Tate's Fantasy

Four Little Snowmen

Four little snowmen sitting in a row.

Three said, fuck her, and one said no.

She's my beloved, so no cocks in her go.

Lest you want to see a lot of melted snow.

Those four lines kept running through my head to the measure of "Five Little Monkeys."

Tate and four snowmen sitting in a tree.

K-I-S-S-I-N-G.

First comes lust, then comes the brand.

Then comes the forming of Tate's snow harem.

Yes, indeed, I've lost my mind. Cheesy takeoffs on childhood rhymes roll around in my head . . . along with a delusion that's grabbed me by the boobs—one where I'm in bed with four . . . snowmen . . . with enormous icicle cocks.

For those of you who are new to this wee tale, I'm Tate. Last night, Hera snatched my ass from my comatose body and deposited me here in Bardo, still dressed in my designer hospital gown, exposing my backside to the world. The gods chose me to clean up the mess at some place called the Sexy Sins Academy.

After Hera announced that I had no choice in the matter, would be assaulted by something dreadful called ascension cold fever, and added something about following my heart, a gorgeous hunk of humanity who looks just like Joe Black whisks me up and takes me to this Sexy Sins place. He and three other equally gorgeous guys make short work of stripping me of my "designer gown." The nerve.

"I need to kiss you. Just to heal—"

I manage to open my eyes a crack. Now Joe Black looks like my beloved dead husband, Bob. Joe? Bob? This delusion is quickly becoming the best wet dream of my life . . . or impending death. I grab his cheeks, overjoyed to be reunited with him. "Bob," I sigh into his mouth just before capturing his lips and devouring him. He moans when I say his name.

Quite unlike my Bob, this guy lies back and lets me take from him. Suck the very essence from him. Because his breath feels as if he's throwing snow on my hot fire. Which makes complete sense since he's a snowman and all.

Each breath of his I take makes me feel a bit better, a bit stronger, and a whole lot hornier. I respond to the cool heat in his lips and let him take me to another place.

"Let go, man," a big, brawny snowman says. "That helped last time."

My eyes widen at the pain of separation as Brawny pulls my Joe Bob away from me. Brawny's alarmed coal eyes stare down at Joe Bob. "You've got to stop. I've got this."

"Save her, Caleb," Joe Bob whispers as he collapses back on the pillow.

"Joe Bob." I struggle to reach for him. He can't leave me, not again. On his deathbed, he'd promised to visit me in my dreams. All right, he'd grunted when I'd asked him, but I took that as a definite yes. So for the last six months, I've eagerly embraced sleep only to be disappointed night after long night. Now, finally, when he's here, some other weird shit is going on. Just my luck. I can't even have a normal wet dream.

"It's her, man, I'm telling you. It's her." Caleb's sigh of contentment follows me into sleep.

Who the hell is her?

"She's coming around." A melodic voice, sounding a whole lot like my beloved Bob's, breaks through the fog. My eyelids bolt open, and two hazy snowmen shimmer into view, but I can see the men they'd once been—one who looks like Joe Black and one who looks as if he stepped right out of the movie Twilight.