Proving Santa Exists

Proving Santa Exists

Proving Santa Exists A Phaze Snuggler HeatSheet by

Victoria Blisse

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VICTORIA BLISSE

Phaze 6470A Glenway Avenue, #109 Cincinnati, OH 45211-5222 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

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"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 America, you know? Transferred over from the Texas branch." Susan beams proudly all over her thin, narrow-nosed face as she offers me this well-nibbled bone of information. "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 Manchester and so close to Christmas, too?" Her eyes float off, a wistful hint to their blueness. I know she's hoping for a drop of juicy gossip from her out loud wonderings. I shrug, then slip my silver coins into the machine, select tea, milk, no sugar, and wait for the appliance to do its business. "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 England. Who knows?" 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.

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"Well, this one anyway. I was at the Texas branch for—what?—six years before moving over here." "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 Manchester. People often make jokes about it. That was a lame attempt at humour." "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 England. So, when this IT position came up, I took it. I mean, why not, huh?" 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.

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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

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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 Manchester so far." 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

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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.

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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."

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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.

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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

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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

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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.

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"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

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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?"

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"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

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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.

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"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

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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

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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

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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

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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.

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About the Author 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/.

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