The Mrs. got a call on her cellphone on Christmas Eve.  We were actually on our way to church.  What?  Hoot knows the real meaning of Christmas!  I also know that talking about love and actually doing it are two different things.  Maybe that’s why I’ve always had sort of a bad taste where church and organized religion are concerned.  Don’t tell me what you believe.  Show me.

“We’ll be right there,” I heard her say.  She began motioning to me to turn the car around.  “Lindsay,” she managed to clue me, as she continued listening to the person on the other end of the line.  “Well get her some clothing.  Put her in a car or something to warm her up until we get there.  We’re twenty minutes away.”

Get her some clothing?  What  the hell?  It’s twelve degrees outside!  Put her in a car?  I couldn’t imagine what was happening.  It seemed to take forever for that call to end, the Mrs. uttering an ‘Uh huh” or an “Oh my!’ every so often.  Finally the call ended and she could fill me in.

Lindsay showed up for her shift late and completely strung out.  “Coked out,” is how Melissa described it.  A new manager, Stu–who all the girls hated–fired her on the spot and demanded she leave the premises.  It got ugly when he told her she couldn’t leave in her uniform, as the rules stated, but also for appearance sake–she was obviously wasted.  “What happened?” I asked.  “Melissa says Lindsay stripped buck naked in the office, threw her uniform at Stu and walked out the back door.  Stu locked the door behind her.  Melissa ran around the building and found her on the fire escape.  They’re trying to get her dressed.  You heard me tell them to get her in a warm car or something.”

“And what exactly are we going to do?” I asked.

We arrived to find Melissa in her car–she’d decided to take a sick day, uncertain of how Stu would respond since she had already clocked in.  “He said, ‘Go.’  So I went.”  Lindsay was asleep in the passenger seat, wrapped in a fleece blanket.  “Her clothes are in a locker and we don’t know the combination.  She’s in no shape to tell us.  I got the blanket from Kim’s car.”  I’ve never mentioned that my wife has a nursing background–and nursing instincts took over, as she worked to stir Lindsay.  “I’ve got nowhere to go,” was all I could make out of what Lindsay said.  “We’re taking her to our house to sleep this off,” the Mrs. declared.  And with that we were transferring a naked Hooters girl from one car to another in the glow of the big orange sign.

“We’ve got to warm her up,” we discussed our next steps as we neared the house.  “Then when she sleeps this off, we’ve got to convince her to get some help.  The girl is going to be dead at this rate.”  That whole thing of talking about love and actually doing it was now forefront in my thinking.  I determined to myself  I was going to love this young lady as if she were my daughter or little sister.  And I would need to keep reminding myself of that–as I carried her, wrapped only in the fleece, into our home, and laid her on our couch.  The wife asked me to help her get Lindsay in a bath–reminding myself again, as I’m now assisting a naked girl into our master tub.  I left the Mrs. to tend to her.  I went out to turn on the TV and grab a beer.  Not your normal Christmas Eve.  There’s a naked Hooters girl in my bathtub–and I’m trying to think pure thoughts.  Maybe when the tub is clear, I’ll hit up a cold shower!

An hour or so passed before Lindsay emerged under her own strength, wrapped in a bath towel.  “Can I grab one of your sweatshirts?” the Mrs. asked me.  It turned out to be a very long and–Lindsay wearing nothing but my Hokies sweatshirt–a very revealing night.  The kind of Christmas miracle story you’d hope for–well, sort of.  More to come.

Have a look at Sarah!  She’s a sight for longing eyes, eh?

It was a winter power outage that found us hosting one of our favorite Hooters Girls, Sarah, in our home.  The ice storm was severe and she was told it could be as many as five days before electricity would be restored to her building.  My wife and I offered a room, warmth in front of the fireplace, and a few days of fun as the winter storm made it most undesirable to be out and about.  We sat enjoying our first evening together, sipping some wine and eating cheese and crackers when Sarah suggested Strip Poker.

“I haven’t done anything like that since college”, the Mrs. giggled with a nervous by intrigued look in her eyes.

“Hell, there’s no way you two are going to beat me at poker, and I’m all for watching you get naked!” I laughed.

The next thing I knew, my ass was sitting there in my boxers, both Sarah and the wife enjoying every moment–and both fully dressed.  “Four of a kind!  Give up the drawers!” my wife tossed her hand face-up on the table and both she and Sarah laughed wildly.  Damn!  I know you don’t stop by my blog to read about Hoot being naked!  What the hell happened?

“I feel sorry for him”, Sarah offered.  “What do you say we sympathy-strip?”  With that the girls took another swig of their wine and began to peel off their clothing. 

First Sarah pulled her shirt over her head.  My wife followed.  They giggled–and never really took their eyes off each other, which I found pretty exciting.

Next Sarah unhooked her bra and let if fall over her arms to her wrists, swung it playfully and tossed it at my wife.  She had perfect tits!  The Mrs. set Sarah’s bra behind her on the floor and slowly unhooked hers, holding the cups in place with her hands, nervously biting her lip.

“Let me see ‘em!” Sarah encouraged.

With that, my wife tossed her bra playfully towards Sarah’s and looked at me.  Her eyes seemed to say, ‘What have I gotten myself into?’  I smiled big and nodded assurance to her.  She reached for another gulp of her wine.

Sarah had already stood and begun to untie the string of her sweatpants.  In a smooth motion she slid the pants down, bending in such a way as to give us a very provocative view of the powder-blue thong she was wearing.  “Victoria’s Secret”, she said, as she adjusted the thong for our view. 

My wife had either suddenly gotten into this, or resolved herself to it.  When I turned back her direction her shorts were off and she shot back, “Mine too!”, as she ran her hand over the darker blue satin panties that she wore.

“You ready Card Shark?”, Sarah joked, looking at me.

“You guys are doing so well, you don’t want me to mess this up”, I quipped.

“All at once”, she suggested.  My wife agreed, “All at once, honey.”

I’ll spare you the rest.