The nametag told them the waitress’s name was Faith, and to the side of the nametag her nipple was moving like a thing alive, with a mind all its own. It stood erect an inch away from the hem of the very green halter top of her elf costume.  

They watched Faith give their order to the bartender. The woman reached out and touched her husband high on the leg, inches away from his languorous cock. The waitress was his type: petite, short dark hair, dramatic eyes peeking from behind large-framed glasses. She squeezed her husband’s thigh.

“She’s pretty,” he told his wife.

“That’s just the nipple talking,” she replied.  

Faith returned, preoccupied with handing them their drinks while navigating the mechanics of the costume. 

“I'm sorry, I hate this dumb costume. Am I allowed to hate Christmas?” She set down their drinks, and reached down to adjust her short and very green skirt, allowing her nipple more freedom as she squirmed, a mere half inch from the hem now. The woman surreptitiously slid her hand higher up her husband’s leg.  “I mean, I don’t hate it.” She adjusted her halter top. Her final tug at the fabric revealed the dark areola surrounding the nipple like a promise. “I like being a waitress here, it’s a wonderful old bar. But during Christmas, everyone’s all burnt out and stressed, trying to be festive. Sorry, I’m oversharing.” She adjusted her hat last, a very green cap she was trying to keep from falling off her head. As she did so, her nipple popped into the open, dark and engorged, clearly excited at the prospect of freedom.

Her husband’s cock roused.

Faith set down napkins. “New York at Christmas is supposed to be magical. But there’s dollar signs in everyone’s eyes. People hide behind their shopping bags. Nobody shows anything real.”

“Joy.” He man had recovered enough from the surprise of his wife’s hand on his leg to be able to talk.

“Excuse me?” The waitress leaned in closer, allowing her nipple to slide out of the shell of her halter.

“Joy.” He leaned in, matching her body language. “Joy is real. Christmas is about joy. Sharing joy.”

Faith smiled at him. “That’s so true,” she told him. She touched his arm, and lowered her head, and that’s when she discovered her nipple’s furtive escape.

She grabbed at her halter, pulling the hem back into place, covering her rogue nipple. She blushed furiously.  “Oh my God, oh my God, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” She gathered her tray and hurried back to the bar.

“Poor girl. I feel awful for her.” Her hand retreated from her husband’s leg.  

He sighed, squeezing her hand. “She looked so embarrassed.”

“I know.”

“Too bad. It’s a sweet little nipple.”

She frowned at him. Outside the window of the bar, Christmas lights blinked and twinkled. The warp and glaze of the glass transformed the streets into a wonderland of color and motion. Crowds of people thronged the streets, oblivious, shopping bags in hand as they trudged from subway to store to taxi, ignoring the bright jewel of a city surrounding them.       

“Flash her back.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Flash her back.”

“Why?”

“She’s embarrassed. She feels all alone. Like she did something wrong.  Flash her. She might feel less alone. Like, she’s not the only person flinging nipples about.”

She laughed. Her hand rose to the edge of her sweater. “Will anyone else see?”

“What if they do? You’d be giving them the gift of your incomparable breasts.”

“You don’t think it will freak her out?” She was playing with the edge of her sweater, toying with the idea.

“Hey! It’s Christmas. Anything can happen. Let’s share some joy.”

They both turned to the waitress, huddled in the server’s station at the far end of the bar. The bar was not crowded. The bartender was glued to his phone.

An exhausted couple entered the bar, and took a seat in their section. Faith took up her tray.

This was their chance.  He whispered, “Wait for it. Okay, nobody’s looking. Now!”

His wife pulled back the hem of her sweater. The supple curve of her breast appeared first, proceeded by the delicious tease of her areola. As the hem of the sweater popped past her erect nipple, she slowed down, extending the moment. Her husband’s length grew visibly harder.

Faith saw the nipple, stumbled, and stopped. Her eyes were focused on the breast, her face inscrutable. They worried they’d gone too far. The woman stretched the sweater out a bit more, her nipple now proudly on display. With a saucy flip of her finger, she flicked the tip of it, gasping.

Faith looked around, making sure she couldn’t be seen. She lifted the hem of the silly green halter, revealing ivory skin underneath. Her eyes went dreamily soft, as she exposed more and more, until at last her breast was revealed, bravely displayed in the open air. She fondled her nipple with the edge of her finger, as the woman played with her own.

The moment stretched and caught and held, though in dull reality it could not have lasted more than thirty seconds. The two women touched themselves, eyes locked, the world forgotten.

When the exhausted couple motioned at Faith, the moment was broken. She pulled down the edge of her halter. She delivered a final searing glance to the woman, giving her own breast one last squeeze. She gave them both a delighted little wave, then broke eye contact and moved on to her duties.

The man looked at the woman. “You are undoubtedly the sexiest woman alive.”

“Thank you,” she said simply.      

“You think that Faith might be interested in more?”

She laughed.  “Men are so hung up on threesomes.”

“Guilty.”

She took his hand and stood. “Still, it’s Christmas,” she said, eyes alight with wonder. “Anything can happen. Let’s go share some joy with each other.”

He left a sizable tip.