An epic adventure to save Christmas with SEX!
By cb summers. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.
Scene 1
THE MEETING
“Hi. My name is Kris, and I’m a sex addict.”
“Hi, Kris,” replied the other sex addicts. I was too dumbfounded to speak.
Of all the people in all the world that could have walked into the Anchorage Sex Addict’s Anonymous Support Group, it would have to be him.
Kris Kringle.
I don’t think anyone else recognized him, but the dark sunglasses didn’t fool me.
I’d known who he was the second he’d walked into the room and purchased a hot chocolate from the drink machine. He didn’t look exactly as I’d pictured him. For one thing, he was taller than I expected. About a foot taller than me, which would make him almost six feet. And he wasn’t as fat as he usually looked on Christmas card illustrations. Artistic license I guess… or maybe he’d been working out. And he wasn’t an old man, which was surprising. If not for the snowy white hair and beard, he’d have passed for thirty-five, tops. But it was him. I knew it. I felt it in my heart and in my head. Call it woman’s intuition. He had the beard, the long eyebrows, the handlebar moustache, the rosy cheeks and the cherry nose.
But he didn’t look very jolly. In fact, he seemed downright depressed. Prior to speaking, he’d sat quietly in his fold up chair, looking around the room. He was probably trying to figure out who was naughty and who was nice. But he needn’t have bothered. Other than the facilitator, we were all quite naughty.
Kris was wearing Bermuda shorts and a T-shirt with a silly slogan on it: “Reindeers Rule”. Probably something one of the elves gave him for Christmas. It was an odd outfit to choose. It was December in Alaska. It was ten below zero outside! He was obviously trying to go incognito. It’s called Sex Addicts ANONYMOUS, after all. But I guess it’s hard to be anonymous when you’re Santa Claus.
Kris took a sip of cocoa and started talking in a deep, sonorous voice that made my heart melt. He said he was the foreman of a large manufacturing facility. A year ago he’d started having sexual relations with some of his employees. Soon it became an obsession. He didn’t want to get into the details, but the situation got so bad that his wife left him. And now his business was in danger. He had a big delivery coming up soon, but his employees were in full revolt as a result of his actions. If he missed the delivery deadline, he’d be ruined.
The others took his story at face value, but not me. I could read between the lines. He’d done something inappropriate with the elves, pissing off Mrs. Claus… and if that weren’t bad enough, Christmas was in danger of not happening at all!
A shiver went down my spine. Christmas was everything to me… hell, it was my reason for living! My first job was as a department store elf, and later I worked at the Christmas store. Nowadays, I sold and traded Christmas tchotchke online. If there was no Christmas this year… well, it was too horrible to contemplate!
I had to do something about it. I had to help Santa. I had to save Christmas!
After he finished talking, Kris listened politely as the rest of the sex addicts spilled their guts, trying to figure out how their lives had gotten so f’ up. When it was my turn to share, I passed. I didn’t want him to know about me… not yet anyway.
When the meeting adjourned, I went up to Kris.
“Excuse me, uh, Kris, is it?”
“Yes. It’s nice to meet you, Virginia.”
“Wait… how do you know my name?” But even as I said it, I already knew how he knew. Santa knows the name of everyone in the world!
“Sam said your name when he asked you if you’d like to talk.”
I didn’t remember my name being mentioned, but if he wanted to play it that way, so be it, “Oh… right. Well, you’re a good listener.”
There were tiny little twinkles in his tired eyes as he said, “Sometimes, Virginia. I try to be.”
His expression changed for a moment. He looked me up and down, eyes narrowing. I knew that look. I’d seen it on plenty of sex addicts. He was checking me out, but trying desperately not to think about fucking me. I was a pretty little thing. Though I was 29, I usually passed for younger because of my youthful, adorable face. I was skinny, so my c-cups looked nice and round under my thick, white sweater. My black hair was cut short. It curled around the sides, forming points near my cheeks separated by straight bangs cut straight, just above my dark blue eyes. My facial features have been described as cute or even ‘elfin’. I inherited my features from my grandparents, who’d emigrated from Iceland. I had their high cheekbones, pale white skin and slanty blue eyes. I kind of look like Bjork, but even cuter, in my opinion.
“Well,” I said nervously, “Do you have a sponsor yet?”
He sighed. It was obvious that he wasn’t all that interested in the whole twelve-step process. He’d probably come to the group out of desperation, rather than an earnest commitment to change, “No, not yet. I suppose you’re offering to play that role?”
“Sure. I mean, it’s up to you. But I’m not sponsoring anyone else right now. We all have sponsors. It’s sort of… how it works.”
He nodded, glancing impatiently at the door, hoping to escape as soon as possible, I suppose. He mumbled, “I’m not really sure what a sponsor does.”
“Well… I guess I’d be someone you could call if you needed to talk about anything. Hey, we all know why we’re here. We have urges to… do things that aren’t good for us. Sometimes the best way to resist an urge is to talk to someone who understands… who’s been there herself. Someone who can talk you down and refocus you on your priorities.”
He nodded. “Okay… well, that sounds lovely. But I don’t need help…”
I laughed, “Oh, everybody needs help, Kris. These meetings are only once a week. But temptations pop up every day. Every hour of every day, if you’re lucky.” I laughed.
He smiled and shrugged, and we exchanged phone numbers. It surprised me that Santa had a cell phone. I didn’t think they had cellular service at the North Pole. We shook hands and he walked off into the snowstorm, head down, and hands in his pockets, his sandals crunching through the snow. It was freezing out, but he didn’t so much as shiver.
“Virginia,” said a voice behind me. I turned to see Sam, the facilitator. He had a suspicious look on his face. “Were you talking to Kris just now?”
“Kris?” I said, playing dumb. “Oh, you mean the guy with the shorts? Sure. We were chatting.”
“Virginia,” he said knowingly. “He’s not Santa Claus.”
I laughed gaily, “Of course not! You thought I…? No, no. He’s not Santa Claus. That’s obvious! Too skinny for one thing.”
Sam’s eyes narrowed. “And… Santa Claus doesn’t exist. Right?”
I felt my hackles rising, but I stifled the urge to slap his smug face.
“Well, that goes without saying. He can’t be Santa because there is no Santa. Everybody knows that. I was just trying to be funny.”
Sam nodded, still suspicious of my intentions, “You didn’t speak today. Is it because you didn’t want him to know about your… Santa issues?”
I thought up another lie, but decided to sprinkle a bit of truth in it. “You might be right. I don’t know. When he came in, well… the beard, the white hair… it sort of threw me for a loop. That’s why I was talking with him just now. I wanted to feel him out. You know, assure myself that he’s not… you know who. And he’s not! Definitely not. I mean, how could he be? There is no Santa, duh. But even if there were a Santa, which there isn’t, it wouldn’t be that fella!”
Sam was no dummy. He knew that I had this thing for guys with long white beards and bellies that jiggled like bowls full of jelly. He said, “Still, you should try to keep your distance from Kris. You’ve been celibate for almost a year now. You’ve got to avoid temptation. One slip and you’re back to zero.”
“I don’t know what you’re worrying about Sam. Alaska is full of guys that look like Kris. Sure, I feel urges… but I know now how stupid and pointless it is.”
Sam nodded and said, “You can’t sleep with them all.”
“I agree,” I said nodding. It was true. I couldn’t sleep with them all, and Saint Nick knows I’d tried! “But maybe it’s a good thing that he’s in the group. I need to get used to being around guys like him without feeling the urge to… you know.” I blushed. I may have banged over a hundred would-be Santa’s in my day, but I was still basically a blushing little girl down deep.
Sam nodded and patted me on the shoulder and went on to harass someone else. I didn’t tell him that I was Kris’ sponsor. He’d find out eventually, but keeping it a secret might buy me time to figure out my next move.
After all, I had to save Christmas!
Over the next few days I resisted several urges to dial Kris’ phone number. I’d decided to tell him that I knew his true identity, but I figured it would be best to wait until the next meeting to spring that on him. If I played that card too fast, he might bolt and I’d lose him forever.
But he didn’t come to the meeting. Sam said he hadn’t heard from Kris. I knew something was wrong. So after the meeting I tried calling Kris. But there was no answer, it just went to voice mail.
“Hi, you’ve reached Kris Johansson’s voice mail. Please leave a message, and I’ll get back to you a.s.a.p.”
I left a message, but he didn’t return my call. I left a few more messages that week. Telling him that he could call me, any day, any time, it didn’t matter. I was there for him if he needed me
But Christmas was coming soon, and I figured he was busy preparing for the 'big delivery’, so I wasn’t all that surprised he didn’t call me back, just disappointed.
I’d almost given up on hearing from him. Then about 11 p.m. the night before Christmas Eve, I was awoken by the clatter of jingling bells. At first, groggy with sleep, I thought Santa’s sleigh was landing on my roof. I thought, that’s weird, he’s a day early, But then I remembered that I’d assigned a jingle-bell ring tone to Kris’s number. I jumped out bed and scrambled for my phone; afraid I wouldn’t get to it in time.
“Hello?”
My heart sang, when I heard Kris’ deep, melodious voice saying my name, “Virginia. I need… Something is… I need help.”
There was music in the background. It sounded like electronic club music, but with bells jingling to the beat. There were also occasional high-pitched whoops that could be heard over the music.
I spoke in a clear, serious voice; just as my sponsor talked whenever I called her in the midst of a crisis, “Tell me what’s happening. Are you safe?”
“Yes. I’m fine. I just…” his voice choked up with emotion, “I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m ruining everything.”
“Where are you?”
“In the el… at a club, I guess.”
“A sex club?”
“I don’t know… I guess… sort of.”
“Are you having sex?”
“Yes,” he replied, his deep voice thick with shame.
“Right now?”
He started sobbing, “Oh… what’s wrong with me?”
I could barely contain my excitement. Santa Claus was having sex somewhere, and I was on the phone with him! How great is that?!
“You need to walk out of there. Just stop whatever you’re doing and leave.”
He sniffed a few times then weakly said, “Okay.”
“I mean it. Don’t hang up. Stay on the line until you are out of there.”
“Okay. Okay. Sorry guys. No. No, I gotta go.” There were high-pitched voices in the background, almost like someone was complaining in some weird language. Sounded Scandinavian.
Elves. Had to be.
I heard fumbling sounds, probably him holding his phone while pulling up his pants. Then there was the clicking sound of his belt being buckled, followed by heavy breathing and rustling. The music started getting softer, until it was cut off with the sound of a slamming door. I heard his feet crunching through the snow.
“Okay, I’m out of there. But I want to go back in.”
“Don’t! Listen to my voice. Don’t go back in there. Get on your sleigh… I mean, in your car, and… where are you?”
“The… uh, near my factory.”
“Where is that… never mind. Just… can you meet me?”
“Where?”
“How about… Moose Café?”
“The diner next to the motel?”
“Yeah, that’s the one. How fast can you get there?”
“I don’t know… maybe ten minutes.” Wow, Santa’s sleigh really is fast!
“Okay, see you at the diner in ten minutes. Fly safe!”
“What? Didn’t catch that…”
“Drive safe, Kris. See you in ten.”
I hung up. My heart was thumping in my chest like twelve drummers drumming. He needed my help! Santa needed my help!
SCENE 2
YES VIRGINIA, THERE IS A SANTA CLAUS
All my adult life, people have been telling me that there is no Santa. But my parents have always said I just need to ignore the naysayers and hold onto my beliefs. “Santa is as real as you and I,” my mother says whenever I start to lose faith. I live, eat and breathe Christmas. And I’ve always tried to be nice, not naughty. And every Christmas Eve I religiously leave Santa milk and cookies on the table near the fireplace. And as a reward, up until I was 26, Santa left presents under my tree every single Christmas! Not just any old presents, but the presents I asked for in the letters I sent to him at the North Pole. But, Santa’s got a funny sense of humor. I once asked him for a new house… I got that idea from an old movie. In response, he sent me a little dollhouse! It was tiny, but beautifully made, and looked almost exactly like what I’d pictured in my mind. That Santa, what a joker! I loved that dollhouse (I can see it right now from where I’m writing, the centerpiece of my enormous holiday display).
Three years ago my mean younger sister, Stephanie, called me on Christmas Eve and told me something that ruined everything. She said my parents had been flying across the country every Christmas eve, ever since I left home, picking the lock of my tiny little New York apartment, sneaking in, eating the cookies and drinking the milk and leaving presents in my stocking and under my tree addressed, “To: Virginia. From: Santa.” Can you imagine my sister telling such a heinous lie? But sadly, I believed her for one hot minute. That sounded exactly like the kind of thing my parents would do. They were crazy for Christmas. I should have called them but I didn’t. I bawled like a baby and threw out my Christmas tree. Literally, I just opened the window and pushed it out into the street below. I didn’t make any cookies either. Later on, I decided that’s probably what pissed Santa off the most. He loved my cookies!
When I woke up Christmas morning, I had a shock in store. There was a lump of coal sitting on the floor where my tree had been. Just sitting there, mocking me. I knew, right then, right there, that my sister was a liar. But it was too late. I’d rejected Santa!
I was naughty!
That was pretty much the worst day of my life. I fell into such a deep funk over the next few months that I got fired from my job at the Christmas store. When that happened, I had a bit of a… I guess you’d call it a nervous breakdown. I don’t have any memory of what I did, but I woke up one day in a… facility. The doctors said I’d been ranting about Santa for days and days, opening windows and shouting out into the snowy air that I was a fool and begging for Santa’s forgiveness. The doctors wouldn’t let me go until I pretended that Santa wasn’t real. But I got out in February, totally cured, and began my long search for Santa.
Okay… maybe I wasn’t totally cured. I sort of went through a slightly confused time after that. One day I saw a stranger on the street that looked just like Santa. He was a fat fifty-something with a big white beard. He had this jolly look in his eye, even though he was obviously homeless. He even smoked from a little pipe, just like in that poem about him. I became convinced that he was the actual, real Santa. Why was he homeless? Well, it was spring, I reasoned. The elves were making toys, and Santa was taking a break. It made sense to me at the time, but that just tells you how discombobulated I was back then. I struck up a conversation with him, and of course he denied being Santa. But that’s just what the real Santa would do. He was stinky and hungry, so I invited him over to my apartment to bathe while I baked him some cookies.
He had no idea why a pretty 27-year-old girl would invite him into her home, but he didn’t object. I made his favorite chocolate cookies while humming 'jingle bells’ and listening to him splashing around in the tub. He stayed in there a long time, enjoying the hot water, which I guess was a bit of a luxury for him. My first batch of cookies came out of the oven. I was so eager to give him a taste, that I took a plateful into the bathroom without even knocking.
He was beautiful sitting there in the tub. So fat, so jolly… he had a big pile of suds on top of his head, and I laughed in spite of myself. He looked at me, shocked that I’d walked in on him like that, but he greedily gobbled up my cookies. Then he said, grumpily, “Well, if you’re not gonna wash my back, get out.”
I took that as an invitation to wash his back. I sat on the edge of the tub and soaped up his back, which was covered with curly white hair. I ran my fingers through it, feeling something… unexpected, stirring between my legs. And no, it wasn’t a flea. At least… I don’t think so.
When I was done with his back, I decided to shampoo his hair, because he hadn’t done a very thorough job. I kicked off my shoes, moved behind him and put my feet in the water. I could feel his hairy thighs against my ankles. He leaned back against me as I scrubbed his hair. It was so snaggled with twigs, it took forever to clean it all out. He must have enjoyed my attentions, because after a while, I saw the tip of his penis break through the bubbly surface of the water. He didn’t try to cover it up, so I figured, if he’s not embarrassed, why should I be?
By this time the water was rank, so I emptied the tub and refilled it. I got a good look at his naked body then. Santa had a big belly… and a big penis. Big enough, anyway, to still look big in spite of all the fat around his abdomen. I hadn’t seen many penises up to then. I’d always been pretty shy around men. The two guys I’d actually had sex with were fellow elves who’d worked at Santa’s Winterland with me when I was 19. They weren’t little people, just in case you’re wondering. They were just regular guys, trying to earn a buck wearing pointy plastic ears and red shoes with bells. Neither of them were good lovers, but it turned out that making love with me made them realize they were gay. Can you imagine? This happened two weeks apart. My luck, I’m telling you. But I was a nice girl, so I played matchmaker for them, and soon they were fooling around in Santa’s house after closing time, with each other, not me.
Anyway, the point is, homeless Santa was the first man I’d seen naked in years and years and years. I found his body intriguing. So after refilling the tub, I kneeled on the floor to wash his legs. They were still pretty crusty. Then I just kept working up higher, and his eyes grew wider and wider. He didn’t tell me to stop, so I didn’t. I cleaned his balls, his cock, and his ass. I was happy to do it. And he enjoyed me doing it too. He had such a smile on his jolly old face. He particularly liked me cleaning his hard penis, stroking it up and down with my hand on one side and a sponge on the other. He kept telling me, “Yeah, don’t stop. Just like that. Don’t stop.” So I didn’t stop. He was Santa. Why would I stop?
I was as surprised as anything when a fountain of semen shot out of his penis and all over my hands. I paused for a second but he grunted, “No, don’t stop!” So I kept cleaning, and he squirted a few more times, letting out a long croaking groan. Then he slumped back in the tub and unceremoniously fell asleep. I smiled. I was happy that I could give Santa pleasure like that. Maybe now he’d forgive me for doubting him. I looked at his sticky cum on my hands. I sniffed it, thinking it might smell Christmassy somehow, you know, cinnamon and spice, but it didn’t. I licked it off my fingers. It was kind of salty.
As Santa snored, I washed him some more, making sure to clean the crusty dried food out of his beard. I even cleaned out his ears, which were almost stopped closed with hair and gunk. Then I waited for him to wake up, making sure to keep the water nice and warm. I played with his balls, because it made him hum in his sleep. His cock got hard, then soft again, in response to my touch. That was kind of fun! I made a bit of a game out of it, seeing how many ball tickles it took before he was stiff again. He woke up an hour later. He seemed a little embarrassed and at a loss for words. He just mumbled, “Thanks, girlie”.
I helped him get out of the tub. He was kind of creaky and old. I started to wonder how a man this weak could possibly control a sleigh or climb down chimneys or do any of the other strenuous activities required of Santa on Christmas Eve. I watched him dry off, and now that he was clean… well, he just didn’t look as Santa-ish as before. He asked if I had any gin. I offered him eggnog instead. When he drank it I knew I’d made a mistake. He spit it out! Can you imagine? Santa Claus… spitting out eggnog? This old bum was probably expecting it to be spiked with some sort of alcohol, like my aunt used to do. But I preferred it right out of the carton, just like Santa.
Well, that was a sore disappointment, I can tell you! But he was my guest, so I made dinner for fake homeless Santa. He ate it all up, but when it was over he grabbed my bottom and asked if I’d like to give him another bath. How rude! I told him, in no uncertain terms, that he shouldn’t look a gift reindeer in the mouth and ushered him out of my apartment.
I suppose I should have learned my lesson. You know the one about not judging a book by its cover. But I didn’t.
I tried to put my life back together. I got a job outside of the Christmas industry, and I tried not to think about Santa. But every time I spotted a white bearded fat man on the street, or in the subway, my heart would soar, and my gray world would grow brighter. I’d usually follow him for a while before deciding he probably wasn’t Santa. If he looked particularly jolly… well, I found myself getting turned on. Sexually turned on. It was disquieting. I’d never had those kinds of feelings for Santa before. Later that spring I started having erotic dreams in which I was Mrs. Claus. These dreams would usually end with Santa and I making love in a pile of snow, under the aurora borealis. I would wake up turned on but terrified. So I stopped Santa hunting and concentrated on my job all through the summer.
After Halloween, the Christmas decorations started going up all over town, and boom, just like that my obsession was back. I started wandering the streets, chasing anything in a beard. Now when I woke up after one of those vivid Santa dreams, I’d lay in bed, sometimes for hours, masturbating. I began to reconcile myself with the fact that I had the hots for Saint Nick. After all, I wasn’t a child anymore. I was a 27-year-old woman. What’s so terrible about being attracted to a vital, handsome, generous, jolly old elf?
One day I saw a street corner Santa ringing a bell next to a donation pot. He had a real beard, not one of those fake ones. And his Santa suit was beautiful! Real leather boots and everything. And the way he said “Ho, Ho, Ho!” Well… I knew the moment I saw him, that this was Santa! The real Santa! Oh, yeah, it was definitely him! No doubt about it! And he was so sexy, the way his belly bounced when he swung his bell. I started wondering if he was a good kisser… if his penis was as big as homeless Santa’s had been… if it would feel just as hard and meaty in my hand… if it would spurt just the same? I got so turned on I could barely breathe.
I watched Santa until he was done for the night, then I followed him through the dark streets. I half expected that he’d go around a corner and hop on a waiting sleigh pulled by eight tiny reindeer, so I stayed close, treading softly so he wouldn’t hear me. But he walked up to an apartment building and opened the door with a key. Before he could close it behind him, I ran up and pushed my way inside.
“Santa,” I said, “I…” but I couldn’t think of anything to say.
He looked at me with a perplexed expression and said, “What?”
I stared at him and tried like mad to think of something, but my mind was a blank.
“Well, spit it out, girl. I ain’t got all night!”
I wanted to thank him for all the toys and presents he’d given me over the years, even that last one, the lump of coal, because it had taught me a valuable lesson about holding on to your faith in a world full of cynics.
But instead, I kissed him.
Yeah, that’s what I said. I threw my arms around him and kissed Santa Claus right on the mouth. I couldn’t believe I was doing it, but there I was doing it anyway. And he was stunned… shocked into immobility. My kiss was close mouthed at first. But… well, I don’t know what came over me… maybe it was the smell of cinnamon in his beard… but I stuck my tongue in Santa’s mouth. And doing that made me go mad with desire, I was panting desperately and hugging him tightly, making him stumble backwards into the foyer. I pushed him until he fell onto his back on the staircase, and I clambered on top of him, my little body rubbing like mad all over his big fat belly.
After a while he began kissing me too, sticking his tongue in my mouth and rubbing his gloved hands all over my back and squeezing my ass. I was wearing a plaid skirt that night, and his hands reached right under it, and he started rubbing my crotch through my panties! His magical fingers found the nub of my clitoris, and soon he was fingering me to heaven. Oh, Saint Nick, it felt great!
Anybody could have seen us from the street or the stairwell, but we didn’t care, we just made out like two desperate snow bunnies. He yanked his glove off his right hand with his teeth, his eyes crazy with need, then reached down around my ass, and I felt Santa’s naked fingers slip under my panties and into my pussy!
“Oh, Santa!” I moaned into his mouth. I felt his hardening penis poking up into my crotch, and I rubbed myself against him so hard, if we were made out of wood, we would have burst into flame. All the while his fingers delved ever deeper into me. I reached under his fat belly, desperately searching for his zipper, but his fly had buttons, and I couldn’t figure out how to undo them. He took his fingers out of my vagina long enough to unbutton himself, and before I knew it, his hard, huge cock was inside me!
“Oh, Santa!” I shrieked in joy.
His cock wasn’t nearly as big as fake homeless Santa’s, but it didn’t matter. I hadn’t had sex in almost eight years, so he felt huge inside me! And he was so hard! I grabbed the stairway banister with one hand and his beard with the other. I began to thrust myself forward and back, banging my trim little belly into his huge flabby belly, driving his North Pole deep into my nearly virgin vagina!
“Oh, Santa! Santa! Oh, you feel so good inside me!!”
“Ow! Ow! Ow!” he said, because I was pulling his beard with every thrust. But he didn’t tell me to stop. Maybe he knew that his beard was turning me on… probably more than any other part of him. I didn’t take my eyes off him the whole time we fucked. I just ate him up with my eyes, amazed and astonished that this was really happening. His suit was so red and fuzzy, his face so jolly and sexy! He was Santa Claus! I was fucking Santa Claus!
I started shrieking, feeling the first orgasm of my life ripping through me.
“Oh… God! Santa!! Santa!”
He put his hand over my mouth to muffle my cries. If anyone had opened their doors, they’d have seen quite a sight! Well… for all I know people might have seen us. I wouldn’t have noticed. I was blinded by the Christmas spirit.
Soon after my orgasm, Santa grunted and grabbed my ass to stop my gyrations and held me down, as if I might fly away. Then I felt him cumming inside me. The feeling of it, so intensely intimate… it drove me wild!
“Oh, Santa!!” I yelled, my eyes popping out of my head, “You’re cumming inside me!!!!!” I shrieked loud enough to wake everyone in the building, if I hadn’t already. After he was done with his spasms and his arms went limp, I just sat there, feeling his cock softening inside me. I looked down into his dazed, sweaty, amazed face… my heart filled with love. I petted his curly white beard with my hand and leaned over to sprinkle his face with little kisses.
“I’m sorry about the cookies, Santa.” I said softly. Hoping he’d forgive me.
“Wha… what? Cookies?” He said breathlessly. “Fuck, I’m burning up in this suit!” He was sweating profusely and reached up to take off his Santa hat.
He was bald!
Oh, no! I did it again! Santa isn’t bald! But this guy, whoever he was, was as bald as a cue ball! I didn’t say a thing. I just stood up and walked right out of there, leaving him lying on his back on the stairs, wondering what the hell had just happened. As I walked quickly down the street, overcome with disappointment, I could feel his cum oozing out of me and down my leg. It didn’t disgust me… actually, I kind of enjoyed the sensation… but it wasn’t Santa’s cum. That’s what I really wanted. I wanted to make love to Santa, not some random geriatric in an expensive Santa suit!
Thank goodness for the morning after pill. The last thing I needed was to get pregnant… at least not with some fake Santa’s baby.
But a few days later I started to wonder if maybe I’d been wrong to judge that man based on having no hair.
To be continued..
By cb summers for Literotica
