Monday, December 27, 2004

A Mildly Unwell Christmas

I'm terribly behind in my blogging, and since I would like to tell you about my Christmas sometime before June, I've decided to skip ahead and do so. Don't worry; I'll go back and tell you everything you missed later this week.


Friday, December 17

"Come to my house for Christmas," Steph says, blinking up at me coquettishly. Her irises are big and warm, flawlessly hazel. She wears no eyeliner and no mascara, but when I look at her eyes up close, I still get butterfiles sometimes.

It's awfully hard to say no when she asks me for anything this way. "My dad's been asking me to go down there," I say.

"I knowww," she says. It's a little-girl voice, kind of like Lila used to use. Steph almost never does that kind of thing, so I'm a little caught off guard. Seems she's catching me off guard a lot lately.

"It's the first Christmas without mom, so I really want to be with the family."

"Yeah, that's true," she says. "I really wanted to wake up next to you on Christmas morning, though."

That gives me an idea.

I NEVER get laid on Christmas. The last time was with Angie, and that was well over 10 years ago.

If you have a girlfriend, and you go anywhere near her on Christmas day, the biggest holiday of the year, meeting her family, or having her meet yours, you are sending a signal that Things Are Progressing. If you want to send that signal, fine. But if you don't, watch out. That is why I am very careful not to see girlfriends on Christmas day. The result is that it's been a very long time since I've had any yuletide booty whatsoever. But this year could be an exception.

Steph has been a great girlfriend since the beginning. I could not have asked for any more from her. She's given me lots of space, and lots of time for us to get closer. She hasn't pressured me or issued ultimatums about the relationship. She's never asked me how we stand or what I am thinking about us. Somehow, she KNOWS what I am thinking at all times; it's almost frightening. But it's also comforting, because I don't have to discuss it with her.

She hardly ever asks me for anything. When we go out, she's always offering to pay, even though she is totally broke. I've offered her money for bills or expenses, and she's rebuffed me each time as if I were trying to get her to drink a cup of piss. She never accepts rides or favors of any kind, unless I do something without asking, and then she accepts under protest. It's actually pretty amazing that she is asking me to spend the holiday with her; her style is to make her wishes known, and then to let me make the offer.

Knowing all this as I do, it's awfully hard to turn her down. But it's going to be a hard Christmas this year without mom, and I would really like to be with the family. If not for me, then for my dad and brothers. I definitely have to be there, at some point....

"How about if I come home with you on Christmas eve, and then leave in the morning?"

"So you're asking me to compromise," she says.

"Yes. It's a good 200 miles up there, so I would have to leave by 11 to get home in time for dinner."

"Christmas eve better be a GOOD night," she says, smiling.

"Just don't you worry about that," I say.

"Thanks for doing this," she says, hugging me. "It's just me and mom this year."

Steph's brother Robbie is visiting his girlfriend out of state, and her dad died a few years ago in a boating accident.

"You're gonna love mom. She's really cool."


Christmas eve, 7:00pm.

Steph and I drive north for the better part of three hours. It's a very scenic ride, and not only was there no traffic; there were times when ours were the only two cars in sight.

Steph's mom, Marti, opens the door before we even reach the steps. "Hiiiiiiii! Merry Christmas!" she chirps, squeezing Steph tightly.

She turns to me. "And YOU must be the handsome stranger!"

"I'm Steve, how do you do?" I say, extending my right hand.

"Get that hand outta here," she says, hugging me.

It's a good acting job on both our parts. I've already met Marti, and, in fact, spent the better part of a day with her a little over a week ago. It was something I had to do in connection with Steph's Christmas present, because after much soul-searching, I finally figured out what to get her. But that's another story.

Marti is an attractive woman in her late 40's. She's thin and very short, maybe five feet, if that. The first thing I notice is that she resembles Steph, bodywise; her legs and butt look a lot like Stephanie's, taut and shapely. She's got red hair, and though her teeth are terribly crooked, it somehow doesn't make her any less pretty.

The house is small, much smaller than mine. Everywhere you look, there are Christmas decorations: Garland. Stockings. Mini-Santa Claus's. Nativity scenes. Wreaths. Pine-scented candles burning. And Christmas trees, lots and lots of them, big and small, real and fake, even a ceramic one, are in most every room.

We sit by the fireplace and chat the night away. I am sitting on the couch, and Steph is below me on the floor, holding my right hand in hers. The smell of the candles wafts over to me and mixes nicely with the smoky scent from the fire as we exchange Christmas stories, and I realize that we are making a really nice Christmas memory, just the three of us.

Marti turns in around 10:30, and I run out to the car, and come back with gift-wrapped box.

"What's this? I thought we were opening presents tomorrow!"

"We are. But that one needs to be opened tonight."

"Uh-oh," she says. "By the way, you BETTER not have spent a fortune on me for Christmas."

"I didn't."

"Yeah, right, Steve. I know you. You probably went nuts."

"Well, only slightly nuts."

"You might be a little mad at me, because I kind of bought you something big. Just promise you won't get angry?"

"Oh, no. Steph, you have no money! How much did you spend?"


"Will you let me give you some money if you're a little short?"


"Will you tell me if you're having trouble?"

"I'll tell you, but I am NOT taking money from you."


She opens the box. It says "Victoria's Secret" on the top.

She shifts her eyes to me without moving her head, smirking. "How did I KNOW you were gonna do this, you horny toad?"

"How do you know it's something sexy? It could be power tools, for all you know. "

"From YOU? It's something sexy."

She opens the box. It's a lace merrywidow, which, for those of you who don't study the catalogs like I do, is a red and black camisole top with matching v-string panties, garters, and black stockings. Oh, and there's a Santa hat there, too, of course.

"So I suppose you want me to try this on."

"Just to see if it fits right. Then you can take it off immediately."

She disappears into the bathroom, then comes back wearing the outfit. It fits her perfectly, with just the right amount of cleavage and midsection showing.

"My mother BETTER not come back downstairs," she says.

I know the girls in the catalog always seem to wear high heels with these outfits, but there is something irresistible about seeing Steph padding around in her bare feet while wearing sexy clothes.

"God, Steph, you are so beautiful," I say.

"So does this mean that if I buy you something sexy, you have to wear it?"

"Such as?"

"Such as a thong, such as a Speedo..."

"Speedo's are only worn by gay men, and men weighing over 300 pounds," I say.

She laughs. "Tough luck."

"OK, If you get me something, I'll wear it."

"Thank you, baby." She sits across my lap, and all at once her face gets dark and intense. She kisses me, holding my face tightly in her hands.

The fire pops. We both jump, then collapse together on the couch, laughing.

She is laying right on top of me, staring at me nose to nose. "You're gonna make me fall in love with you, you know that?" she says.

"You're not doing so bad yourself," I say. My stomach does cartwheels as I realize that she actually feels so strongly about me. I knew it, sure, but hearing it makes a big difference.

I'm not repulsed, or scared, or angry that she said it, either. I'm...flattered. I'm happy. I'm monogamous - willingly!

Maybe it's time to change the title of this blog.

My hand is underneath the elastic of her panties, running over her skin, marveling at the firm curvy landscape of her backside.

"What are you doing," she asks.

"I'm feeling your nice ass."

"Oh yeah?" she says huskily.

"And getting majorly turned on, too."

"So pull my undies off me, then." So I do, and I take my own off, too.

We flop back down on the sofa. She throws a blanket over us. "The stairs are squeaky, but just in case mom comes down and we don't hear her..."

Her pussy is hot against my skin. She rubs it against me, and I am throbbing so hard that it almost hurts.

"What are you gonna do to me, lover?"

"I'm gonna fuck your little pussy until you scream."

"Oh really," she says.

"Yeah, definitely."

I start to reach for my pants on the floor, and then stop.

"Are we ok today?"

"Yeah. My friend is coming tomorrow," she says, "So you're getting a Christmas present a little early."

She lowers herself onto me, her fists against my chest, her eyes rolling back into her head.

I put my hands on her ass. I like how her cheeks are just the right size for my hands, as if they were made especially for me. She is pumping away at me just fine, thank you, but it turns me on knowing that I am pulling her towards me, making sure I am as deeply inside of her as I can possibly be.

She stops and sits upright for a moment, removing the top part of the merrywidow, which, truth be told, takes some doing, and tosses it aside.

She's totally naked now, looking seductively down at me through half-closed eyelids. The blanket slides off, and somehow it feels even hotter than before.

I grab her breasts in my hands. Again, a perfect fit. I squeeze, and she moans softly in ascent. The fire is roaring now, big, bright and glowing with a hot orange.

It's been a while since we've been together, and she is tight. I can feel her stretching to accomodate me. "I love your fucking cock," she whispers. "You are NICE and hard."

I look down and watch her curvy hips as she slides them back and forth over me. "Are you trying to make me come," she says.

Before I can answer, she has got two handfuls of my skin, digging her nails into me, and is in the throes of a huge orgasm.

I look up at her, her mouth curled into a grimace, her eyes squeezed shut. And yeah, her Santa hat is still on.

I watch my cock as it disappears into her, slick and gooey, and I know I am going to come like crazy. I go to pull out, but why should I?

There is something alluring about blowing a load inside of a girl. I guess it's the intimacy of knowing that you're actually leaving a part of yourself inside her body. The release is amazing, a big, wet, shuddering orgasm that takes over my whole body.

"Merry Christmas," she says, when she finally catches her breath.

To be concluded...