Virginia goes north, in her mission to save Christmas.
By cb summers. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.
I won’t bore you with the teeny little details of what happened after that. But here are the general outlines of it: fake young Santa was put on suspension, pending investigation, and I was arrested because he claimed that I’d attacked him. That I’d raped him, in fact. Little old me. Can you imagine that? But apparently he forgot there was a hidden camera in the room, aimed right at the throne. On the tape he was clearly a willing participant, so they released me after one night in jail. He was fired, which serves him right for being such a liar. I wasn’t prosecuted, although they considered it.
The children waiting in the queue line had been evacuated as soon as I started getting loud. But the store made me sign a non-disclosure agreement. So… I can’t really talk about what happened or they’ll sue me. Oh, and I was banned from that store for life.
I also found out that the only reason he and those other department store Santas knew my name was that the elves took down everyone’s name in advance and whispered it to Santa before bringing them up! Can you imagine the duplicity? We didn’t use that kind of trickery back when I was an elf!
But worst of all, I spent Christmas Eve in jail, which was absolutely horrible. I’d been planning all year to wait for Santa to come down my chimney. I’d be lying naked on the table next to the tree, freshly baked cookies stacked on my belly and a glass of milk between my legs. I knew I would be irresistible. But now I despaired! There was no chimney in the big communal cell they threw me in. The girls there tried to have some Christmas spirit, but it was totally the pits. I was certain that when I went home I’d find another lump of coal on my floor. But when I finally got back to my apartment late Christmas night, there were no presents at all. I’d been robbed. I must have left my door unlocked, or someone had picked the lock. I had no idea if Santa left me a present that year or not. The thieves stole all my presents. Fuckers.
Anyway, the lesson I took away from that event was this: never trust a man in a Santa suit. From that moment on I would only seek out men who looked like Santa naturally. No gimmicks. No makeup. No fancy suits. Just natural, fat, jolly, white haired men. I felt certain that the forces of the universe were bringing me and Santa together, and all I needed to do was keep looking, and sooner or later I’d find him.
As I said earlier, I’m an eternal optimist.
SCENE 3
MEET-UP AT MOOSE CAFÉ
After hanging up with Kris, I set out for the all night diner. The weather was horrible. It was snowing, and roads were nearly impassable. But in spite of my poor winter driving skills, I made it through, heedless of the wind and weather. I got there well before him. Kris took almost half an hour longer than he’d said he would. Not surprising. The North Pole is something like 1000 miles from Anchorage. Maybe he couldn’t find Rudolph that night, so it was harder to make it through the storm. But whatever it was, just when I was starting to worry he wouldn’t show up, I saw him walk nervously through the door. He stomped the snow off his big brown boots and hung his huge green winter coat next to the door. I’d half expected him to be wearing his Santa suit, but he was going incognito of course. He was wearing a big hand-knitted red and green sweater and a green knit cap with a big white ball of yarn on top. He looked absolutely adorable.
He saw me sitting in the last booth along the window and smiled a pale, sad smile. He sat down across from me and was happy to see I’d already ordered him a great big steaming mug of cocoa. I would have ordered cookies too, but they didn’t have any.
There was a faraway look in his eyes. “Thanks for… helping me. It’s been a crazy couple of days,” he said with his deep velvety voice.
I reached out to pat the back of his big hand. “I’ve been there.” His skin was amazingly soft.
“Yeah?” he said. “That surprises me. You look so… I don’t know… innocent.”
“Sometimes I feel like I am innocent. Down deep. But of course, I’m not. I’m a sex addict, same as you. I’ve done so many naughty things… stupid, reckless things… you have no idea.”
He nodded and sipped his cocoa. We sat in silence for a while. I didn’t know what to say. I’d never been a sponsor before. I wasn’t sure where to start. After a while he asked, “So… you didn’t speak at the meeting. What’s your sob story? No, don’t answer… I shouldn’t pry.”
I was relieved he’d started the ball rolling, so I smiled and said, “Oh, don’t worry about it. My sob story is that I’m just your average, ordinary, everyday sex addict. I’ve been celibate for almost a year, but I spent the year before that hitchhiking around the continent, having unprotected sex with total strangers. You know, same ol’ story.”
His feathery white eyebrows went up with interest. “Really? Were there a lot of them?”
I shrugged, “I never bothered to count at the time. But Sam told me to come up with an estimate. I’m sure it was more than a hundred. Maybe one twenty five? I don’t know. It was a bit of a blur…” My cheeks were red with embarrassment.
He smiled a wicked little smile. His eyes were really twinkling now. He leaned closer to me over the table, “Details, please.”
This is exactly the sort of thing that sex addicts aren’t supposed to do. You know, turn each other on with their lurid tales. But I wanted Kris to trust me. He needed my help. So I had to open up to him… at least a little. I decided to tell him my story, sort of. I left out the stuff I did in New York, because that all involved men in Santa suits and if I talked about those guys, eventually I would say too much, and he’d know my secret. If he knew I had a thing for guys with white beards, well, I wasn’t sure what would happen, but I wasn’t ready to drop that bomb just yet.
“Well…” I said, “let’s see. Every sex addict is chasing something. For me it was a particular man. A fantasy figure, if you will, who I was trying to find…”
“Mr. Right?” he prompted. Oh, Kris understood me so well!
“Yes, that’s right! I was looking for my Mr. Right. I had this fixed idea in my mind of what he looked like, what he acted like, how he smelled… and I knew that I’d know him as soon as I met him. But every time I met a man who resembled this idea I had in my head… well, I was overcome with the urge to kiss him, and that usually led to more. But it seemed like the minute it was over I’d figure out he wasn’t Mr. Right after all, and I’d go out in search of him all over again. It was an obsession. I lost my job as a result. Eventually, I couldn’t afford to live in New York anymore so I put my treasures in storage and hit the road in a rickety old car. I drove randomly from town to town, city to city, looking for Mr. Right.”
“And you found him everywhere you looked.”
“Yep. I found him in stores, on streets, bars, churches, fairgrounds… everywhere. Not everyone was happy with me trying to kiss them, so I got in trouble a few times, and I kept moving. I found that biker bars and truck stops were filled with Mr. Rights. Those guys are mostly straight and mostly hedonists, so I had better luck approaching them.”
“Wow,” he said, his eyes wide with amazement at my tale, “That sounds… dangerous.”
“I guess. But I was lucky. I didn’t get any STD’s, and I went on the pill to keep from getting pregnant. And none of these guys were ever violent with me. I wouldn’t have approached a scary looking man in the first place. I wouldn’t kiss a man unless he was jolly.”
“Jolly?” he asked with interest.
“Happy, I mean. Nice faces, a good laugh. Anyway, the only times I felt in danger were a couple of orgies at biker clubs. I was only interested in Mr. Right, but sometimes his buddies would want to join in… sometimes they didn’t ask. One time this guy came right up and stuck it in my… you know. Back door. Ugh. I hated that kind of thing at the time.”
“But… you like it now?” he said, with a lustful twinkle in his eye.
I blushed and slapped his hand, “Kris. A sex addict can get used to anything. Anyway, whenever I was making love to Mr. Right, I felt so happy that I actually wanted to please his friends. Afterwards however… I sometimes felt stupid. Cheap. Dirty.”
The look of lust left his eye. I’d connected with him. “Exactly,” he said, tears suddenly welling up in his big blue eyes, “That’s exactly how I feel. It’s great when I’m doing it, then I cum… and bam! I realize what a total disaster my life is becoming.”
I reached out to touch his rosy cheek. Oh my, his beard was soft!! Downy soft, like a fuzzy bunny! A tear fell out of his eye and ran across my thumb, sending an electric jolt through my pussy. I had to restrain myself from leaping over the tabletop to kiss him. I put my hand back down on the table, trying to control my breathing. That was a close one.
“I know, Kris, I know. But it gets better. Although sometimes it gets worse before it gets better. Sometimes you just have to hit bottom before you can turn things around.” I think I heard someone say that in a movie once.
He nodded and wiped his eyes on the sleeves of his sweater, “So, how did you hit bottom?”
“Kris… I came here to help you, not tell you my sad story…”
“It is helping me… listening to you. Honestly. I want to hear.” His azure eyes looked at me… I mean, right at me, unblinking. I don’t think anyone had ever, in my whole life, looked at me that way. My heart went thumpity, thump, thump!
“Well,” I said, “eventually my car broke down, and I set out on foot, hitchhiking from place to place. I knew that was dangerous so I went to a truck stop to see if I could find someone to give me a lift all the way to Alaska. You see, I’d gotten this idea in my mind that Mr. Right probably lived in or near Alaska. Anyway, I met this guy at a truck stop who not only looked just like Mr. Right, he was on his way to Anchorage! He had this big beautiful red truck and …”
“Was he Jolly?” Kris asked, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief.
I laughed, “Oh, yes. Jolly as hell. So I kissed him right there in the parking lot, and he took me to his truck and we fucked… oh, sorry, I don’t mean to be so crude.”
Kris leaned forward, speaking softly so nobody but me could possibly hear him. “Virginia… why do we use euphemisms? Why are we so ashamed to call a thing what it is? It’s kind of like lying. I didn’t have a dalliance with my employees. I fucked them. I stuck my cock in their mouths and up their asses. I came all over their faces. I cheated on my wife. I mean that’s what I did. If we’re not going to be honest, how can we ever face our mistakes?” He smiled at me, and I felt bathed in Saint Nick’s radiance.
I blushed, leaned in closer and continued my story, “Well, you asked for it. Here’s the story, euphemism-free… Where was I…?”
“He took you to his truck to fuck.” It was so weird seeing Kris Kringle’s lips say that word. Weird and exciting!
“Yeah, okay. I fucked Mr. Right in the back of his big cab. We fucked, and fucked, and fucked a long time. He was a great lover. Nicely shaped cock, lots of stamina, great kisser. and his mouth… oh, shit, Kris, he made me cum so hard that I can almost feel his tongue in my pussy a year and a half later! He was so perfect that after sex was over, I still thought he was Mr. Right. That had never happened before. And when I asked him if he was Mr. Right, he said he was! Joy! I thought I’d found Mr. Right… for three magical days. He’d drive for a while, then we’d fuck, then drive some more, and I’d give him a blow job… basically we did it as many times a day as he could get it up. I was in heaven. Once he pulled his truck over, and we made love a beautiful stand of Christmas pines. It would have been the happiest moment of my life if not for the fact that he was a fraud.”
“How did you find out he was lying?” I could tell that the story was exciting the sex addict in Kris, but he was trying hard to stay focused on me as a friend. I really appreciated that!
“I was looking through his personal stuff, trying to find something to read when I came across a little photo album. It had pictures of him and his wife and kids.”
“You must have been pissed.”
“No, I didn’t care about that. I’ve always known that Mr. Right is married. I don’t know if he has kids, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he did. He’s been married a long time. No, that’s not what upset me. It was the picture of him hunting. He was standing over the body of a dead reindeer… smiling like a son of a bitch!”
Kris choked on his cocoa, and a look of fury crossed his previously jolly face. “The fuck you say!”
“It totally horrified me! Mr. Right is not a hunter, much less a reindeer killer. This guy was a fraud! It nearly broke my heart, Kris. So I told him to stop the truck and let me out!”
“He abandoned you in the middle of nowhere?”
“No. He didn’t let me out. He admitted lying to me and begged my forgiveness. He said I was the only girl, other than his wife, who’d shown interest in him sexually. His wife had some sort of medical condition that made it impossible for them to have sex, so when I came along it was like a dream come true. I don’t know why I let him mollify me, but I did. He said he wanted to make it up to me by driving me the rest of the way to Alaska. But I absolutely refused to spend another moment in that truck with such a big fat liar.”
“So… you got out?”
“No. He told me he knew Mr. Right and that he’d take me to him.”
“Oh, Virginia,” Kris said with disappointment, “You fell for that?”
“I was obsessed. So yes, I fell for it. But it seemed like he was keeping his word at first. He drove me to a gas station where there was a mechanic who looked just like Mr. Right. The truck driver told me to stay in the cab, and he went in to talk to Mr. Right. After a while they came back, and the mechanic came up to meet me. He stank of gasoline, and his hands were smeared with oil, but I knew it was him. I knew it was Mr. Right, just as I’d known many times before.”
“You fucked him.”
“Of course I fucked him. I fucked a greasy, smelly, mechanic who reeked of cigarettes just because he looked jolly. But of course, after he’d shot his wad into me I realized he wasn’t the real deal, and he went away. I was used to disappointment by then so when the trucker offered to take me somewhere else to look for the real Mr. Right… well, I couldn’t refuse. I wanted him to. It sounds crazy to me now, but at the time it seemed almost like the ideal situation. The trucker drove me from place to place, and he was pretty good at finding Mr. Rights. We were still heading toward Alaska, but slowly. We must have hit every truck stop we passed in Montana and Canada. I’d wait in the back of the cab, and after a while, he’d bring back Mr. Right. Sometimes several of them. But he’d only introduce one of them to me at a time. Sometimes they weren’t totally what I had in mind, but just to be on the safe side, I’d at least give them a blowjob or let them take pictures of me naked. But if they looked good enough I’d let them do anything they wanted. Even fuck me up the ass, which I was beginning to enjoy.” I blushed again.
“You naughty girl,” he said, with a playful leer. But I could tell he was just trying to keep the conversation light. There was a deep look of concern and compassion on his face, which warmed my heart and gave me the courage to continue.
“After maybe four months of this, I saw one of the San… I mean one of the Mr. Rights giving the trucker some money. After that Mr. Right was through with me, I started thinking about that money. I searched the cab of the truck while he was taking a shit. I found a pile of money, all different sizes of bill, Canadian, American… And it finally dawned on me… I was a whore. I was a truck stop whore.”
Kris reached out and took my hands in his hands. His azure eyes were wet with compassion. “I’m so sorry, Virginia.”
Tears started running down my face. It was astounding. I hadn’t cried about any of this. Ever. I’d always focused on the good memories. The pleasure of sex, the joy of giving men happiness, the fun of the hunt… But looking into Kris Kringle’s understanding eyes… I felt all the suppressed disappointment, frustration, and shame bubbling to the surface. Tears started coming out of Kris’s eyes too, and we just sat there for the longest time, holding hands and staring at each other’s eyes, tears running down our faces. Then we started laughing at the absurdity of it all. It was a perfect moment. We understood each other.
It was six a.m., and the first morning rush began in the Diner.
I said, “We never got around to talking about you.”
“No, that’s okay…”
“Kris, you need to unburden yourself.” More people came through the jingling door. “But we need privacy. I think we should get a room at the motel.”
There was an electric look in his eyes.
“No Kris, not to fuck,” I said with a laugh. “I just can’t take you back to my place because it’s too small, and I have roommates, and I really don’t think you should go home right now. I can tell you’re in crisis mode. You need to take care of this thing so it doesn’t destroy you. So it doesn’t mess up your business. How is that deadline thing you mentioned going?”
He shook his head, “A total disaster. If I could just get back to who I used to be, I could turn this whole thing around. But every time I step a foot into the factory…”
“I take it you’re not the only sex addict you know.”
“I’m not sure if they’re sex addicts exactly. But I’m the boss. I set the tone. My problem is their problem… I guess that sounds crazy.”
“Kris, we need to keep talking. Come with me.” I gently led him to the door. We put on our coats and walked out into the freezing air. It was still dark and would be dark most of the day. The sun only rose a couple of hours a day that time of year. We crunched through the snow over to the Motel. I went in and rented a room. Kris was nervous. Perhaps he was nervous that we’d end up fucking… but I think he was just afraid to tell me his story.
We walked silently to our second floor room. I felt a rising wave of anticipation. I had no intention of sleeping with him, but still, somewhere deep inside, the old me was screaming, “FUCK SANTA!!” The room was small, but warm. There were two beds. We didn’t take off our coats, afraid that would imply intimacy. We sat on the beds, looking at each other across the gap.
Two silent minutes passed. We were both waiting for the other to begin.
I cleared my throat and said, “I know you’re Santa Claus.”
The expression on his face… you could have knocked him over with a candy cane. That was the last thing on earth he expected me to say.
“You… what?”
“It’s okay Kris. I know.”
He looked at me for several seconds, then said, “Did you just say, ‘I know you’re Santa Claus?’ You’re joking, right?”
“Oh, don’t be coy, Kris. I knew you the moment I saw you.”
“Look, Virginia. I’m just a fat guy with a white beard. Sure, I look like Santa Claus I guess. But… I’m not actually…” He started to chuckle, “Oh! You’re pulling my leg!”
But I just looked at him as seriously as I could and said, “You’re Santa Claus. Kris Kringle. Saint Nicholas. Father Christmas. Pere Noel…”
“This is getting weird,” he said, shifting uncomfortably. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
I looked at him with compassion, “I understand. You have a secret identity to protect. I get that. But the stakes are too high for pussy footing around. Christmas is in danger! You said it yourself: if we can’t be honest, how can we face our mistakes?”
He stood up and started sidling to the door. “I… uh, I don’t know who you think I am… but this is just too weird.” He put his hand on the doorknob.
“I fuck Santas,” I said. That stopped him. He looked at me with a crazy expression. “That Mr. Right I was talking about before, well that was just a euphemism. My Mr. Right is Santa Claus. I spent two years looking for Santa and fucking anyone who resembled him. And it was all because of that lousy lump of coal you left on my floor three years ago.”
An angry look flashed in his eyes, “What are you… what is this? Oh, I get this, you’ve been chasing me because I look like Santa, is that it? What kind of freak are you?”
I felt calm. More calm than any time in my life. I knew what I had to say. It would hurt, but I had to do it. I had to get through to him somehow.
“Why did you leave me that lump of coal, Kris? I mean, I know you like my cookies, but that was pretty harsh. It sort of fucked up my life, you know? I lost my job. I lost my innocence. I left my family and friends behind to chase you across the continent, just so I could apologize for offending you. It wasn’t all your fault, and I’m glad I finally found you… but still, I want to know. Why the lump of coal? Was I really that naughty?”
He opened the door, his face contorting in rage, confusion, and shame. He walked stiffly out into the falling snowflakes. I followed slowly and calmly. I leaned on the railing as I watched him stumble down the icy stairs and storm across the parking lot below me. He slipped on a patch of ice and fell on his back with a bang. Then he just lay there, hands on his face, sobbing like a baby. I calmly walked down the stairs and carefully across the slick parking lot. I squatted next to him.
“Come back inside.” I pulled his hand from his sobbing face, helped him to his feet and led him slowly back to the room. This time I sat next to him on the bed, my arm around his back.
He sobbed for a while then began to blubber, “You threw the tree out the window!”
“So, it wasn’t the cookies after all!” I said in surprise.
“No. I love your cookies. But I have this thing about Christmas trees. It really pissed me off, you know? I have issues, I guess. I was intending to give you a cooking set…”
“Cooking set,” I said the same time he did, “Yeah, that’s right. I asked for a cooking set with red enamel and little dancing elves on the side…”
He sniffed, “Yes, just so. I felt so bad about the coal, I kept the cooking set all year, just so I could give it to you the following Christmas.”
I smiled. “Really? You gave me a present?”
“What…? Didn’t you get it?”
“I was burglarized, Kris. They took everything.”
“Oh no…” he said with a horrified expression on his face, “I’m so sorry… I didn’t know… Oh, you should have seen it! It was beautiful! The elves spent twenty whole minutes making it for you.”
I gave him a squeeze, “That’s okay. I guess I deserved to have it stolen. I was extra naughty that year. And I’m sorry about the tree. More than you even know. All my ornaments were on that tree. Some of them belonged to my grandma. She brought them all the way from Iceland.”
“Anna? I remember her. She was very nice.”
“I’m sorry about everything Kris. I shouldn’t have listened to my sister.”
“Stephanie, eh? She was always the naughty one in your house. But I gave her presents anyway because the rest of you were so good. What did Stephanie do?”
“She said my parents were sneaking into my apartment leaving presents for me from you.”
He laughed, “And you believed that?”
“I’m sorry, Santa.” He put his arm over my shoulder and hugged me into his side.
“I’m sorry too, Virginia.”
I threw my arms around Kris Kringle and hopped on his lap. I hugged him so hard, if he’d been anyone other than Father Christmas, I’d have crushed his bones. But Kris hugged me back with his strong, ancient arms. I looked into his weeping blue eyes and tenderly kissed his eyelids, feeling his magical tears wet on my lips. Then I kissed his face, slowly, peck-by-peck, down his nose and rosy cheeks until our lips met. His silky beard softy tickled my face. We kissed slowly, almost shyly at first but the passion between us was building fast. I felt an erection growing in his pants. A very BIG one, in fact!
I hopped off his lap and said, “We can’t do this Kris. Not now. Not yet.”
“Virginia,” he said, his deep voice thick with lust, “I want to make love to you so bad.”
“I know, I know,” I said, giving him a kiss on his rosy cheek. “But not until we save Christmas.”
That night Kris Kringle laid down on the other bed and told me everything. If you thought my story was crazy. Wait till you hear his!
SCENE 4
SANTA’S SLOW DESCENT INTO DEPRAVITY
My world has always been one of wonder and joy, music, snow, the laughter of children and good will to men. But all good things must come to an end, they say.
My slow descent into depravity all began with the sex toys.
They weren’t my idea. They were Mary’s. That’s Mrs. Claus to you. I met my wife so long ago, I could hardly remember what made me fall in love with her in the first place, although it was probably her beauty. We were happy in those golden days of yore, but for the last fifty years or so, we’d been sort of going through the motions. We barely had anything to say to each other anymore. People change, I guess, even immortals.
We weren’t intimate anymore. Hell, we hadn’t had sex since 1985. And that was only because we’d just gone to see 'Santa Claus, the Movie’, and she was happy about how good she came off in the film. After drinking a bit too much hot toddy that evening, she started getting frisky. Well, that was fine with me. I’d always thought she was a beautiful woman. She doesn’t look like they always depict her, you know. She hasn’t aged a day since the moment I fell in love with her on that Bavarian mountainside in 1702. She still looked twenty-two, with red hair and a shapely figure, long legs, beautiful ass and large breasts. Absolutely 'smoking’ hot’, as they say these days. She was a tall girl, almost six foot three. In heels, she towered over me. A true Bavarian beauty! So when she started getting feisty after the movie, I looked forward to a good old-fashioned roll in the snow, but it was just as disappointing as ever. She quickly lost interest, and I couldn’t maintain an erection. It was a dud all around. To tell you the truth, Mary had always been a bit of a cold fish. For the first hundred years or so she’d indulged my passions, but she’d never seemed all that interested in sex. Or at least not that interested in having sex with me. Why else would we have been childless after two centuries together, the only two humans at the North Pole? We stopped having sex entirely after that sad encounter.
So when, just over a year ago, Mary came to me with the sex toy idea, well… I was just flat out flabbergasted.
She called me into her plush office on the third floor. She was sitting at her computer, her red hair pulled up into the enormous bun she liked to wear. I so much preferred when she let her hair down, but it had been in a bun since the mid-seventies. She was looking particularly fetching that day in a tight red dress with white fur lining. It was low cut. She hadn’t dressed that way for ages. My eyes twinkled at the almost forgotten sight of her cleavage. But I knew she’d dressed up for a reason. The last time she did this she’d talked me into building her this office, which was three times larger than my own. She was a very persuasive woman!
“Kris, we need to expand. We’re reaching the kids, yes, but as soon as some idiot tells them you don’t exist, well, they stop writing.”
“I know, Mary, but the world population is growing every year. I’m not sure it’s a good idea to expand. I’m not sure it’s even possible to find more believers.”
“Kris, just hear me out.” She pushed a button on her computer, and a group of female elves scampered out of a tiny little door. They began to turn a series of cranks, lowering an enormous projection screen over the crystal windows that lined one wall of her office. Then a PowerPoint presentation came on. The first slide was a complicated flowchart. Mary flashed me her best smile and said, “As you can see from this chart here, the age of disbelief is getting younger and younger, outpacing the increasing population. Manufacturing facility four and five have gone unused for almost ten years! You don’t want to even know how many elves have been living off the dole, waiting for work to pick up. It’s not a good situation.”
This wasn’t news to me. “Well, what do you have in mind? We’ve tried everything to keep kids believing. Cartoon shows, video games, promotional toys at fast food joints… but it’s just not working.”
She flipped to another slide, “Not exactly true, Kris. This slide shows that there is a significant population of adult women who still believe in you. Almost twenty million, based on this list of believers.”
“Yes I know. Women tend to have a greater capacity for magical thinking. But the majority of them don’t write letters after they grow up. We only deliver presents to people who ask.”
To be continued..
By cb summers for Literotica
