Christmas Time free porn video

Introduction: This is a romance between two young people thrown together by an unlikely set of circumstances, at Christmas time.

If you are looking for a porn story, you will be disappointed. If you are looking for a lot

of wild sex, you will be disappointed. But if you are looking for a tale of romance and

generosity, a story about growth and selflessness, I hope you will read and enjoy. I

would be remiss if I did not thank my muse, the amazing woman who keeps me sane

and happy.

*

"Mr. Summers, do you have anything to say to the court before I pronounce sentence?"

"I guess not, Your Honor."

"Very well. The Court has some discretion in sentencing for cases like yours. I could

remand you to the custody of the County Prison System for a period of up to twelve

months. When I first saw your juvenile record, I was tempted to do just that. However,

your last brush with the law occurred when you were fifteen years old. Since then, you

have not been in trouble, or at least you have not been caught. I also am advised that

you are working a full-time job while going to culinary school. Is it your intention to

make cooking your lifetime work?

"Yes, Your Honor. If I complete my courses with honors, which I am determined to do,

the school's placement office has assured me that I will be able to find work as a chef.

My dream is to one day have my own restaurant, and becoming a chef is the first step

toward that goal."

"Very well," the judge said. "Both your employer and your school have presented

character testimony before the Court on your behalf. In light of this, I am going to use

my discretion in your sentencing. But mark my words to you today. If you get in any

trouble again, your probation will be revoked and you will serve the full prison time

allowed by law. Don't disappoint me, young man. I hereby sentence you to time served

plus three hundred hours of community service. Because of your skills and interests,

you are to perform your service as a cook at the South Street Community Kitchen. If

you do well, you will be an asset to the community. Young man, you may even enjoy

your community service."

I thought to myself, "How the hell am I supposed to enjoy cooking up swill for street

people? That's an insult to my skills." But, luckily, I kept my mouth shut and my

expression blank.

The judge continued, "The Court is aware of both your work schedule and your course

schedule. Since you work five nights a week and take courses five days a week, the

Court concedes that it would be unreasonable to expect you to work more than one

eight-hour shift a weekend at the kitchen. You will be expected to be at the kitchen

every Saturday, beginning this weekend, from 9:30am to 6pm, with a 30-minute lunch

break. That will allow you to do both prep and cooking work for lunch and dinner every

Saturday."

I did the math in my head. "Holy shit!" I thought. "That's almost nine months. Nine

months of feeding street people will kill me."

"If you have the opportunity on holiday breaks from school or work, you may work extra

shifts to satisfy your obligation more quickly, with the approval of the kitchen. I know

they can use all the help they can get during holidays, especially at Christmas. Do you

have any questions or comments, Mr. Summers?"

"No Your Honor. And thank you, Your Honor."

"You have a future ahead of you, son. Make the most of it. I don't want to hear anything

more about you, other than positive reports from your Probation Officer. This Court is

in recess until 1 o'clock."

Great. Wonderful. I'm going to spend three hundred hours, or almost thirty-eight eight-

hour days, cooking half spoiled food in some cockroach-infested hellhole of a kitchen,

and serving it to starving toothless winos, all because I had been stupid enough to

think I was in love with Marcy. Wait, that's not true. I really had been in love with Marcy.

The stupid part had been believing she was in love with me.

I had been pretty crazy in middle school. After my Dad died when I was eleven, I

stopped listening to my Mom. I'm old enough now to see what she had been trying to

do, being so strict, all out of fear that I would wind up like Dad. But at that time, all I

could see was that she was on my shit constantly. At first, I just resented it. I had just

lost my Dad, and she wouldn't let me alone to work through my grief. I know now that

she was hurting too, and scared out of her mind, but back then, I just saw her as a

bitch.

I started cutting school, hanging out with the wrong people, getting into fights, and

finally getting into trouble with the cops. Nothing big, just little petty stuff, but enough of

it to have me sent to Juvenile Hall. When I got out at age sixteen, I had straightened up.

I had worked in the mess hall while in juvie, and I learned just enough about cooking to

know that I wanted to learn a whole lot more. So, I made up the schoolwork I had

missed, graduated on time, got a half-decent second shift job, and enrolled in culinary

school. It was all coming together.

Then I met Marcy a party right after I turned nineteen. She was beautiful, sexy, and had

an infectious laugh. She also had a cute little dimple in her left cheek when she smiled,

which she did a lot (I get kind of weak in the knees about chicks with dimples -- hey,

it's my thing!). We hit it off right away, and in no time we were dating.

I remember the first time Marcy and I spent the night together. We had gone to a

concert, using tickets she had won from a local radio station. We had a great time,

and, as the evening progressed, we held each other more and more closely. By the

end of the concert, we were making out, and when I took her home, she invited me in.

Her roommates weren't home, so we resumed our make-out session on the couch. In

less time than I expected, I had her naked, and she was leading me to her bedroom.

She was as much fun in bed as she was out of it, and I discovered that a dimple would

appear on her right cheek, too, when she sucked my cock. I was hooked, I knew it, and

I didn't care.

We had great sex almost every night for months. I thought having her completed my

life. I was supporting myself well enough, going to school, making plans, working on

dreams, and now, I had a hot girlfriend. Onward and upward. Or so I thought.

One night, when I went to pick up Marcy, she was in a really bad mood. She wouldn't

say why, although she assured me she wasn't upset with me. She said she had an

errand to do, and asked me to drive her over to her friend Janie's house to pick her up.

When Janie got in the car, Marcy told me to drive to a neighborhood on the other side

of town. She had me park on the street, and she and Janie got out. They said they

needed to see a girl who owed them something, and told me to wait in the car. They

walked around the corner, and were gone for about fifteen minutes.

Suddenly, they came running up to the car from the opposite direction, threw

themselves inside, and told me to get out of there as fast as I could. They wouldn't tell

me what happened, but told me to drop them off at another girl's house and then go

home. Marcy promised to call me in the morning to explain everything. I didn't like the

smell of it, but I didn't know what else to do.

Marcy didn't call in the morning. Instead, the police came knocking on my apartment

door. I was led away in cuffs, and charged with about a million counts of vandalism,

malicious mischief, and destruction of property. I couldn't believe it. It turns out that

Marcy and Janie had messed up a lot of stuff at the home of a girl they had a beef with.

No one saw them, but several neighbors heard them, and identified my car speeding

away. I tried to tell my side of the story, but no one believed me. Marcy and Janie had

been questioned, but they denied having seen me that night except early in the

evening, when they said I drove them to the party, before the vandalism occurred. They

told the cops that they had complained to me about the girl they victimized, and

claimed that I said I knew who this girl was. Everyone at the party they had gotten to

hours after they said they did vouched for them. I was screwed.

Many of the charges were dropped, but the sighting of my car fleeing the scene was

enough to get me convicted of a few of them. I guess if you throw enough shit at

something, some of it is bound to stick. Anyway, that's how I wound up in court, and got

myself sentenced to work in a damn soup kitchen.

I guess it could have been worse. I managed to keep my job, I didn't lose my

apartment, I didn't have to drop out of school, I didn't get thrown out of school, and if I

kept my nose clean and showed up at this slop house, it would eventually all go away.

All but the feeling that I had lost a love, and that I could never trust a woman again.

Saturday morning I showed up at the kitchen at 9am. I reported to an immense middle

-aged woman who introduced herself as Ma. At nearly 6 feet tall and at least 350 lbs.,

Ma was obviously a force to be reckoned with. I told her my name was James

Summers, and she immediately enveloped me in a huge, greasy, onion-smelling hug.

"Welcome to South Street, Jimmy-boy! I know why you're here, so you don't have to tell

me anything you don't want to. Some of us are here for the same reason you are, and

some of us are volunteers. We only have a few rules. No d**gs, no alcohol, no fighting,

and no frowns. I'm sure you can handle the first three rules, and I hope you learn to

follow the last one. Let me introduce you around.

"JZ! This here's Jimmy-boy." she yelled.

JZ was a big, tough-looking black man, who I judged to be in his mid-twenties. He was

wearing a black nylon do-rag, instead of the hairnet everyone else wore. He smiled,

and slapped me five. "My man!" he said. "You here from court?"

"Yeah, some vandalism crap," I answered.

He grinned and pointed a meaty finger at himself. "Work release program from the

crack half-way house down the block. Keep it real, man, we gonna have some fun

here. No one bites, not even old Ma." He grinned and went back to washing dishes.

"Yolanda! Meet your new cook," Ma said to a tiny, pretty, but somewhat hard-looking,

30-ish Hispanic woman.

She turned and looked me over critically. "The last one they sent us to help cook

couldn't boil water without help. What do you know about making dinner that don't

involve a microwave?"

"I can cook, ma'am," I said.

"Jimmy-boy here is in culinary school. He's gonna be a chef someday," Ma said.

"Do tell? Boy, you may not find the makings for too many fancy sauces here, and our

clientele don't really appreciate a good souffle, but if you can cook plain food in big

volumes, you'll be a Godsend." She shook my hand warmly.

As we walked away, Ma said, "Yolanda came to us almost seven years ago, on a

community service thing like you're doing. She got her life straightened out, got a job,

but she's always back here every weekend and every holiday. I guess she found a

home here."

Ma took me around the rest of the huge building, introducing me to the rest of the

kitchen and serving staff. Some, like JZ, were doing community service. Others, like

Yolanda, were volunteers. There were too many names to remember, but one stuck

out. Holly.

Holly was a pretty blonde girl-next-door type (complete with dimples), my age, who first

came to South Street as part of a service club project in high school. That was over

two years ago. Like Yolanda, she never left. Her main job was vegetable and salad

prep, which meant peeling tons of potatoes, cutting up cases of lettuce, tomatoes, and

carrots, and coring and slicing apples. Even with a hairnet, which was required by the

sanitation code, she looked cute as hell. But any naughty thoughts I may have had

about her were pretty quickly put on the back burner when I saw how she could handle

a knife! Besides, I just wasn't ready to get involved with a girl again.

By the time 9:30, my official starting time, rolled around, I had been given a hairnet and

an apron, and had been assigned the task of helping to make soup for lunch. I had

cooked in volume before, of course, so I figured this would be easy. Ma put me under

Yolanda's supervision.

"Jimmy-boy," Yolanda said, "we usually feed about 250 people at lunch on Saturdays.

The weather's nice, so some people might not come in, but you never know. We

usually figure on about 175 breakfasts, 250 lunches, and 325 dinners. Breakfast is

served from 6:30 to 8:30, lunch from 11:30 to 1:30, and dinner from 4:30 to 6:30. We

try to shoo 'em all out of here by 8 in the evening, and we usually get to lock up about 9.

The morning shift comes in at 4:30am, and by 6 there's a line waiting outside. In a way,

you have the gravy assignment."

"How's that?" I asked.

"Most of the overnight crazies have sobered up by the time you get here, and the

evening weirdos don't start getting restless until about the time you leave. You won't

have to deal with none of that, though, since you'll be back here crankin' out the

culinary delights. And I'll tell you, most of these people get a lot calmer when their

bellies are full."

"Do you ever have problems in the dining room?"

"Hell yes, white boy. This is the streets. Where the hell did you grow up?"

"Over on the north side."

"Figures. Rich white people don't know nuthin' about survival here. Well, just keep your

nose clean. And don't be afraid to have JZ or one of the other big young bucks walk

you to your car. In fact, we sorta have a rule that we don't go outside alone, especially

after dark. If no one's available to walk you out, just hang around until there's two or

three others to walk with you. And if you do run into trouble, just show the punks

respect. Do what they tell you. What you got in your pocket ain't worth your life. And buy

a can of Mace, just in case you run into some really whacked out shithead who just

likes to fuck people up, Jimmy-boy."

"Yolanda, let's get something straight. First, I'm not rich. Mom's been on assistance

ever since my Dad died of an overdose when I was eleven. She's too much of a drunk

to hold a steady job. Second, I like to be called James. It's Ma who started calling me

Jimmy-boy. I hate that."

"Yeah, well, Ma's gonna say what Ma's gonna say. Jimmy-boy ain't such as bad name.

It sure as hell beats what she used to call me when I first got here."

"What was that?"

"Ma introduced me to everyone as Little Brown Sugar, cuz' I was here on a prostitution

bust. I was a free-lancer, didn't have no pimp to get free of, and I wasn't hooked on no

d**gs like so many of them whores are. I didn't even have no diseases that penicillin

couldn't take care of. Guess that's cause I wasn't in the life for too long. Anyways, Ma

showed me what trouble I was headed for."

"How?"

"She introduced me to some of our regulars in the dining room. Them girls is all dead

now, but we always have a few broken down old whores. One's dyin' of AIDS. A couple

of others is hooked on crack or meth. But we don't make no judgments here. If they're

hungry, and if they ain't violent, we feed 'em."

"How does Ma fit into the picture?" I asked.

"No one knows her background, except that she's a rich widow. She don't talk about it.

She's run this place for more years than anyone can remember, and she's changed a

lot of lives. She's a strange old bitch, and I didn't like her much at first, but she helped

me to see that life had more to offer me than turnin' tricks with sick old men who

couldn't even get it up. Once I started to get straightened out, she stopped calling me

Little Brown Sugar. You'll see. She's a real sweetheart, and she'd give you the shirt off

her back if you needed it."

"She seems like the matriarch of this whole place. She's tough, huh?" I said.

"You don't know the half of it. Wait till the first fight breaks out in the dining room. JZ's

sort of our bouncer right now, and he's a damn good street fighter, but Ma can sling a

punk or some skanky bitch out the door before they know what hit 'em. Ain't nobody

fucks with Ma. And a word of advice to you, Jimmy-boy, uh, I mean, James. Ma's

gonna be watchin' you like a hawk. Pull your load, and she'll love you to death. She'll

even write letters for you. But, screw off, and she'll violate your probation so fast your

head will spin. Like I said, ain't nobody fucks with Ma. Now, we'd best get cookin'."

With JZ's help, we half-filled three huge pots with water and started heating it. To me,

they looked like the pots you see in old cartoons where the cannibals are boiling the

explorers. I started to grasp the size of the task ahead of us, especially when Holly

came over with a big wheelbarrow full of freshly peeled potatoes. "We serve vegetable

soup for lunch," Yolanda said. "Start cuttin' up them potatoes and throw em' in. I'll dice

up these carrots and celery," she said, pointing to the many five-gallon pails Holly was

lugging our way. "And make the pieces pretty small. A lot of our patrons don't got many

teeth."

"What else goes in here?" I asked.

"We got some left-over roast beef, some left-over meatloaf, and the guys at the griddle

are frying up some other meat we got laying around. If we get done before they do,

we'll start dicing that up too. Shit, boy, cut faster. There's 250 hungry mouths to feed!"

Yolanda and I worked hard, but there were small mountains of vegetables to cut up.

Holly joined us, and soon the kitchen was filled with the smell of boiling vegetables.

"Hey, Jimmy-boy!" Ma yelled. "You're the newbie here, so you've got to be initiated.

Remember my fourth rule? No frowns? Let's see how well you do with this." She

dumped a bucket of peeled, raw onions on the worktop in front of me. "Dice them up

real fine and add them to the soup. And smile!" She laughed loud and hard, and

waddled away.

"Damn, I hate cutting onions," I muttered. My eyes were already stinging from the

fumes, and I hadn't even picked up my knife. There had to be about ten pounds of

onions there. I knew I was in for a rough time.

Yolanda was just watching me, laughing quietly. "Get to it, James. You gotta get them

diced and in the soup so they have time to cook."

Holly was grinning (there were those dimples!) and watching me too, so I got to work. It

wasn't long until tears were streaming down my face. "I gotta take a break and get

some air," I said. "I'll be right back."

"Wash your hands really thoroughly, rub a lot of hand sanitizer on them, and then wash

them again," Holly said. "I think I have some things that can help you."

By the time my hands were dry, Holly was at my side. "Here, put these on." She held

up an old pair of safety goggles that were held together by a piece of string. "I always

wear these when I have to cut onions. They help. Turn around so I can tie them tight for

you." She pulled them snug against me and tied them behind my head. "Wear these."

She handed me a pair of rubber gloves. Then she pulled a small kerchief out of her

apron pocket. "I spray this with a little of my cologne and tie it over my nose. Trust me,

it helps a lot." She fastened the kerchief around my face, and then began to laugh.

"You look like one of those apocalyptic bikers from those Mad Max movies!"

I felt ridiculous, but the stuff Holly lent me made the job easy. I quickly had the entire

bucket of onions diced and in the soup pots. While I was working, Holly kept smiling at

me. Her cologne was a strangely seductive, spicy smell. For a moment I fantasized

about what it might taste like between her perky tits. No, no, no! I wasn't going there.

No women for me until I got my head on straight. The last thing I needed right now was

to have some chick screw me over again. Although Holly didn't seem like the type.

As the soup simmered, we all took a short break. Yolanda poured three Styrofoam

cups of bad coffee, and handed one to Holly and to me. Since it was daylight, and

actually pretty warm outside for the first weekend in October, we decided to go

outside. "Drink up, k**dies," Yolanda said, lighting a cigarette. "As soon as the dining

room opens, Ma will decide if we have to make one more batch or two. With as nice

as the weather is, our patrons are probably all up and moving about, so we could get a

good crowd today."

I took a look around the front of the building. I was amazed to see a large, motley crew

of what had to be a hundred people milling around on the sidewalk. "Yolanda, come

take a look," I said.

Yolanda joined me at the corner of the building. "Yeah, we gotta make more soup. We

got a good crowd already, and I don't even see a lot of our Saturday regulars." She

tossed her half-smoked cigarette on the ground, and a c***d about nine years old

dashed over and snatched it up. "That'll stunt your growth, Rufus," Yolanda laughed.

The boy, dressed only in an oversized t-shirt, ragged jeans, and worn out high-topped

sneakers, gave her the finger and ran away with the cigarette in his mouth. "k**s," she

said. "Don't know what's with 'em these days. I know that boy. His Momma is a crack

whore who worked the corner two blocks over. I heard she got busted a coupla weeks

ago, so I guess the little man there is on his own now. Hell of a way to spend your

c***dhood."

As we went back inside, I asked, "What about c***d Protective Services? Why haven't

they taken charge of him?"

Holly spoke up. "They probably don't know about him. I bet his mother never

mentioned him, and if he hasn't had trouble with the cops, no one but us knows he

exists."

Yolanda said, "James, I told you before. This is the streets. God willing, the k**'s found

himself a warm place to sleep, and maybe some dealer to run for, so he earns enough

money to stay alive. I know him a little. I don't think he ever been to school, but he's

smart. Good enough with numbers to handle the money, and clever enough to know

how much he can palm without gettin' his throat slit."

"Can't somebody help him?" I asked. "Take him in?"

"What, and make him a ward of the state? Send him to some group home where he'll

be beaten by the bigger k**s and turned into a hardened criminal before his voice

changes? I know you don't believe it, but in some ways, he may be better off this way.

He has friends, I know that much, and friends are what keep you alive in this world

down here. If he's lucky, and some are, he'll grow up enough to make his way out of

this sewer and make something of himself."

"Hell, I thought I had it rough as a k**," I said. "My Mom's a drunk, and my Dad killed

himself with a needle when I was eleven, but at least I always slept indoors."

"Yeah, and you was headed for real trouble, from what I hear, but you're making

something of yourself," Yolanda said. "You're a smart boy, and so far, a fast worker.

Keep it up, James. You'll be somebody."

We started cutting up more vegetables, and not long after the dining room opened, JZ

brought us one of the kettles, washed and ready. We started making a fourth batch of

soup. Ma came by and said she'd let us know soon if we would need to make a fifth

batch.

"Yolanda, how many servings do you get out of one of these kettles?" I asked.

"Usually about seventy. I just took a look outside. We ain't waiting for Ma to tell us to

make a fifth batch. I guarantee we'll need it."

"What happens if we have left-over soup, or left-over ingredients?" I asked.

"Don't count on it. Some of our regulars come in as soon as the doors open, and then

come back in and get another bowl of soup just before closing time. If we would have

anything left over, we could freeze it and have a head-start on next Saturday."

We worked in silence for a while. Soon, JZ brought us a clean pot, and we started

cooking our fifth batch of soup. When that was done, we cleaned up our part of the

kitchen.

At 1:30, Ma closed and locked the front door, unlocking it only to let the last of the

diners leave. There wasn't a drop of soup left.

"Time for lunch, k**s. We got thirty minutes, no more," Yolanda said. "After that, we

really gotta perform. With the lunch crowd we had today, I think we'll be really hopping

at dinner time." Holly, Yolanda, and I took the lunches we had each brought from home

out into the dining room, and we sat down for a much-needed break.

We ate quickly, and Yolanda went out for a cigarette, leaving Holly and me alone.

I said to Holly, "Ma said you first came here on a service club project in high school.

What made you decide to keep coming back?"

"I don't know, really. I guess I just felt needed. Ma reminds me of an aunt I had who

died when I was younger. I was really close to her. Yolanda made me feel really

welcome, and I got comfortable working with her. Then I started to meet some of our

regulars, heard some of their stories. Not all of them are bad people. Some are

homeless because they are on the run from an abusive husband or boyfriend. Some

have a place to stay, but can't make enough money to both pay rent and buy food for

their k**s. Some are war veterans, so devastated by their memories of combat that

they can't cope with civilian life. When I first got here, I was sixteen. I guess I had led a

pretty sheltered existence. I had no idea there was so much poverty and hunger in our

own city. I thought that only happened in Third World countries."

"This almost seems like a Third World country," I said.

"Exactly what I thought," Holly said. "With high school, and only a part-time job, I

couldn't afford to give any money to help, so I decided to give my time. And now, with

college, I still don't have any money. Besides, I can see the results of the work I do

here. This place grows on you. So I keep coming back."

"Where do you go to college?"

Holly replied, "I'm at the community college just west of the park. I didn't know what I

wanted to do when I was eighteen, but I knew that having only a high school diploma

wouldn't give me many job opportunities, so I'm taking business courses."

"What happens after you finish those?" I asked.

"Well, I'll have an associate's degree in business administration, which would allow me

to take some entry-level office jobs, but I'm thinking about going on and getting a

bachelor's degree in hospitality management," Holly said.

I asked, "Does that mean hotel and resort management?"

"Yes, or restaurant management. I think that's what I'd really like to do. Run a

restaurant. Not a family restaurant, either; something a little more up-market. Ma

already wrote me a letter of recommendation to include with my college applications.

My work here is a great resume-builder, and it's also taught me a lot about teamwork,

job assignments, and supply management."

"Yeah, speaking of supplies, where does all this food come from?" I asked.

"City, state, and federal grants, the local food bank, some corporate donations of food

or money, and a few private benefactors. This place is run by a small charitable

foundation, not the government, so the door is pretty much open to get funding and

supplies wherever we can. But what we get is barely enough. Sometimes we have to

close up early, because we run out. I hate that. There are people out there who would

starve to death if we didn't provide for them," Holly said.

We slaved through the afternoon, preparing food for a large evening crowd. Yolanda,

Holly and I were already beginning to gel as a team. Before I knew it, Ma came by and

said, "Jimmy-boy, it's almost 6 o'clock. You can leave now if you want."

I got a very meaningful look from Yolanda that told me what my response should be.

"It's OK, Ma, I'll stay until you close the doors. There's a lot of clean-up to do here, and

I'd hate to stick the others with taking care of my mess."

"Good boy," Ma said as she lumbered away. "I won't mark your time sheet until you

walk out the door."

"You just scored some brownie points there, James," Yolanda chuckled.

"I really appreciate you staying to help, James," Holly said, flashing me a dimple-

enhanced smile.

When I got home that night, I intended to take a shower and watch some TV, but I

decided to just relax on my bed for a minute. I slept in my clothes for eleven hours

straight.

The next few Saturdays were pretty much the same. Sometimes, we had a smaller

crowd than we did that first day, and, because I was getting used to it, the work

became a little easier. I got in the habit of staying until 7 or even later, to make sure

that our work area was cleaned up.

Three Saturdays before Thanksgiving, Ma stopped me when I walked in the door. "I've

sent off your time sheets to your probation officer, along with a note about what a big

help you've been. I'm impressed with you, Jimmy-boy. And now I've got a question for

you. Thanksgiving is coming up. I'm sure you don't have classes on Thursday or

Friday. Do you have to work at your regular job?"

"No, Thanksgiving is a long weekend for me. Why?" I already knew the answer.

"That's a real busy time for us, and we sure could use the extra help. If you would come

in on Thursday and Friday, as well as Saturday, I'll mark your time sheet with time-and

-a-half for Thursday and regular time on Friday. That way, you'll be able to cut a few

weekends from your sentence. You don't have to give me an answer now. Just let me

know before you leave tonight."

When I walked into the kitchen, I was greeted by Holly. "I saw Ma grabbed you when

you came in. She asked you to work Thursday and Friday of Thanksgiving week, didn't

she?

I nodded.

"Are you going to do it? We could really use the help. The only time it gets busier

around here is at Christmas. Please say you'll do it, James. We all love working with

you."

"I'll think about it," I said.

Holly gave me another one of her award-winning smiles, and went over to her prep

area.

When I walked over to my area, Yolanda was chuckling. "She likes you, you know."

"Well, I like her too. I like just about everyone here," I said.

"No, dummy, she really likes you! What, are you dense?

"What are you saying, Yolanda?"

"She's dyin' for you to ask her out, idiot! She thinks you're really cute. I'd agree with

her, but you're a little too young and white for my tastes. But, hell, boy, ask her out!"

"No way," I said.

"Why not? Already got a girl?" Yolanda asked.

"No."

"Shit, boy, don't tell me you're gay? I never woulda thought!"

"No, Yolanda, I'm straight. I just don't want to ask Holly out."

"Why the hell not? She's cute as hell, she's nice, she's smart, some guys would say

she's hot. She sure as hell has a nice body. Don't you agree?"

"I guess."

"Then, what is it?" Yolanda persisted.

"I had a serious girlfriend. Or at least I was serious about her. She's the one who got

me in this mess." I told Yolanda the whole story about Marcy, her betrayal, and my

arrest.

"Stupid bitch wasn't right for you anyway. You're a good boy, James. You deserve a

good girl. And Holly's a good girl. She has everything a guy should want -- looks,

personality, a good head on her shoulders, some dreams, and some plans to make

them dreams come true. You should go for her."

"Yeah, and she has dimples, too," I muttered, I thought only to myself.

"What you say?" Yolanda laughed. "Dimples? You got a thing for dimples? Oh Lordy,

that's too damn cute!"

"Yolanda, don't you dare say anything to anybody about that. I mean it. I consider you a

friend. Don't embarrass me!" I scolded her.

"Oh, James, your secret's safe with me. Shit! Dimples! That's too damn much!"

Yolanda was shaking her head and giggling.

"Shut up! She's coming over here," I hissed at Yolanda.

Yolanda tried to compose herself, but the look on her face told Holly something was

up. "Did I miss something?" she asked.

Yolanda burst out laughing. Finally she managed to sputter out, "James just told me

the sickest joke I've heard in a hell of a long time. But I ain't gonna repeat it to you."

Holly looked back and forth between Yolanda and me, parked her wheelbarrow,

shrugged her shoulders, and walked away.

"You owe me, James," Yolanda said under her breath, still giggling. "Dimples, oh my

God!"

When lunch time approached, Yolanda said, "I ain't taking lunch with you two today. I'm

gonna give you and Holly some time alone. Tell her I got an errand to run. Don't worry,

I'll be back before we have to start working again. Now, talk to her, fool!"

I told Holly about Yolanda's errand, and we took our usual spot in the dining room. As

we ate, Holly asked, "Did you get a chance to think about Thanksgiving?"

"A little. I sure could use the break, but cutting a couple of weeks off my sentence is

pretty appealing. And I know you guys could use the help."

"Say you'll do it, James. You know it's the right thing to do. Please? I'd really like to be

able to spend more time with you." Holly reached across the table and grabbed my

hand. I froze for an instant, and then our eyes met. As quickly as it had begun, we

broke our gaze. Holly quickly removed her hand as color flooded her cheeks. "I'm

sorry, I shouldn't have said it that way. I mean I really like working with you. You're so

good at this, and you make the whole kitchen run smoothly."

I didn't say anything for a moment. I didn't know what to say. I remembered what

Yolanda had told me earlier, and realized that it would be very easy for me to fall for

Holly. I also remembered the promise I had made to myself the first day I met her. No

women for me, not now. But, was that fair? Was I going to judge Holly just because of

my experience with Marcy? What should I do?

Finally, I spoke. "Holly, I really like working with you. You're right, giving extra time over

the holiday is the right thing to do. As soon as we're done eating, I'm going to tell Ma.

And I have all of Christmas week off from work and school. Maybe I can put in some

extra time then, too.

"That would be great. Thank you, James."

When I told Ma my decision about Thanksgiving, she said, "I knew you'd do it Jimmy-

boy. The whole staff will be real pleased. Do you think you can put in some extra time

around Christmas?"

"I have that week off from both work and school, Ma. I should be able to take some

extra shifts. Do you do anything special for Christmas dinner?"

"We try to get as many turkeys and hams as we can, and we usually serve Christmas

dinner from noon to 3pm. I don't know how it will go this year, though. It's getting harder

and harder to get donations. Times are tough for everyone this year."

I thought for a moment, and then said, "Let me think about that. At school, we get some

of our supplies donated, and a lot of the stuff comes really cheap from wholesalers. Let

me talk to my instructor and see if I can learn anything."

"Would you do that, Jimmy-boy? Any help we can get would be very much

appreciated." She gave me a big hug. "But right now, you guys need to get ready for

the dinner crowd."

When I got home that night, I thought about Holly a lot. I still wasn't ready to ask her out.

I still wasn't ready to risk getting hurt again. But, after I collapsed into bed, I dreamed

about her.

On Monday at school, I approached my instructor, Mr. Fredricks, about getting help for

the kitchen. He said, "James, that's an interesting idea. Let me see what networking I

can do for you. The end of the year is a good time for people to try to get last-minute

tax write-offs, so you may be able to get some additional donations. I'll get back to you

on that."

The next day in class, Mr. Fredricks said, "Before we begin today, I want to have a

discussion with all of you about something James said to me yesterday. As some of

you know, he is working at the South Street Community Kitchen. That's a free dining

facility, or soup kitchen as some people call it, that works completely off of donations

of time, money, and food. James asked me to help him secure additional donations to

help them to have a good Christmas dinner for the homeless people who depend on

that place as their primary source of food. I'm trying to network with some of our

suppliers and board members to get some additional materials for them, but I'd like to

brainstorm with you about this. Does anyone have any ideas about how to help these

people?"

One of my classmates asked, "Does it have to be food donations, or would money

help?"

"James," Mr. Fredricks said. "You can probably provide better answers than me."

"Money is always a help. The place needs money to pay for utilities, maintenance,

insurance, that sort of thing, just like a for-profit restaurant. Any extra money could be

used for equipment upgrades or additional supplies. At Christmas, they try to serve

turkey, ham, and all the traditional fixings, but they're worried this year that donations

may fall short of the needs of the community. When they run out of food, they close the

doors. It would be a shame to see the people they serve go hungry on Christmas, of all

days."

"What about a bake sale?" one of the students asked.

The class broke up in laughter, but Mr. Fredricks quickly silenced them. "Let's refine

that idea. You're all learning to be chefs, not just cooks. I believe your career goals are

for work as chefs in upscale, gourmet restaurants, so how about this idea? What about

a gourmet hors d'oeuvre and desert sale? We've already covered a lot of those

recipes in our courses."

"Yeah," another k** said, "we could ask for a flat fee donation from people to attend

the thing, and make some money and showcase our skills at the same time."

Another k** said, "How about if we just serve small samples of everything, only a bit of

everything we can figure out how to make, and then take orders for larger portions to

be delivered to these peoples' homes later? They would have to pay in advance, and if

we did it in mid-December, we could send the money to James' soup kitchen in time

for them to buy the stuff they need to put out a nice spread on Christmas."

"Who says we just have to invite individuals?" another student asked. "Let's contact

restaurant owners and try to get them to come. If we're lucky, some of them will place

orders for special stuff they don't normally have on their menu for the holidays. Plus, if

it's any good, they'll know where to find a bunch of young chefs who need a job."

"Sounds good," Mr. Fredricks said. "Tomorrow, we'll talk about this some more. You

have homework tonight, class. I want each of you to come up with two hors d'eouvre

recipes and two desert items that you think you can make and that will go over well. I'll

start doing some leg work to try to find a way to publicize this. We don't have a lot of

time to plan this -- this whole thing needs to be pulled together in a little over a month."

Throughout the week, the entire class was buzzing about this new project. Some of us

just thought it would be a cool way to get our names and resumes out there, which was

true. We all got caught up in the enthusiasm. I couldn't stop thinking about what Holly

would say if we pulled this off.

By Friday when I left school, we had something of a plan in place. Mr. Fredricks had

called in a few favors from the school administration, and he and I were planning to

meet Sunday at his house with a few other k**s to work on publicity. That gave me

time to go over the idea on Saturday with Ma, to make sure that we weren't planning

anything that would be a problem for the foundation that runs the kitchen.

By this time, I was so excited about the idea that I got to the kitchen around 8:30

Saturday morning. The first person I saw was Ma. I gave her a quick overview of our

plan, and she was thrilled. She invited herself to the meeting Sunday afternoon so she

could learn directly from the source what was being planned, and so she could give

her input.

"Give me your address, Ma," I said. "The meeting starts at 1:30. I'll pick you up."

Ma laughed. "Give me your address, Jimmy-boy. I'll come and get you. I've seen that

piece of junk you drive. I don't know if it would survive my weight!"

The next person I saw was Holly. I couldn't contain myself. "Holly, have I got some news

for you!"

"What is it James?"

I told her about our plan. The more I said, the more she smiled, and the deeper those

awesome dimples got. "Oh James, that's wonderful!" she cried. "I can't believe you're

doing this for us!"

Suddenly, I saw that her eyes were welling up with tears.

"What is it, Holly? Why are you crying?"

She threw herself at me and hugged me tight. "I'm so happy right now. I knew you were

special the moment I met you. This is going to be the best Christmas this place has

ever had!"

As nice as it felt to hold Holly, it got a little awkward when I realized Yolanda was

standing in the doorway, watching us. Reluctantly, I peeled Holly off of me. I hoped the

reaction my body was having to hers wasn't visible.

Holly saw Yolanda standing there. "Yolanda, guess what? James's culinary school is

putting together a benefit for our kitchen. And they're trying to find new corporate

donors. They're going to help us give our people a real Christmas dinner!"

"For real?" Yolanda asked. "You think you can pull it off?"

"We're sure as hell going to try," I said.

"James, if you do that, you gonna be the new saint of South Street!"

I said, "Ma's coming with me to a planning meeting tomorrow at my instructor's house.

We'll see what we can do. Don't go congratulating me or my school yet. There's an

awful lot of work to do, and we're going to need a fair amount of luck to make a

difference."

"You can do it, James," Yolanda said. "You sure as hell know how to work. And luck?

You make your own luck. Don't ever forget that. You make your own luck, good or bad.

I want to hear more about this. But we better work while we talk."

Holly, Yolanda, and I all put on our aprons and hairnets and set to our tasks. When we

got the first three kettles of soup simmering, Yolanda said, "Time for a break, James.

Holly, you ready to take a break?"

"You two go ahead. I have a little more to do before I can go on break."

"OK," Yolanda called back to her. To me she muttered, "Outside. Now."

When we got outside, Yolanda didn't say anything. She lit a cigarette and took a few

drags in silence. Finally, she said, "You remember when I asked you if you was

dense?"

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"You remember when we was talking about Holly a few weeks ago and I asked you

why you didn't ask her out? I asked you if you was dense, that you couldn't see she

was crazy for you. I'm gonna ask you again. Are you dense, or what?"

"You mean that hug? She's happy about the kitchen."

"Of course she is. I'm happy, too. But you didn't see me throwing myself at you and

holding you tight like you was a life preserver and I was drowning, did you? I don't think

so. That girl is doing everything she can think of to get you to notice her. And don't you

dare deny it. I sneaked a look at the front of your blue jeans, boy. You noticed her.

Now, when you gonna do something about it?"

"Yolanda, I don't know what to say to you. I told you why I don't want to date anyone

right now. And besides, Holly seems like a good girl."

"Of course she's a good girl, dummy! That's why she hugged you the way she did. If

she was a bad girl, she woulda stuck her tongue in your mouth and her hand down your

pants. Boy, this place means a lot to her. And now you're showing us it means a lot to

you. You just opened the door to her for yourself, and you're a damn fool if you don't

walk your skinny ass on through!"

"I don't know, Yolanda. I just don't want to get hurt."

"The only one's gonna get hurt around here is her if you keep on ignoring her. I ain't

saying you have to fuck her. She may not even want that, at least not right away. But

you gotta be both dense and blind if you don't see the way she acts around you. Hell, it

getting' on toward Christmas. That's the most romantic time of year. If you don't ask

her out, and soon, I'm gonna just set you two up together. And you know me well

enough by now to know that I'll do it. I don't know how, yet, but I'll fix you two up. Now, if

you don't wanna be embarrassed, I suggest you go ahead and do it yourself."

"Let me think about it, Yolanda," I said.

"Yeah, well don't think too long. Come on, we gotta get ready to make more soup."

Ma came to my apartment to pick me up on Sunday. As we walked out to her car, she

said, "The front seat's full of books and papers about the kitchen. I figured I'd bring our

financial records along to share with your group. I want them to see how badly we need

new donations. You're going to have to sit in the back with Holly."

"Why's Holly with you?" I asked.

"Holly helps me with the books and does a lot with inventory and supplies. It's

important for her to get exposure to fund-raising too, and this seemed like a good

opportunity," Ma said.

When I got in the back seat, I was stunned. Holly was wearing a casual blouse and

skirt and low heels. Every time I had seen her at the kitchen, her blond hair had been

pulled back in a ponytail which she then pinned up so it would fit under her hairnet.

Now it was loose, flowing, shiny, and framing her face perfectly. She had on some

subtle make-up. And her dimples appeared when she smiled at me. She was

beautiful. I was in deep trouble.

"Hi, James. I hope you don't mind me tagging along. Ma thought it would be good for

me."

"I'm glad you're here," I said honestly. "Wow, you look great! I mean, you always look

great, but I've never seen you like this."

Ma laughed from the front seat. "Yeah, Jimmy-boy, she cleans up nice, doesn't she?"

We drove the few miles to Mr. Fredricks' house engaged in an animated three-way

conversation. We were all excited about the meeting this afternoon, and full of hope for

the progress we could make. At times, I was having difficulty concentrating on what Ma

was saying, though. I had trouble taking my eyes off Holly.

The meeting went well. Ma had come fully prepared with copies of the kitchen's annual

reports from the last five years, showing a steady increase in the number of meals

required each week, and a recent sharp decline in the donations the kitchen was

receiving. She made quite an impact on everyone there about the desperate need the

center had for additional funding. From the way some of the guys at the meeting were

looking at her, I could see that Holly made quite an impact, too.

With Ma's help, we hammered out the language of our publicity campaign. The

students had organized themselves into committees, and the heads of those

committees presented the recipes we were going to use, along with the way in which

we were going to go about getting donations, making sales and collecting money. Mr.

Fredricks had already gotten some written promises of donations of food and money,

and he presented those, along with the list of restaurant owners who were going to be

invited. We made a rough estimate of the proceeds we hoped to be able to donate to

the kitchen.

Then Mr. Fredricks floored us. "I've had a stroke of good luck, people," he said. "Our

school's head of Public Relations is a good friend of the CEO of the company that

owns one of the local TV stations, two FM radio stations, the highest rated AM station

in the area, and one of the newspapers. He's assigned a camera crew to be at the

kitchen on Thanksgiving to drum up public interest about the work you people are

doing. They're also going to do a spot on the evening news at our so-called 'bake

sale,' to publicize what we're trying to do for the kitchen. This could be huge, people!"

The meeting broke up shortly after that. We all had our assignments, and we agreed to

meet again the following Sunday to discuss our progress.

When we got out to the car, Ma, Holly, and I were all floating on the clouds. "I'd offer to

take you k**s out to dinner to celebrate," Ma said, "but I have to go back to the kitchen.

I have to get the orders for next week finished, so I can get them to our suppliers first

thing in the morning."

I knew what I wanted to do, but I was nervous. When we got to my building, I finally

blurted it out. "Holly, would you like to get some dinner? There's a great Thai restaurant

two blocks from here. I can run you home after that."

"I think that would be very nice, James. I love Thai food, but I haven't had any in years."

"OK with you Ma?" I asked.

"Sure, if Holly trusts riding in that rust-bucket of yours."

"I'll be fine, Ma," Holly said.

Ma dropped us at the curb.

"I want to change clothes. You're dressed too nicely to be seen with a guy in a t-shirt

and jeans. Will you come in? It will only take me a minute."

"Sure, James, but you look fine the way you are."

"Not if I'm going out with you," I said.

Holly and I went up to my tiny apartment, and she entertained herself by looking

through my cookbook collection while I went to change clothes. I quickly chose a nice

shirt and slacks and dressy casual shoes. As I dressed, I thought to myself, "Well,

James, this is it. You're going out on a date. What the hell are you thinking?" I

pondered that as I was brushing my hair, and realized that I was thinking how excited I

was to spend time with Holly away from the kitchen.

We walked to the restaurant. As soon as we got inside, Holly said, "Oh James, this is

nice."

"I like it. I used to come here every Saturday night before I started working at the

kitchen. Now, I'm too tired after my shift to do much more than go home and fix

something to eat, and then fall into bed," I said.

"But it's a good kind of tired, isn't it?" Holly asked.

"The first night, when I got home, I decided I was going to take a shower and then

make dinner. I thought I would lie down for a minute to get the kinks out of my back

from slaving away all day, but the next thing I knew, it was morning and I was still in my

smelly clothes from the kitchen. I've gotten more used to it since then, but it still tires

me out. But yes, it's starting to become a good kind of tired," I said.

"I love it there," Holly said. "Some of my friends think I'm nuts, but I just can't imagine

going through life not spending some time there every week. I just like to feel that, in

some way, I'm helping to make a difference."

"What about after you get out of school?" I asked. "Even if you do wind up going for

your degree, after that you're going to want a full-time job. You might not be anywhere

around here."

Holly thought for a moment. "My roots are in this city. This is the only place I've ever

lived. I'd like to stay around here. If I can get a job in a good restaurant here, I'll still

work at the kitchen whenever I can. If I have to leave town to get a job, I'm sure I'll find

another kitchen in another city so that I can keep doing this kind of work."

We ate in silence for a few minutes.

"You know," I said, "when the judge first sentenced me to working at the kitchen, I was

really upset. I thought the work was beneath me, and I came in there the first day

prepared to hate every second of my three hundred hours. Now, I find that I can hardly

wait to get there on Saturday mornings. I guess it gets in your blood."

"It does, James. I know it did for me. And look at some of the others. Yolanda has

been there for years. She can't leave. Ma's been doing this for longer than anyone can

remember. It's her life. I heard JZ say the other day that he's going to keep coming in

when he's done at the half-way house, because our patrons remind him of what he was

going to become. He also says he likes the people he works with."

"Yeah, that's the thing with me too," I said. "Ma's getting to be more like a mother to

me than my own Mom. I don't know what I'd do without Yolanda's teasing and smart-

ass humor. That woman really can make me laugh. And, if I stopped working at the

kitchen, I wouldn't get to see you." It was out before I realized what I was saying.

Holly looked at me. Her dimples grew very deep as she smiled. "Even if you left," she

said shyly, "we could still be friends."

"I can't see myself leaving," I said. "But you're right, I would still want us to be friends."

I paid our bill and helped Holly with her jacket. I could smell that cologne again.

"Do you have to go straight home?" I asked.

"I do have class in the morning, but it's not that late. What do you want to do?" Holly

asked.

"Walk with you. And talk."

"I'd like that," Holly said softly.

We walked aimlessly for a while, talking about the kitchen and the people there.

Finally, Holly stopped and turned me to look at her.

"I've always been a little shy, and I guess I'm a pretty traditional type of girl, so I'm not

good at this," Holly began, "but I have to know something. Why do you seem to avoid

me, James?"

We had found ourselves at the entrance to a small park. I guided Holly over to a bench,

and we sat down. "I don't know how much Yolanda has told you about how I wound up

getting sentenced to work at the kitchen. It was because of a girl," I said. I then told

Holly the whole story about Marcy, starting with how I met her, detailing the growth of

my love for her, and finishing with her betrayal of me. "I thought I was in love with her,

Holly. I thought she was the one for me, forever. Now, of course, I know how foolish I

was. But it's made me very afraid of getting hurt again. I'm afraid to let myself feel

attracted to another woman."

"I'm not Marcy," Holly said quietly.

"No, you're not. I see that much clearly. But it's me. I'm just not sure I can afford to act

on my attraction to another girl," I said.

"Are you attracted to me, James?"

"Very much. You're beautiful, smart, a hard worker, a woman with goals, and you're a

lot of fun to be with."

"Well, since it's honesty time, I'll tell you. I'm attracted to you too, James."

"I like hearing you say, that. I'm just not sure I'm ready for more than a friendship. I think

I want more, but I'm just not ready."

"That's OK, James. I can wait."

I put my arm around her, and she laid her head on my shoulder. Feeling Holly against

my side had my mind working very hard. I knew I liked this girl. I knew I wanted her. But

I didn't know what to do about it.

There was a church next to the park. The bell in its tower struck 9 o'clock.

"Holly, I have an 8am class tomorrow. I guess I should get you home."

"I have early classes too," she said.

I stood, and extended my hand to help her up. We walked, holding hands, not

speaking, back to the parking lot at my apartment. I held her door for her as she got in

my car. Other than giving me directions to her apartment, Holly said nothing as we

drove, and neither did I.

When we got to her place, I walked her to her door. "Thank you for going to dinner with

me, Holly," I said.

"I had a great time with you, James, both at dinner and afterward."

A part of me wanted to flee, but a much bigger part of me hoped she would invite me

in to stay the night. Holly was just standing there, staring into my eyes, as though she

was trying to read my thoughts. Finally, I broke the silence.

"Will you come to next Sunday's meeting with me? Now that I know where you live, I

could pick you up."

"Come here at noon. I'll have lunch ready. Then we can go to the meeting together,"

she said. "And maybe we can hang out a little after the meeting, too."

"That would be nice. Well, I guess I'll see you at the kitchen Saturday."

"OK," she said. She turned away from me, got her key out of her purse and opened

the door.

"Holly?" I said.

She turned to face me again. "Yes, James?"

I pulled her to me and kissed her. I had intended it to be a light friendly kiss, and that is

how it started. But it lingered. And grew. Her hands went to my neck and my arms

pulled her against me. The kiss changed from one of friendship to one that promised

much more. She felt good in my arms, her slender form pressed against me, her

breasts against my chest, her hips against mine, my growing erection pushing against

her belly, her lips parting against my mouth. Before I knew it was happening, my

tongue had touched hers, and I could tell we both liked it.

When we finally parted, I could see her nipples straining against her shirt. "I'm looking

forward to next weekend," I said.

"So am I," Holly said, her dimpled cheeks glowing. "Good night, James."

It took me a long time to get to sleep that night. My thoughts were a jumble of

nervousness and desire. I had never known a girl quite like Holly, and I had never been

attracted to a girl this way before. Not even Marcy. I thought about my relationship with

Marcy for a while, and realized that, as much as I had thought I loved her, she had

never inspired the emotions in me that my one kiss with Holly had.

When I finally fell asleep, I had some very entertaining dreams.

The next week flew by. At school, we were spending more time on plans for our fund-

raiser than we were on actual cooking lessons, but Mr. Fredricks thought the

organizational work we were doing was valuable, so he encouraged us. By

Wednesday, things were coming together nicely. I had to tell Holly, so I called her on

my lunch break at work. I think she was a little surprised that I called, but we had a nice

talk.

Saturday morning, I sought out Ma as soon as I got to the kitchen. "Ma, I have

Wednesday night off from work, so I'm going to be here Wednesday afternoon this

week to work the dinner shift, and I can be here all day Friday and Saturday."

"Well, Jimmy-boy, that would be nice, but I don't know if we really need the help on

Wednesday."

"Tell someone else to take off, or put me to work cleaning the place up to get ready for

the TV crew on Thanksgiving day," I said.

"Oh lord, Jimmy-boy, the whole place needs a coat of paint, but there's no way we can

do that while people are here. But if you're serious about working Wednesday, I bet I

can find someone who would be willing to stay home to start working on Thanksgiving

dinner for their own family. I'll let you know. Say, what are you doing for Thanksgiving?"

"Working here," I said.

"Yes, but after we close. Are you going to your Mom's place for a late Thanksgiving

dinner?"

"No, Ma, the only thing s