Before anyone points it out, yes, I am aware it isn't actually possible to make out with a man for three hours without realising he isn't, in fact, your girlfriend.
Out of all the doll roles at the store, being one of Santa's reindeer has to be the sweetest gig. The pay is fantastic. At 11 am and 3 pm, the whole group, all 9 of us, get rounded up by management for the public display. That's where we're harnessed up to the sleigh, piled high with store products, and have to haul it around the aisles so that families can get photos taken with us. But outside of that, there really only needs to be maybe three of you out on the shop-floor at any one time. Which means you don't gotta do much. Some of the older guys actually appreciate all the attention they get flaunting themselves -I mean those creeps literally get off to guys half their age ogling their girly, half-animal bodies- so me and Nathan, my bro, let them get all the spotlight and do all the work, while we smoke weed and shoot the shit. This year we pulled some strings and got our girlfriends in on it. Christmas became just a haze of make-out sessions in the back. Nobody cares so long as you keep your head down from management. Although admittedly not always easy with these antlers. There are downsides. The whalebone corsets are tight as hell, especially in November before your ribs have had the opportunity to change shape. Plus the hips are set way too far apart. After my first shift, I'm walking like John Wayne. By my last shift, I've got the wiggling strut of a catwalk model. Walking in these things stretches the pelvic bones something awful, and the guys that wear them a few years too many always end up with their pelvis warped into some seriously child-bearing hips. Other downsides? Gotta keep an eye on your weight. Then there's make-up. Gotta shave a lot. Mostly the face, since the lower half is exposed. You gotta shave the rest, the whole body, at least once a week, since any body hair snags in the hinges and gets ripped out. Also the suits get left in the warehouse overnight so they're cold as hell on a morning. It's like slipping into an ice bath, every inch of your skin in contact with frigid wood or plastic, and it's not like they let the reindeer wear clothes. You're totally exposed. Lastly there's the mad dash every morning for the good suits, the spacious ones. It's first come, first serve so I park up at the store forty minutes before my shift is meant to start just to guarantee I never get Vixen again, the crotch-crusher. Not after the last time, when I ended up in the Emergency Room with zero blood flow to my junk. Nearly lost it to the world's worst case of blue balls. I was on my dinner break, creeping through the warehouse to the hiding space where me and Chloe like to make out. There she was, perched on a crate, touching up her lipstick. Without a word, I crept up behind her and pulled her into my arms, pulling her lips to mine. I'd never known her so intense, as she thrust her tongue down my throat. I almost gagged on it, she was that keen, and had to fight her off with my own tongue, wincing as my junk outgrew its confines but too turned on not to return the favor in kind. Her lips were sweet, like weed. I couldn't get enough of them. We ground against each other feverishly, her rough wooden tits rubbing against my glossy porcelain ones, stifling our low, throaty moans for fear management might overhear. We made out for hours, losing track of the time in each other's bodies until the team leader screamed at us to get out on the shop floor and start posing for photographs. Even in front of the cameras, we couldn't keep our hands off each other. Chloe was so demanding, her hands roaming wherever they wanted. I loved it, and so did our audience. I ran my tongue over my lips, savoring her taste. "Babe, did you change your mouthwash? You taste so good," I whispered in my girlfriend's ear. The lower half of her face paled deathly white beneath the thick coating of make-up, her eyes going wide, her hand freezing on my ass. "Dude, Chloe went home sick four hours ago," Nathan's deep voice stammered. "I thought... I thought you were my girlfriend."
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