to his face. “I can kick your ass dude,” Dale said.
“I should hope so…” Sean said. “I don’t do karate.”
Sarah returned to the table in her favorite jeans that didn’t fit anymore.
“You smell like smoke Sarah,” Dale said.
Sean’s eyes locked onto a sparkling dinner knife dangling from the turkey plate. He imagined what it would look like in Dale’s neck shooting blood across the white linen like a sprinkler head.
Jane’s lips formed vowels and kissed Dale’s pale cheekbone. “You are too cute,” Jane said.
The fifth Thanksgiving brought Dale and a pregnant Jane. Her unborn daughter of four months kept Jane sober. Dale had to drink alone. Sarah opened a pack of Marlboro lights and stroked Greg’s greyhound. Greg wobbling from three whiskey sours attacked the turkey with an electric knife. Sean’s hand slobbered sweat all over the remote buttons as he found channel nine. It is on channel nine you idiot. It is on channel nine you idiot. Dale’s toxic serpent tongue squirmed sounds that echoed inside of Sean’s tortured memory.
“Dinner is ready,” Greg said. He had turkey grease pasted all over his flannel shirt.
After dinner, Sarah left, and four of them cleared two bottles of wine. “I am running to Mike’s down the street to get a video game. I will be back in a few.”
“Does Mike have any wine?” Dale said.
“I will ask,” Sean said.
“Just take it from that bitch,” Dale said. “Don’t be such a pussy.”
Sean slipped into the garage and brought down the wooden attic ladder. He climbed up, and on his hands and knees crawled over board above a sea of pink installation. On the other side, were three sixty-year-old men that have been stashed there since the morning. They had coffee, bottled water, three running shop fans, and sat naked with hard dicks. They were willing to wait in a hot attic for three hours for some hot smooth bubble ass. Sean found them on an online ad under ‘silver gangbang trio”.
He crawled over to them. The three men stripped him anxiously. They pulled off his shoes and peeled off his socks. They loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. They unzipped his pants and brought down his boxers. Then spanked his cold white behind. Sean worked all three cocks at once. He stroked an eight-inch cock with his left hand. Another big hard cock as so far in his ass he could only breath out his nostrils. His mouth opened up and the third cock salted his tongue. The fans blew cold air into every one of his crevices unoccupied by hard cock. The elder man in his ass, smacked it, and slide his cock around an imaginary shape of the letter “S”. “Oh, this hot little pussy was worth it.” All three men unloaded their inflated testicles in Sean’s behind. He dressed. Climbed down the ladder and returned to the dining room.
Greg, Jane, and Dale, drunk, sat at the cleared table. Sean’s legs were rubber as he walked closer to them. Everyone looking up at him. Sean scanned the table for those piercing blue dagger eyes. His heartbeat pounding his throat.
“Dale. I don’t like you. I think you are a miserable and evil person. I have prayed for you to not be like this. I hate having you around my family. I hate my sister for finding you on a bar stool while she was hammered. I hate her drinking. I hate my father’s drinking. But I hate you most of all. You bring out the worst in me and I will not ever spoil another Christmas, Birthday, or Thanksgiving dinner by spending it with you. I do not owe my family this…enduring you that is. I do not owe my sister. I owe myself. This will be the last time I sit at a table or share a drink with you. I swear to all that is Holy. I will not change and there is not a damn thing you can do about it.”
After that all spilled out of Sean’s numb stance he thought of the line “all that is Holy.” He thought: Dale is a violent atheist.
The table remained silent like a wax museum of a Thanksgiving art exhibit of people dining in the twenty first century. Sean turned back before absorbing the November cold outside. He found that Dale’s blue eyes had lost their piercing sadistic aura. He drove off with the various colored cars splayed out on the driveway buzzing in his rearview. From afar his father’s house looked peaceful as if the nucleus was not buzzing with drama. Sean thought: What are they saying about me? Did they considered the truth of this? Will they call him out on his bullying? Will they call him an Asshole? Or will they say I am unstable and too sensitive, and I just had a bad day?
Two more Thanksgiving dinners ensued with everyone but Sean. Two new Grandchildren born, a boy and a girl. Greg bought Jane and Dale a house across the street and supported them financially for ten years.
Dale fell short of being a supporting father. He started scotches on Monday mornings and popped Oxycodone at night. Couldn’t hold a job and became even more abusive. He abandoned his family and moved to Texas. Greg died of cancer and gave Sean his house.
Jane brought her son and daughter to a first Thanksgiving dinner to her brother’s place. Sarah brought her Marlboro Lights and pumpkin pie. A large black and white photo of Greg from the funeral hung over the dining room table. There was one picture of Dale in the bottom drawer.
Sean sipped his wine. Got up and flipped on channel nine. The remote control dry as a bone. His finger soft and smooth as cool beach sand. He scanned the table and found soft blue eyes. Sandy and Chris carried Dale’s eyes. Sean controlled his rage when he thought of all the wasted time dining with that devil. He sipped wine and cut up the turkey with his father’s electric knife. Brought out the plates. Smelled his mother’s tobacco air out as she seated herself.
“Grandma you smell like smoke,” Chris said.
“You’re a guest in this house and that is your elder and your grandmother. You don’t talk like that to her. You understand?” Sean said.
“Yes. I am sorry,” Chris said.
Sean thought: We will fix this shit.
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