December flash tale #2 - "Poppers"

Manchester, England

Stan and Debbie have an arrangement. They don’t attend each other’s work Christmas parties.

Because they don’t want to. Because those parties are always terrible. So why put each other through it? Tagging along, listening to stories about colleagues they don’t know, about work they don’t do, and behaviour that gets worse as the night wears on and the alcohol level rises.

Tonight, it’s Debbie’s turn to go and Stan’s turn to stay home. He spends the first hour watching Netflix, intending to spend the second with his Xbox. The plan changes when a barrage of text messages blow up his phone.

7.26pm You have to come! 😍

7.29pm Best party ever! 💫

7.31pm Stan, come on! It’s amazing! 🧑🏻‍🎄🎄🍹💃🏻💡

Stan groans, mutes the TV. He calls his girlfriend.

“We had a deal.”

“I know!” Debbie replies. She shouts over the music, she sounds out of breath.

“Are you dancing?” Stan raises an eyebrow. “God, is that Justin Bieber? You hate him.”

“Just come,” says Debbie. “I promised Miss Wilson, she’s expecting you.”

“Miss…you mean, your boss? You mean Margaret?”

Debbie laughs. “Uh-huh! She says you’re cute!” Debbie laughs again, more of a giggle this time, and for a moment, Stan imagines his girlfriend being tickled. He imagines her pinned to the ground, being tickled by her manager. The idea is bizarre, as well as the mildest of turn-ons. Margaret isn’t beautiful but she acts as though she is. Debbie’s boss behaves as if no one could possibly resist her.

“You really want me to come?”

“Yes!” There’s Debbie’s giggle again, high-pitched and childish. Definitely being tickled, or…Stan shakes his head. No, his next theory is impossible.

He clicks off the TV, gets up goes to collect his keys and wallet. “Is there food at this thing? I didn’t get much dinner.”

“Uh-huh! Muh…Miss Wilson made a big cake and she says you can..you can have a slice…” Debbie gasps, giggles and the blurts, “If you’re good!”

Jesus. “I’ll be there soon.” Stan ends the call and goes out to his car. He stops at the KFC on Piccadilly h for a Zinger Tower and some pop. He’s not saving himself for Margaret Wilson’s cake. He’s only going to the party to make sure his girlfriend gets back home in one piece.

7:58pm are you hre yet tim for cake yu get 🦄🧚🏻🎅🏻🎉😁

Come on. Jesus. She sounds plastered and it’s not even eight ‘o’ clock.

Stan texts, back: Be there in 10.

He’s still driving along Piccadilly when his phone buzzes and his car reads out Debbie’s next text. It doesn’t sound any more sensible, coming from the car’s robotic voice.

“I got poppers. You’re gonna be dead cute!”

Jesus.

Stan drives faster, taking liberties with the speed limit and gets to Debbie’s office in five minutes. He thinks back over the borderline comments Margaret has been making all year when he picks Debbie up from work.

She’s been good as gold.

What a sweetheart Debbie is, I just love her to bits!

I want to wrap her up and put a bow on her! She’s a perfect little angel!

Margaret Wilson is eccentric. Up to this point, Stan has been able to laugh it off.

He’s not laughing now as he pulls into the carpark. Reception is deserted, and at first Stan is sure that he’s come to the wrong location. But then he hears the music coming from beyond a pair of swing doors, and a hand-made sign taped over the glass: Angels and Elves Christmas Party 👼🏻🧝🏻‍♂️⬆️

Stan’s mission: Find Debbie and get her out of here. And they can laugh about it tomorrow morning. Maybe. While they find Debbie a new job.

He pushes through the doors and finds his girlfriend standing by a brightly lit Christmas tree.

Debbie turns and grins. “You came!” She trots over to him and throws her arms around him, almost knocking him to the ground.

“Hey!” Stan protests. He holds her at arms’ length. “Hey. Debbie…sweetheart, what are you wearing?”

Because Debbie had planned to wear the red skater dress she’d bought at Primark the week before. The fitted top and flared skirt, a woman like Debbie can pull it off.

She must have changed. Or someone changed her.

Now, Debbie is wearing a pink dress with puffy sleeves and a shiny bow around her waist. It’s childish enough, but she also has sparkling pink angel wings sprouting from her shoulders.

Debbie reaches for the hairband (just as pink, just as sparkly) self-consciously and says, her mouth ready to pout, “Don’t you like it?”

“I…” Stan manages a smile. “You’re gorgeous. You’re always gorgeous. But let’s go, yeah?”

Debbie giggles, stepping back to Stan and taking his hands, swinging them in her own. “Silly! You just got here!”

“Yeah, but...” Stan looks at his girlfriend’s face. She is rosy-cheeked and bright-eyed, without a trace of make-up.

Bright-eyed? No, it’s something more than that. Even in the dimly lit room, her pupils are tiny.

“Babe, let’s go home, I think you’ve had a bit…” Of what? This is more than booze. He looks around the room and pulls away from Debbie to inspect the buffet table with the kind of crisps, sausage rolls and soft drink spread normally laid out for a children’s party. There’s a bowl filled with party poppers and there’s a towering sponge cake at one end. And there’s the music that’s coming from a mobile phone and speakers, BTS now. He can’t imagine Debbie being caught dead dancing to music like that.

All of that is strange enough. But the strangest thing about all of it? No one else is around.

Stan blinks. “Where’s everyone else, Debs?” And now that he thinks of it, where is Margaret Wilson?

Debbie giggles, with the expression of someone (of a young child, of the sweetest and silliest of little girls) with a delicious secret. She cups a hand around her mouth and stage-whispers, her breath warm on Stan’s ear, “Mummy only invited you and me!” She swings her hips, as if the fairy dress is something to show off. She finishes the rest of the secret in a sing-song voice, “I’m the angel and you’re the elf! That’s what Mummy wants for Christmas!”

Oh. Oh, Jesus.

“Where is she?” Stan asks, eyes wide. Is Debbie’s crazy boss hiding under the table, ready to spring out? Is she about to swing down from a ceiling light? She made all this happen, put Debbie under some kind of drugged spell. And now what? She’s planning to do the same to him?

No thanks. We really must be going.

Stan reaches for Debbie, but she slips away, races to the buffet table and returns with a party popper. “You have to have your popper, and then put on your special costume.” She puts a thoughtful finger to her mouth. “Yours is green, not pink, because you’re a boy. But Mummy says pink and green match. Mummy says we’re gonna look cute as buttons. So you have to wear our special costume.” She bounces excitedly on the balls of her feet. “It’s gonna be perfect!”

Stan backs slowly away from his girlfriend. “Baby, honey, we need to get out of here.” He rubs the back of his neck. It’s too warm in here all of a sudden. Someone has been turning up the heat, someone has been planning this for months.

Debbie holds the popper towards Stan, her fingers on the string as if she’s ready to pull a trigger. “Come on, Stan, it’s a party.” She giggles, as if remembering something wonderful. “You can have all the cake you want!”

“Hey,” Stan says, holding up his hands. He walks backwards, and when he gets to the swing doors, he expects to find that they are locked tight. Instead, they swing open, and he almost falls through them.

They just have to leave. Get in the car and get home. Whatever spell Debbie is under will surely fade, once she’s out of the ridiculous dress. Once she’s away from Margaret Wilson.

“Hey,” Stan says brightly, “We’ll go to Mackie Manor, and you can have whatever you want. Really, I’m not in the mood for cake.” He tries to sound cheerful, despite the stone of anxiety in his stomach, and he knows he sounds as though he’s trying to convince a small child. “You can have tacos! You love tacos, sweetie, remember?” He wipes at his face. “Look, look at your pretty dress! Don’t you want to show it off?”

Debbie nods. “I’m a Christmas fairy!”

“Nice one, so let’s go and- “

Debbie raises the novelty device in her hands, pulls the string and the release of compressed air emits a popping sound.

There should be streamers, Stan thinks, as he shuts his eyes instinctively. But it’s something different that lands on his skin. Something sticky that dries quickly, leaving a tacky residue as he touches his cheeks, a rush of adrenaline flooding his system, before even the residue fades away.

He opens his eyes and watches as Debbie lets the spent popper fall to the ground, forgotten. It’s done its job. Debbie grins at Stan, and then she puts a finger in her mouth and giggles. She looks as though she’s expecting the most excellent of treats.

Stan should wonder what that might be, but his mind is too busy for that. There are so many, much more pressing questions. Like how did Debbie get so pretty, and how does she manage to sparkle so prettily? He holds out a hand to touch her, to touch the sparkles, as he feels a growing hardness between his legs.

“Good boy,” Debbie says condescendingly, as if she’s a precocious little girl looking after her baby brother. “You’re well chuffed.”

Stan nods, and he knows his eyes must look like Debbie’s now, his pupils shrinking, as the world brightens around him even as his intelligence dims. But it’s sound. It’s all more than sound, as his erection builds, and he grunts with pleasure.

Debbie looks at the evidence in Stan’s crotch and giggles. “We gonna dress you up now, and then Mummy’s gonna play with you and let you eat lotsa cake, yeah?”

Stan nods again. It’s perfect, it’s delightful, and he giggles as Debbie takes his hand and leads him through the swing doors and to the rest of the party.

THE END

Stan finds his girlfriend acting childishly at the office holiday party. The boss is determined to have two 'perfect tots' for Christmas. – Sebtomato