Proving Santa Exists
A Phaze Snuggler HeatSheet by
Phaze
6470A
This
is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the
product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any
resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or
locales is entirely coincidental.
eBook
ISBN 1-59426-585-2
Proving
Santa Exists © 2006 by Victoria Blisse
All
rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means,
electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any
information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from
the publisher.
Cover art © 2006 by Trace
Edward Zaber
Phaze is an imprint of Mundania Press,
LLC.
www.Phaze.com
"Have you seen
the new guy yet, Jenny?" Susan from Accounts giggles, as she joins me in
the queue to use the coffee machine.
"Oh, yes. He's
just by the door, a couple of cubicles up from me," I reply, not wanting
to say too much to the office gossip generator.
"He's from
"Really?"
The tone of my voice is a verbal pat on the head. "I didn't know
that!" I did, actually, but there's no use upsetting her. I can't bear to
see the disappointment in her eyes.
"Well, yes. I wonder why he ended
up all the way over here, in cold, wet
"Do you think
he's been demoted—like, big time demoted—or he's pissed off the boss and has
been deported to this God forsaken place?" She's desperate for more gossip
to spread, but even if I did know something, I'd not tell her.
I shake my head as
I pick up my tea. "Maybe he just wanted to see
Susan sighs, shakes
her head, and wanders off to find riper pastures. She's probably not even
thought to talk to the new guy. No, she might be in danger of finding out the
mundane truth that way. I walk past the new guy's cubicle on my way back to
mine, and I smile at him.
"Hiya." I
stop for a moment, and he looks up from his monitor.
"Hi!" he
replies, smiling nervously.
"I'm Jenny.
I'm in the cubicle just over there." I point diagonally over to my little
square of space. "You can just see the back of the monitor from here, and
the tinsel that surrounds it. You've probably seen my elbow at some point this
morning, at least."
He chuckles, his
cheeks flushing soft pink and his dark, coffee bean eyes shining. "I
probably have," he replies, his deep American accent very apparent.
"Oh, my name's Jonathan. Nice to meet you, Jenny." His hand reaches
out and I clasp it. His fingers are thick and strong but soft. We grip hands
for a second, then pull apart.
"So, is this
your first day at Computers, Incorporated?" I ask, and he nods his head.
"Well, this
one anyway. I was at the
"Do you like
rain then?" I giggle, and he looks kind of confused—very politely
confused, mind—his thick lips holding a tentative smile and his cheeks pinking
up further. "It rains a lot in
"Oh, I
see." His eyes light up, and I'm rewarded with some more of his rolling
chuckles. "I wanted a change, really." His face settles into a more
serious a shape. "And I've always wanted to see
I smile, nodding my
head, then taking a sip of my just warm tea. "Has your family come over
with you then?"
"No. Well,
I've got no family really. I'm an orphan."
"Oh, gees. I'm
sorry. I didn't mean to pry."
"Don't
worry," his hand waves in front of his face. "I know you were just making
small talk. No, don't worry. Don't worry yourself at all."
"Okay,
then." I grin and he grins back, his smile lighting up his whole
countenance. "You'll find that we British folks are very polite. Oh, yes,
we hate to be seen prying into someone's personal business. We're too dignified
for any of that nonsense."
This time he picks
up on the joke, and laughs. "I'm used to it. Everyone gets a bit flustered
when I first tell them. I've just found it better to be up front with it,
y'know?"
I nod vigorously,
then notice the time on the office clock. "Blimey! I'm sorry Jonathan, but
I'm going to have to get back to work. The damn boss seems to think that's what
I'm here for!"
He chuckles once
more. "Oh, I know. Damn strange, ain't it?"
I nod, my green
eyes sparkling with mischief. "What lunch shift are you on?" I ask as
I turn to walk away.
"One
o'clock." he replies, and I stop and turn to address him once more.
"Oh, so am I.
I'll see you then, then." I answer awkwardly, and he nods.
"See you
later."
Yes, Jonathan is a
lovely chap: funny, polite, interesting, and damned good looking, too. His
eyes! Boy, oh, boy, they're beautiful, and those lashes so thick and luscious.
Many women will be jealous of them, that's for sure.
Anyhow, I can't
afford a crush right now, and I know he'd not be interested in me like that
anyway. No one ever is. I'm Jolly Jennifer, everybody's friend; no one's
lover. I'm pretty short, plump, and have a well-developed mothering instinct. I
take care of people: keep them smiling, encourage them, and help make them
laugh. That's all. No use dwelling on the situation. I could sit here and mope
about it all day and all night, but why? There's nothing I can do to change the
fact. I'll just get on with being friends with him.
He's on his own,
and it's very nearly Christmas. It's a terrible time of the year to feel
lonely. I know, because I do everything in my power every Christmas to keep
busy, surround myself with people, and attempt to forget how lonely my life
actually is. It works to an extent, but I have to go to bed each night in a
empty house, and it's then the loneliness really hits me.
* * * *
When one o'clock
finally rolls around, I step into his cubicle. "I know this sweet café,
just round the corner from here," I say to Jonathan, as we walk out of the
office together. "It's slightly more expensive than the canteen, but the
food is nice, which makes it worth it, I think." I pull my coat collar up,
blow out a puff of air, and shudder. "Ooh, it's sharp out!"
"Pardon?"
His eyebrows knit with puzzlement.
"Oh, I mean
it's cold—really, sharply cold. You see? It's sharp out."
"I see,"
he grins sheepishly. "I'm gonna have to work at learning the language, I
think."
I chuckle.
"Yes, and we speak a strange variant up here in the North. You'll get the
hang of it soon."
"They say the
best way to learn a language is to immerse yourself in it," he nods.
"And you
couldn't get much more immersed!" We laugh, and I direct us to the
window-fronted café beside us. It's quite full, but we find a small, two person
table in the corner by the window and sit down. "What would you like? I'll
go up and order."
"Oh, erm, I'm
not fussy," he replies. "You pick me something good."
"Okay, then.
I'll be back in a moment."
What I choose for
us takes only a few minutes to be served, and I just hope Jonathan enjoys it.
"Here we go." I slide the tray onto the mushroom-coloured Formica
tabletop. "I just ordered the Christmas lunch special for two. It's very
good." I slip the two bowls of thick, red, chunky vegetable soup to the table,
then place the plates of turkey and stuffing sandwiches next to them. Lastly, I
set down two steaming mugs of tea.
"It looks
delicious!" he enthuses as I take my seat. "How much do I owe
you?"
"Oh, no. Put
your money away. This is my treat. Count it as a welcome-to-Manchester
present!"
"Well, that is
very nice of you, Jenny. Thank you," he beams. "I'm definitely liking
The thick soup is
warming, and the chunks of vegetables melting in my mouth feel intensely
comforting.
"Mmm, this is
really tasty. Thanks for the tip."
"My pleasure.
Good food is a passion of mine, as you can see!" I wave a hand down my
body, showing off my ample curves, being sarcastic about my size, as I always
am.
"I know very
little about good food," he replies, completely ignoring my self put-down.
"I've not experienced much so far in my life!"
"Oh, well,
you're over here now. We'll set you straight on that score, especially at
Christmas. What are your Christmas plans?"
He shrugs his
shoulders, "I don't have any. I've never really done Christmas. In the
home, we got a present—if we were lucky—from a charity or something, but that
was it. "
"That is just,
awful. You will have a proper Christmas this year." I put on my
most determined look. "That is, if you'll let me." I look sheepish.
"I organise my family's Christmas every year, and I'd be thrilled if you'd
join in with us."
"Oh, no. I
couldn't." He blushes, shaking his head furiously.
"You could,
and you can, young man." I set my dominant head firmly on my shoulders
"Besides, I need all the help I can get!
"Oh, okay
then." He cracks a smile. "You've persuaded me. It's not like I've
got anything else to do!"
"Excellent!"
I bounce in my seat. "Ooh, would you like to come and help me decorate my
tree? I was planning to do it this evening. I could do with a man to sort out
my lights."
"That sounds
good. What man can resist the draw of messing with a beautiful lady's
bulbs?" My cheeks flush at the compliment, and I concentrate on eating the
last crust of my turkey sandwich for a moment.
"Well, that's
settled then. You can come to my place after work if you like, then I'll feed
you. too."
"That sounds
great, really. Thanks a lot, Jenny. You've given me such a warm welcome. I
really appreciate it." His hand reaches out and squeezes my arm, just
above my wrist.
"You're very
welcome." I look down coyly, my face lit up like the Christmas tree in the
corner. As I'm looking down at his hand on my arm, I notice my watch. "Oh,
damn it! We better rush back, I don't want to get you in trouble on your first
day."
Thankfully, we get
back to the office just on time. The rest of the afternoon, I spend
thinking—and not about work. I know I don't have time to be day dreaming
about the new guy in the office, but it seems that is what I am doing. I get so
few compliments, that when I do receive one it tends to knock me flying. I am
pretty sure he called me a beautiful lady, though I guess he could just be
being gracious. Maybe he feels intimidated by me. I mean, I have just invited him
to my home after knowing him for not much more than an hour. I guess I'll just
have to watch him tonight, and make sure he's there because he wants to be, not
just because he can't say no.
* * * *
After work we walk
out into the car park. "Here she is. This is Minnie, my Mini." All of
Jonathan's six foot frame looks mightily unimpressed. "I'll, er, push back
the seat for you."
Jonathan does fit
in. His dimensions look a little warped inside my blue, baby car, but he still
smiles at me. "It's not far," I apologise, turning on the engine and
making tracks, "so you won't be scrunched up for long."
"Well, I'd
only be squashed up on the bus, so I don't mind, really." Jonathan smirks,
"least I'm sitting next to someone I like. And you smell nice, which is a
definite bonus."
"Thank you, I
think." I laugh loudly, not sure if I should be offended or not.
"You're
welcome." His smiles are special, each one unique, but all very
warming—incredibly warming. Every time he smiles, my face heats up and my
insides feel like they're on a hard boil. "I told you you'd not be folded
up for too long."
I stride over to my
front door, suddenly wondering how tidy I'd left the interior of my house when
I left it this morning. I scurry inside and luckily, it's the beginning of the
week. This means I did my tidying over the weekend and everything looks
presentable. "Come in and sit down. I'll just go and get the Christmas
decorations down off the top of my wardrobe."
"Let me give
you a hand." He follows me towards the stairs, instead of going off to the
left as I indicated. I feel a little weird walking into my bedroom with a man
I'm just beginning to crush on, who also happens to be practically a stranger,
following me. My bed is rumpled, my clothes strewn across a chair in the
corner. If he looks close enough, he will be able to see yesterday's knickers
and bra in amongst the other clothes piled there. "Well, erm, it's those
boxes that need to come down." I point up to the top of the pine wardrobe,
where three battered boxes rest.
"No problem."
I love the way his mellow words smooth into each other. I also like the way his
shirt rides up as he stands on tip-toe, so that he exposes just a little
triangle of soft camel-coloured skin, dappled with the faintest line of dark
brown hair. "Okay, first box. Gees, what have you got in here?" He
lets the box down on to the bed, and straightens up again with a slight wince.
"That must be the nativity and candles and things. The other two should be much lighter." He stretches up again and my eyes fix on his stomach.
"Oh, yes. This
one's much lighter."
I jolt my eyes up
from his midriff and take the proffered box from his hands. "I'll take the
two light ones down, if you take the heavy one."
"Okay!" He
pulls down the next box, placing it on top of the other. His hands gently sweep
over mine as he makes sure the top box is balanced.
"I don't know
about you," I place my boxes down on the sofa and sigh, "but I am
hungry."
Jonathan nods his
head politely as I continue, "I know, I'll heat up that hotpot."
"Pardon?"
"Hotpot,"
I repeat. "It's a stew with mince beef and potatoes and carrots and
onions—oh, and gravy. Very tasty. I've got some left over from the other
night."
"Sounds good
to me." I head off into my kitchen, the only room of the house where I am
confident of its cleanliness. I cannot cook in a messy kitchen, which is weird
as I can sleep in a messy bed and work in a messy office. Jonathan lingers in
the living room. I call through the separating door, "Would you like a cup
of tea?"
"Yes,
please."
It takes a matter
of moments to heat up the meal and make the tea, and not much longer to eat it.
"That is good
stew." Jonathan nods as he wipes up the last traces of beefy gravy with a
chunk of fluffy white bread.
"Mmm, it's
always amazed me that so few ingredients meld together to make such an
aromatic, tasty and filling meal." I fling the pots into a bowl of soapy
water. "I'll do those later. Now, let's go and sort out that Christmas
tree."
"Don't you just
love the pine smell?" I'm sitting by the foot of the tree, placing the
bigger baubles around the lower branches.
"Yeah, it's
very fresh, isn't it?" Jonathan is standing beside me, starting to hang
baubles from the top of the six foot spruce. I adore dressing my Christmas
tree. All my decorations have stories behind them: some belonged to my mother,
others to my Nanna, and a few I have purchased myself.
"Ooh,
Jonathan, can you check those lights for me now?" I look up towards him,
and find his crotch just above my eye height. I drop my eyes again quickly, and
try to not wonder about the bulge I'm sure I just saw there.
"Sure."
He steps around me, his legs rubbing against my back. "So, erm, do I just
plug these in then?" Obviously, Jonathan has not dealt with Christmas tree
lights before.
"Yeah, and if
they light up, that's your job done. If they don't, you need to check all the
bulbs and find the one—or ones—that don't work and replace them with those
spares in that packet."
"Ahh, I
see." He nods and sets to work, as I move my way further up the tree.
"Oh, now then,
I need to find a good place for Fairy Mary." I hold up a small, old,
porcelain fairy, her red dress flared, the sequins lost, only the little blobs
of glue to show where they once were. Her blonde hair is more fuzzy than curly,
and her gold glittering halo shows mostly silver now.
"Fairy
Mary?" Jonathan flicks the switch to red, and the lights come on, fizzle
with a sad "plink," then fade to black.
"There's a
bulb loose somewhere. You'll have to fiddle with them, then screw it in."
He raises a long narrow brow, and I realise how suggestive that just sounded.
"And, yes, Fairy Mary." I quickly continue, avoiding eye contact.
"She's been passed down from my Nanna's Mum—who might even have gotten it
from her mother, though we're not sure. She always has the most comfortable
branch to sit on. She's an old lady now, you see."
He nods and
continues to turn the lights in his fingers. "So do you have a lot of
Christmas traditions?"
"Oh, a fair
few: the decorations, baking my own Christmas cake from scratch, watching The
Muppet Christmas Carol on Christmas Eve. After that, I go up to Tom
Jenkins's farm and look at the tree and Nativity scene before going to church
for midnight mass. That's before we even get to Christmas Day!"
"Do you have
many people here on Christmas Day?"
I nod. "Yeah,
a fair few. There's my sister Marie, and her husband Mike, and their two
teenaged girls. Aunty May comes over with her friend Queenie, and then there
will be Uncle Charlie and his wife, their son, his wife and the newborn
boy—what's his name—oh yes, Jake."
"They'll all
fit in here?" He has very expressive eyebrows, with the tiniest movement
he conveys great scepticism.
"Well, not all
at once. Charlie and his lot come over at teatime. He had a falling out with
his sister some years ago, and I've just found it easier to have them round
separately." Just then, Jonathan tries the lights once more and the
trailing vine lights up. Reds, greens, blues, and pink grapes shine with gaudy Christmas
symbolism. I squeal in delight and clap my hands. "Just in time, too! I've
just finished the decorations."
The lights are
easily trailed through the forest of baubles, Santa's, fairies, and hanging
toys. "Right, just the tinsel now. You start at the top, and I'll go from
the bottom, and we'll meet in the middle."
Tinsel trails
through my fingertips as I twirl around the tree, stooping low, then bending at
the waist, then almost standing straight with just my shoulders stooped. As I
raise my head to see how Jonathan is doing, I crack against something hard.
"Oh, I am
sorry." I reach out automatically and rub my hand against Jonathan's
bumped chin, cupping his cheek in the palm of my hand, like a parent comforting
an injured baby. However, the slight prickle of his end-of-the-day stubble
reminds me in a powerful way that this is a grown man I'm handling so
intimately.
Then, there are
lips: softly demanding lips pressing gently against my own. They form a kiss.
They don't apologise or ask permission; they take possession of my mouth.
Brooking no argument, confidently they mesh with mine, moving sensually as his
hands come round me, sheltering me, cradling me close. No sooner has it been
created than the kiss is torn apart. We are red cheeked, unable to meet each
other's eyes.
"I'll, erm,
turn on the lights then." I scurry over to the plug, and flip the switch.
"Ooh," I gasp as the lights come on, bathing my room in festive
cheer. "It looks just about perfect." I walk back to the tree and
tweak the tinsel here and there, so the lights come through a bit clearer.
Jonathan says nothing, just stares into the softly glowing tackiness.
* * * *
I drive him home in
near silence. His only words were "good bye" and "thank
you." That's why I get no sleep. In the morning, my eyes are big black
bags a dustbin man would strain to throw in his truck. It's a good thing my
desk is full of work so barely have time to stop and think. However, I do
frequently glance over to Jonathan's desk in hopes of catching his eye. I think
I might need to apologise. I remember him kissing me, but his reaction seems to
indicate that maybe it was me who did the deed, which is bizarre. I'm never
that forward, but it seems I was last night. Now I've completely mucked up a
blossoming friendship. I log into my work email, and see a message from
Jonathan. My brows crinkle as I click upon it.
Hi Jenny,
I just wanted to say I'm sorry about last night. I don't know what happened. Well I do, I kissed you, but I don't know why I did, because it was silly and impulsive and although it was the best kiss I ever experienced, I feel guilty about it. You invited me to your home, welcomed me to the office and went out of your way to make me feel comfortable over here, and I went and ruined it because I couldn't hold off on an impulse. Once more, I'm really, really sorry and I hope the invitation to Christmas still stands
Jonathan
Relief washes over
me. I walk over to Jonathan's desk to put his mind at ease. "I just got your
email." I say and he nods his head. I notice his eyes have bags just like
mine underneath them. "Don't you worry about it. I actually thought it was
all me and that I had offended you!"
"Oh, no. No,
never. I thought I'd ruined, well, everything."
"Not at
all." I run my hand down his arm then grip it just above the wrist.
"So, I was
thinking, do you want to come to mine on Christmas Eve and stay over?" The
words tumble from my lips, but I figure now is as good a time as ever to ask.
"Sure. Does
this mean I'm going to midnight mass with you?"
"Yeah, that's
right," I remove my hand from his arm, reluctantly, "and then you can
peel the sprouts for me on Christmas morning." He laughs, eyes wide and
sparkling.
"Oh, I see how
it is. You're just looking for cheap labour."
"No," I
shake my head emphatically, my chocolate mousse curls bubbling around my face.
"No, I'm looking for free labour!" Our laughter whizzes round
the office and it stuns the supervisor as she walks past. "Anyway, I
better get back to work." My cheeks flush under the boss's gaze. I look
apologetic as I step past her, avoid meeting her stony glare, then scurry to
the safety of my desk.
My Mum would laugh and shake her head if she
could see me now. She always called me the waif and stray collector. She would
say that the more beat up and old the toy looked, the more likely I was to want
it. Mum was always feeding my friends, my pets—a flea-bitten stray dog, a cat
with no tail, and a bald budgie—as well as the assorted wounded wildlife I'd
bring home from the fields surrounding our house. Mum never complained once.
She was the same: every Christmas we'd have some stranger over for dinner
simply because mother couldn't bear to think of anyone being alone at
Christmas.
Well, Jonathan
won't be alone now. He'll be staying with me. A soft smile plays across my lips
as I spin the scroll wheel on my mouse, looking at my monitor but not
registering anything on it. He enjoyed the kiss; he initiated the kiss; he must
then be attracted to me, however unlikely that seems! Maybe Americans are
attracted to short, fat women with bad skin, or maybe I'm blowing this all out
of proportion. He says he enjoyed my kiss, but it doesn't necessarily mean he's
attracted to me, just that I'm an okay kisser.
Oh God, I feel another
sleepless night ahead of me.
* * * *
The next morning
passes slowly as I tidy the house, bake more Christmas cookies—I don't need to,
it just settles my nerves—and attempt to make myself look pretty. I shouldn't
have bothered. It's so cold out I have to wear my hat, gloves and scarf, which
hides almost every last centimetre of my flesh. "Merry Christmas!" I
shout, though my efforts are muffled by my scarf.
"Merry
Christmas," Jonathan replies, "whoever you are." His eyes
glisten with mischief.
"Beneath the
hat, scarf and big coat, it's Jenny," I chuckle. "Honestly, it
is."
"Come in, Jen.
I'm just packing my bag." I scurry through the open door into the
not-much-warmer lobby. I follow Jonathan up the echoing stairs and into the
sparse front room of a tiny flat. "I'll just be a minute. Make yourself at
home."
I sit in the only
chair in the room and run my hand over its rubbed wooden arms. It's a very new
room—a room that almost feels like no one has moved into it yet—apart from one
homey corner.
"I like your
tree," I shout. Jonathan comes back into the living room with a well-used
rucksack over his shoulder.
"Thanks. It's
nowhere near as nice as yours, but I was inspired." The little tree stands
on top of his old wooden-framed TV. A few baubles, a thin winding of red
tinsel, and a line of plain white bulbs are its only decoration. Although it's
not much, that corner is full of Christmas spirit, which is just what I tell
Jonathan, making him blush with childlike pride at my praise.
On the drive home,
Jonathan asks me what we're going to do for the rest of the day. "Well,
first of all we need to bake some mince pies, and then I need to put the icing
on the Christmas cake."
"Mince
pies?" Jonathan looks a little horrified. My explanation about dried fruit
and suet in a pastry case doesn't seem to alleviate the terror at all.
"You'll love
them." I reach my from the gear stick to his knee. "Trust me."
Squeezing, then lingering, my fingers only leave the warmth of his jean-clad
leg when use of the gear stick becomes imperative. Really, it wanted to slip
higher and higher up his thigh...
"Then
what?"
"Erm, well,
we'll need something to eat, then we'll watch The Muppet Christmas Carol.
It is a tradition, you know. Then, we'll go to see the Nativity at Tom's before
going on to midnight mass."
"Just a few
things to do then."
"Aye!" I
laugh heartily. "I'll keep you busy all night long." I blush as I
realise how that might sound to Jonathan.
"I certainly
hope so," he replies with a wicked teasing light in his eye, sparkling white
in the depth of his Guinness-coloured corneas. I giggle nervously then gasp
aloud.
"It's snowing!
It's snowing!" I do a little dance in my car seat, wiggling my hips whilst
endeavouring to keep the steering wheel straight.
"Why, so it
is. It's falling fast, too." We're just pulling into my drive, so
thankfully I don't have to drive any further through the flurries of excited
snowflakes.
"I do so love
it when it snows!" I slip off my thick brown coat, and hang it on the end
of the stairs. Laying Jonathan's over the top of it, I linger a moment,
appreciating the sweet, musky smell lingering on the material that sparks off
images of him on top of me… Oh, stop it girl! Get your hormones in check,
there's mince pies to bake.
* * * *
"Well, I have
to say," Jonathan smiles as he bites into a warm mince pie, fresh from the
oven, "that this tastes a lot better than it sounds."
I sink my teeth
through the soft layers of buttery pastry and through to the sticky, spicy
fruit-and-alcohol blend in the middle.
"You can't
beat a good mince pie." I finish my mouthful, the warm, spicy scent they
let off as they cooked, still lingering in the air.
"I think I
might have to agree." He nods, making a grab for another one. We fall into
companionable silence. Gonzo appears on the television screen, and my Christmas
Eve film-watching tradition begins. I know it's a kiddies' film, but I think
Christmas is all about the child in us. I wonder what Jonathan makes of it all,
with him not really experiencing Christmas in his formative years.
Jonathan is sitting
right next to me on my sofa, and it makes me wonder. It makes me wonder how he
really feels about me because he was rubbing up against me at every opportunity
in the kitchen: touching my hand to get my attention, leaning in to whisper in
my ear when there was no real need to do so. And now, he's so close that his
thigh is pressed hard against my own, and there's half a sofa of wasted space
beside him.
"How are you
enjoying your Christmas so far?" I ask, the film fading into the background.
"It's been
amazing." Jonathan enthuses as his eyes meet mine, then a serious shadow
darkens their flame. "Christmas was never anything special when I was a
kid. We never had a tree. The home said it cost too much and it was a fire
hazard."
I tut and shake my
head.
"The highlight
was the Santa. We knew he wasn't real, just a man dressed as Santa. He'd bring
each of us a toy. I got a little car one year. I still have it."
"How come you
knew it wasn't the real Father Christmas?"
"Because we
knew there was no real Santa. They told us so all the time. They told us not to
get our hopes up because Santa didn't exist and wouldn't bring us what we
wanted on Christmas Eve."
“What?" I'm
outraged. I feel my blood boiling with the harsh cruelty of it. "Santa does
exist."
"You don't
believe that, do you?" He shakes his head, his eyes wide.
"Yes, yes I
do." I nod my head emphatically. "Maybe not in the way a child does,
but I heartily believe in the spirit of Father Christmas. I believe in the
meaning behind the make-believe. My faith is in the giving, which is the true
centre of the festive season—the heart of it all. It's all about making life
better for other people and, through that, enhancing your own life. Santa
definitely exists."
Suddenly, those lips
are on mine again, and his arms wrap around me. I feel his cheek against my
skin. I feel moisture there: the trail of a tear. I close my eyes and kiss
back, giving. I give him the softest, gentlest kiss I can. I want him to feel
cherished. My heart throbs in pain at the harshness he has suffered in his
life. I want to smooth over all those rough edges; I want him to see what I
mean about Father Christmas existing.
I pull him closer
to me. My arms wrap closer around him, and I stroke his back to comfort him.
Our lips, in contrast, are joined lustfully. With every small move, I feel my
heart beat harder and faster. I become dizzy with the speed at which the blood
is whizzing 'round my body, making every inch of me zing with the created
friction and heat. His body presses me back against the sofa arm, twisting my
own beneath him.
His lips leave mine
and kiss a fizzing trail of pleasure down my neck to my collar bone. His hands
rise up from their position on my hips to slide under my loose-fitting red
jumper and up higher to cup my breasts. The shock of his cool hands through the
thin, lacy gauze is deliciously arousing. I groan my appreciation as his
fingers dig into the cups and ease out the masses of abundant tit-flesh
beneath. Pushing the wool of my jumper up with the tops of his wrists, his lips
leave the soft flesh at the hollow of my neck.
Moments later,
their warm wetness is encompassing my nipple, sending even more intense ripples
of pleasure throughout my body. I feel him shift until he's on his knees in
front of my body. One leg of mine is still on the floor; the other is crossed
in front of my pubis. I slip a hand between our bodies, running it under his
shirt, feeling that soft, supple skin that I've only just glimpsed before. I
follow the soft trail of hair down from his belly button to the top of his
jeans. I feel more than hear the moan he emits from around my nipple as I pop
open the brass button, then slide down the zipper.
I can't believe I
am being so forward, but as he doesn't move to stop me, I yank his jeans and
his boxers down to the middle of his thighs. My move emboldens him and he moves
back, allowing me to spread my thighs around him. His hands move down to my
legs and pull up the full length of long, billowing skirt, his mouth still feasting
on the white meat of my breasts. A hand of mine rubs through the wiry hair
trailing down to his cock. When my flesh touches his, I melt. He's hard and hot
and very willing.
Already I can feel
juices coating the exposed bulb at the tip of him. I'm fascinated by it, having
only encountered foreskinned cocks before in my meagre sexual experience. I rub
my fingers gently 'round and around it, which makes him gasp and nibble on my
breast. His fingers delve into my knickers, eagerly curving and pressing slowly
inside of me. My hand grasps as I gasp in reaction, curling my fingers around
his meaty girth and tenderly stroking up and down as his finger probes my wet,
wanting hole.
Our lips meet once
more as he moves his hips back and forth, pushing his cock in and out of my
fist. His finger, then fingers, see-saw in and out of my cunt. Just as I reach
the point where I want to scream for him to fuck me hard, he removes his
fingers from inside me and harshly pushes my knickers to one side. He shuffles
closer and places his cock at my opening. He looks me directly in the eye, and
our lusts explode.
I throw my head
back and growl with the sheer ecstasy of the moment. His cock slides into me,
pressing so deep that I feel he is forcing me right through the sofa arm. Just
as I get to the point of pain, he pulls back then slams in again. My
inexperienced pussy mewls in satisfaction as his hard, thick joint stretches
it, making it tingle and spreading the bliss throughout my body.
He hunches over me,
and our lips meet once more. Our tongues battle and thrust, mimicking the
licentious movement of our loins.
"Oh God!"
I gasp. His lips leave mine for a moment then clamp down on the side of my
throat. His teeth graze the sensitive flesh and cause my cunt to crush down on
the cock embedded inside of it. The pleasure heightens more and more with each
stroke.
"Touch
yourself," he pants in my ear, and those simple words—the first spoken
since we set out on this juicy journey—spark me to greater heights of
abandonment. I follow his direction. I slip my hand between our bodies and
quickly seek and find my sodden clit. The wetness of it helps as I rub roughly
up and down. I'm totally abandoned to my body's wants. My mind is taken over by
my clit, and all I need now is to come. I rub in time to his thrusts, his
treasure trail of gentle hair tickling my knuckles as he presses down on me,
thrusting to reach his own orgasm with the same single-minded determination.
My legs press down
into the sofa, lifting my hips to better feel the shock of his thrusts as I
climb higher and scream out his name. "Jonathan!" Not another noise
forces its way between my clenched teeth as everything within me throbs. My
clit cries out a silent "eureka" as I reach my orgasmic goal. I feel one
more, hard, spine-crushing thrust then Jonathan roars and collapses on top of
me, sobbing into my shoulder. I hold him, stroking his back as the pent up
emotions drop from his eyes.
"It's okay,
sweetheart. It's okay. I'm here; I'm here."
"I'm so,
sorry," he gasps. "I don't know..." He lifts up, his cock slips
from inside of me, and shakily he stands to pull up his pants. I straighten my
skirt and top as he sits back down, then I gently rest my hand on his arm.
"It's
okay." I stroke his arm soothingly. He rubs the back of his hands across
his eyes.
"I feel awful
for doing this to you."
I rest my finger on
his opposite cheek and move his face until his eyes meet mine.
"Don't." I emphasise the words with a soft stroke of his chin.
"Don't be sorry for something that you need not apologise for. We
connected. You felt something, there was a lot of emotion, and it was too much
for you to hold in. That's all."
I wrap an arm
around his shoulder, pulling him close. His hand reaches 'round and rests on my
stomach. "My mother told me that tears are just all the excess emotions
inside of us being released from the body. It's like there's little taps in our
eyes and, when it all becomes too much, they're opened up to relieve the
pressure. She always said that no one—not man, child, nor woman—should be
afraid to cry real tears."
"Thanks,"
he sniffs, squeezing me. "I'll remember that."
"Now, are you
alright?" I ask, wanting to give him the opportunity to tell me what
caused the outburst.
"I think so. I
don't know why it happened, but if I work it out, I'll let you know." He
chuckles weakly, then his tone tightens up. "I just want you to know that
the sex was amazing, totally amazing. I don't want all this to make you feel
bad—inadequate or something."
I squeeze him tight
and smile gratefully. "Thanks, love. It was amazing." I hug him
closer and at that moment, I see the clock over his shoulder. "Bugger! If
we want to see the Nativity and go to midnight mass we'll have to get going
now."
"Okay,"
Jonathan enthuses. "Let me get my coat. You can't mess with tradition can
you?"
"You certainly
can't." I pull on my scarf, hat and gloves, then my coat and head for the
car. On opening the door, we see the sheet of bright, crisp snow lying on the
path before us. Stepping down off the front step my boot disappears under the
snow, right up to my ankle. I squeal in delight.
Luckily, the main
roads have been gritted and mostly cleared, so I make good time along the cold,
deserted streets. We coo and point as we roll past masses of brightly coloured
lights, Santas, snowmen, reindeer, and snowflakes. Giant inflatable Homer
Simpsons and Pooh bears and flashing lights of all shades of every rainbow
colour guide our way.
"We'll have to
walk from here." I pull into a lay-by at the side of the road, and
indicate the way we want to go. "It's just up this road here, but the car
won't make it."
We walk along the
snow bound path arm-in-arm, looking up at the startling bright stars in the
sky. We chat and giggle, just like two young teenagers in the first flushes of
love. Rounding a corner, we come to the border of Tom's farm. Suddenly, we see
the massive thirty foot tall Christmas tree in all its softly lit glory. The
real treat comes into view the closer we get to the fence. A large, dark wood
stable stands just below the tree. Inside it are beautifully detailed models of
Mary, Joseph, and baby Jesus. Beside them is a very lifelike donkey, and just
outside the door stand the exotic wise men and the domestic shepherds waiting
their turn to see the little miracle in the manger.
We stand just
beside the fence and admire the snow encrusted slice of Christmas past standing
before us. "It's peaceful. I remember, as a child, coming to see this
nativity scene. It was owned by the council then, and was erected beside the
road down there. Anyway, on Christmas Eve we always came to see it. Even in my
sugar high, Santa-induced excitement, I could appreciate the peace and
tranquillity of this, and it was one of my very favourite Christmas moments.
When the council decided it was uneconomic to light the tree and show off the
stable, Tom Jenkins bought it and moved the tradition up here. I'm always ever
so thankful that he did." After a few more moments, I lead Jonathan back
to the car.
"I can see why
you keep this as a tradition. It's a haven of stillness, isn't it?"
"Yes, that's
exactly it." I nod then set the car in gear. "It's some time just for
me—well, us today."
* * * *
We made midnight
mass just in time. We slip in the back and sit on the old, straight-back pew,
hand-in-hand. The waxy smell of the wooden bench polish mixes with the
evergreen scent of the natural decorations that hang all around the small,
stone-bricked chapel.
The church is
packed. Adults and children, the elderly, and even some teenagers gather
together for this annual, seasonal tradition. The pounding of voices is
awe-inspiring as the whole congregation joins the white,clad choir in belting
out carols. My body resonates with the force of the sound as I sing at the top
of my voice, smiling gleefully and enjoying this very special occasion.
"It was all
over far too soon for my liking. I could sing all night."
"I could
tell." Jonathan nods as we talk about the mass on the way home.
"Though, I
guess I better get some sleep if Christmas dinner is to be edible
tomorrow."
"Probably a
good idea. I think I'm going to be hearing those carols in my sleep. My ears
are still ringing with them now."
"Great, isn't
it?" I chuckle. Back at home, we walk up the stairs to the bedrooms and we
linger on the landing. "I made up the spare room for you," looking
directly in his eyes, I pluck up all my courage and finish what I want to say,
"but there's room for you in my bed, if you'd like."
"I'd really
like that." He smiles, his cheeks glowing like the candles at mass. I
reach out my hand and grasp his. I pull him into my room and, before I can
switch on the light, his body presses up against me. His hands grip my hips as
his lips eagerly seek out mine. I wrap my arms around him, pulling him close.
Our pelvises grind together, and I groan into his mouth, my hands running up
and down his back, then cheekily grasping at his buttocks.
His lips slip to my
cheek, my chin, and lower. His hands push down the material of my skirt 'til it
drops and billows into a pile around my toes. He then grips my jumper between
his fingers. As his lips leave my skin, he pulls the top up and over my head.
When the material holds my arms up and covers my face, he stops pulling it up,
and his lips trail along the exposed areas of my breasts.
I gasp, taken
wonderfully by surprise. Seconds later, I scream as he shocks me further. He
pushes me back and I fall sharply but thankfully land on the bed, not the
floor.
"You're
wicked!" I try to struggle out of the confines of my jumper, but I cannot
get any purchase on it. I just end up twisting myself into a bigger
predicament. I don't know where Jonathan is. His body weight has left the bed.
I strain my hearing and just catch the sound of clothes being removed. I lay
still, resigned to my fate. I discover that I quite enjoying being bound and
helpless. I groan as a moment later his body slides over mine, and I feel his
fingers tickling over my ribs. I giggle uncontrollably and he wiggles his
fingers again.
"Stop it! No,
stop it." I giggle and gasp as his fingers continue their onslaught. He
laughs with me then slips his hands from my ribs and up to my breasts. Gently,
he eases my breasts from their confines, his hard stomach pressing into my
soft, giving flesh.
His teeth nip and
nibble at my boobs, working their way over 'til they capture my nipple and suck
upon it, causing my hips to buck in delight. The gentle, damp caress ducks
lower, across my sensitised ribs, making me giggle. Then his kisses lead up the
incline of my soft stomach, to the little dip of my belly button at the top,
and carefully down the other side into the wood of curls.
I spread my thighs
wider to accommodate his broad shoulders. Moaning and gasping, I feel his
tongue lap up and down my lips. His tongue splits them apart, lapping up more
of my juices and brushing against my clit. Every time he licks over the spot
that brings me most spine-tingling pleasure, I moan loudly. Soon he is homing
in on the area, curling his tongue around the nub as well as licking up and
over it. As his tongue spirals around the juicy core, my body winds tighter. My
nipples pucker, my back stretches, and my fingers dig into the soft cotton
folds of my duvet.
My hips rise up off
the bed as the coil tightens. When it gets to that point where it's too painful
to wind the senses any tighter, they spring back and orgasmic pleasure whizzes
across every synapse in my being. I relax further until I feel his body lifting
over me, then I feel his cock nudge at my entrance. I bite the material of my
jumper, which is already dewy with my breath. I let out a grunt of satisfaction
as he begins to pump inside of me, his pubis pressing down so it strokes over
my excited clit with each stroke, causing the coil to curl up once again.
I feel him lie
still for a moment. Resting his weight on his elbows, he uses his hands to free
me of the woollen restraint around my arms and head. When I can move again, I
feel his lips on mine, and his thrusts continue. Wrapping my arms around him, I
run my fingers up and down his spine, like a pianist playing her chords. With
every movement he rubs me higher, like a singer rising up the scale. Each note
brings me closer and closer to the ear-splitting climax. Harder and harder he
thrusts. The blood pumping through my veins intensifies the ringing in my ears,
and I hear the faint echoes of the carols we sang earlier.
Oh come all ye
faithful.
Another push,
another note higher. So close to the very top.
Let Heaven and
nature sing!
Then it peaks, and
I scream loudly as I feel his cum spurting inside of me and hear his cries of
climax.
Let Heaven, and
Heaven, and nature sing.
He falls down on
top of me then slips to the bed beside me. I roll to my side, and he snuggles
down behind me, wrapping an arm around my middle. I close my eyes and begin to
drift off, enjoying the feel of his body pressed all along mine.
"Jenny, I
think I've worked out what it was."
"What was
it?" I snuggle closer into his body, his lips gently touching the edge of
my cheek.
"I think it
was love." I squeeze his hand tightly, moving closer still, a satisfied
glow suffusing me.
"Santa must
exist." Jonathan continues as my body relaxes towards exhausted sleep.
"Why's
that?"
"Because I
have all I've ever wanted right here in my arms."
I turn my head, then
my whole body, and press hard against him. I kiss his lips, showing him how
much love I have for him right at this moment.
"Thanks,
Santa." I whisper, snuggling against Jonathan's chest and closing my eyes.
In my pre-dream drowsiness, I swear I can hear the distant ring of sleigh
bells, and the snorting of reindeer. I fall asleep, cradled in the warm arms of
my lover.
Victoria Blisse is a mother, wife, Christian, Manchester United fan and erotica writer. She was born near Manchester, England and her northern English quirkiness shows through in all of her stories. Passion, love and laughter fill her works, just as they fill her life. For more information on Victoria, visit her site at http://www.victoriablisse.co.uk/.