When I was forty-eight （2015）
When I was forty-eight
The light was starting to fade, and NORAD’s Santa tracker had been following his progress across the globe.
Except I knew different. NORAD couldn’t see him.
My mind went back to the previous Christmas. Once he’d left me—with a final kiss goodbye—I’d had a major case of the guilts. During all the time I’d spent with Santa in his realm, I hadn’t once thought about my parents. And yet… The strange thing was, when I got home, the pain had lessened.
Maybe time really was different in that other realm. Did the mind heal quicker there?
My doorbell rang, and I hurried to answer, wondering who on earth would be visiting at that time on Christmas Eve. Ben and his family were at home in Europe. I opened the door to see my mailman, his arms full of packages.
“Merry Christmas,” he said as he handed them over.
I placed them on the chair near the door. “Isn’t it a little late for deliveries?”
He snorted. “No idea what’s going on this year. All I know is, we’ve had more parcels to deliver today than we’ve ever had.” His eyes twinkled. “I think Santa’s gone on strike. But you’re my last one. Best wishes of the season to you. I’m going home to collapse.” And then he was gone.
I closed the door. Santa’s on strike? I walked into the living room to find him standing beside the tree. I narrowed my gaze.
“What did you do?”
His eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”
I let out an exaggerated gasp. “You farmed out your deliveries to USPS, didn’t you? And did you do the same in every country? How many overworked mailmen are going home exhausted tonight, because of you?” I teased.
He widened his eyes. “I didn’t do it everywhere, just the US. Oh, and Europe too.”
“Can you get into trouble for that?”
He grinned. “No. I’m Santa, remember? And I did it so we’d have more time together. So I could… take you to dinner.”
The sweetness of his motive robbed me of breath for a moment.
He’s taking me on a date.
I found my voice. “Most restaurants will either be packed, or closed tonight.”
He cleared his throat. “Oh. Didn’t I mention I’d be the one doing the cooking?”
I stared at him. “You can cook?”
He gave me a pained look. “Well, if I don’t feed me, who else will? But if you’re ready, we should go.”
I glanced at my jeans and sweater. “I can’t go on a date like this.” He coughed, and I raised my chin. Santa smirked. “What just crossed your mind?”
“You could always wear your robe,” he said with an innocent air.
I gasped again. “Why, Santa Claus. You just want to get a sneaky peek at my dick.”
His face reddened, his mouth opened and closed, and I knew I’d nailed it.
“I’ll be right back.” I hurried into my bedroom, to spare him his blushes.
Santa blushing was so freaking cute.
As I scanned the contents of my closet I tried not to think about… well, about having sex with Santa. I knew it was coming, because he’d said we had to go slow, but I wasn’t about to rush him. This was way too important.
By the time I emerged, wearing a dark gray suit, the purple brocade waistcoat I’d worn for Ben’s wedding—thank goodness it still fit—and a purple silk handkerchief folded neatly in the breast pocket of my jacket, all thoughts of getting Santa between the sheets had slipped into the recesses of my mind.
I was going on a dinner date—with Santa.
He stared at me open-mouthed. “Oh my.”
“Too much?”
He smiled. “No. You’re perfect.” And with a snap of his fingers, we were standing beside the sleigh.
I did a twirl in front of the reindeer. “What do you think, girls?” They bobbed their heads and made snuffling noises.
“I think they approve,” Santa informed me. I stepped into the sleigh beside him, but before I could sit, he laid his hand on my shoulder. “Something’s missing.”
My mom used to say I had a wicked streak a mile wide. So maybe it was Evil Anthony who gently pressed Santa into a seated position, then sat in his lap, my arms looped around his neck. “Merry Christmas,” I whispered before leaning in to claim his mouth in a long, tender kiss.
When we parted, his eyes sparkled. “It is now.”
I pushed my plate aside. “That was amazing.” I’d expected turkey, or some other holiday meat, but the duck in orange sauce with dauphinoise potatoes, peas, and delicate slivers of carrot had been perfect. So had the creme br?lée.
But nowhere near as perfect as the man sitting opposite.
“Thank you.” Another flush crept up his neck. “You wouldn’t believe how long I took deciding on the menu. Not to mention pulling together all the ingredients.” I frowned, and he chuckled. “Where do you think the duck came from? Or the oranges for the sauce? There’s no supermarket here.”
“The duck?”
He nodded. “It was such a pity we had to eat her.”
“Her?”
“Her name was Rosanna. She had a beautiful nature.”
For the first time in my life, I was considering becoming a vegetarian. Then…
“Wait a minute.” I rolled my eyes. “You just quoted from Babe, didn’t you?”
“Loved that pig.” His eyes twinkled. “Sorry. I couldn’t resist. All food here is courtesy of magic, apart from the fruit and vegetables.”
“What—you can’t make them appear?”
“No, I grow them. I’ll show you some time.” He glanced toward the door. “I have to say, I felt incredibly guilty letting others do my job this evening.”
“Now wait a second. You delivered gifts to all the world apart from the States and Europe. I don’t think you put your feet up and lazed the day away, do you? And even Santa is entitled to a night off. Well, part of a night.”
“You’re good for me,” he said with a smile.
“And think of all the overtime those mailmen will get paid,” I added. “You’ve given them a really good Christmas.”
“I didn’t think of it that way.” He sighed. “They need to be paid extra at Christmas anyway. Think of all the letters they have to sort.”
I leaned back in my chair. “All those letters written to Santa, addressed to the North Pole… You don’t have to read them all, do you?”
He gaped at me. “Of course I do. And I make notes on every one I receive.”
“Seriously?”
Santa wiped his lips with his snowy white napkin, pushed his chair back, and crooked his finger. “Come with me.”
I followed him along a warmly lit hallway, to a wooden door. “My office,” he said as he opened it.
I stepped inside, and—
Wait. Wait just one minute.
The room was enormous, with row upon row of filing cabinets stretching back as far as the eye could see. The room had to be a mile long. Two miles.
My brain couldn’t take it in.
“How… I mean… but…” I stared at him. “I’ve seen this place from the air. How…?”
“I know,” he said with obvious pride. “It’s bigger on the inside.”
My jaw dropped. “Oh my God. I’m in Santa’s equivalent of the TARDIS, aren’t I?”
He grinned. “That’s one of my favorite shows.”
“You watch TV?”
He waved his hand. “I’m more a DVD kind of guy. But I’ve always wanted to talk to him. Never found the nerve.”
“Talk… talk to who?”
Santa nodded happily. “Yes, that’s him. Dr. Who.”
He’d just reduced me to a gibbering wreck.
“But… he’s a fictional character. He isn’t real. There are no Time Lords.”
Santa’s eyes gleamed. “Then what am I, if not a Time Lord?”
I froze. Rewound. Stared. “So I’m not just dating Santa, I’m dating a Time Lord?”
Then Santa laughed, a bright, happy sound that filled the room and made me feel energized and joyful. “Your face,” he managed to push out.
Wait…
“You lied? He’s not real?”
He hugged his middle, his face creased with laughter. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t resist. And you wouldn’t deny me my joke, not if you knew the truth.”
“And what’s that?”
He got himself under control. “That’s the first one I ever told. Because who has there been for me to do this with?”
His words sank in.
He’s been so alone.
But he wasn’t alone anymore. And I had a lifetime of human pleasures to share with him.
I knew exactly what his first lesson would be.
I glanced around the office, noting the absence of any furniture apart from the desk and chair. “We need a couch,” I muttered.
That found its mark. “We do? What for?”
I raised my eyebrows. “Find us a couch, and I’ll show you.”
A heartbeat later, a brown leather couch stood against the wall.
I shook my head. “Bigger.”
He blinked, and it winked out of sight, to be replaced by a wider version, with deep seats, and huge cushions.
“Better,” I said with a smile. I sauntered over to him and gave him a gentle push backward. “Time to see what’s under the suit, Santa. Well…” I lowered my gaze to his crotch. “Under part of it, at least.”
“Oh my,” he croaked.
I looked him in the eye. “If you’re not happy for me to continue, please, say so, and I’ll stop right now.”
He stared at me in silence for a moment, and then undid the gold buckle with trembling fingers.
I took that as consent.
“Let me?” I batted his hands away, slid the metal prong from its hole, and removed the belt. I slowly freed the gold buttons on his jacket, pulling aside the flaps to reveal—
“You don’t wear a shirt under here?”
“Not usually. The jacket is very soft. It feels good against my chest.”
I stroked his torso, and he shivered. “And now I know something no other person in the whole world knows.”
“What’s that?” Another shiver trickled through him.
“Santa has abs.” Not sculpted like the guys in my gym, but there was definition, a smooth rippling of muscles beneath the skin. “I don’t get it. How could anyone describe you as fat?”
“I don’t know, but I can tell you, the first time I read that?” His eyes twinkled. “One of my rooms suddenly became a home gym.”
“And now I know why you didn’t change out of the suit for dinner.”
He blinked. “You think I had an ulterior motive?”
I nodded. “You kept it on, just so I could take it off.” Then I gave him another backward shove.
“If you keep doing that, I’m going to fall,” he protested.
“That’s kinda the idea,” I said, smiling. “Just make sure you fall onto the couch.”
Push.
Down he went, the leather creaking as he sank into the thick cushion.
I joined him, encouraging him to lean back as I stroked his bare chest. His breath caught.
I slipped one arm around his shoulders, one hand to his neck, and kissed his cheek, moving forward until our lips met.
His eyes closed and I kissed him again, tugging carefully on his lower lip with my teeth, exploring his mouth with my tongue.
His moan was delicious. That first tentative touch of his hand on my knee sent my heart soaring, pounding… I took it and guided it to my crotch, and his breathing quickened. I pressed it to my burgeoning erection, molding it around the thickening bulge.
His gaze locked onto mine. “Oh.”
“And that’s all for you,” I whispered. “That’s because of you.”
Santa bit his lip. “Your obvious desire for me is a wonderful gift, but so are your words.” He sucked on my lip, more moans spilling from him. When he pulled back, I gazed into his eyes, caressing his neck.
His look of wonder threatened to unravel me.
He let out a heartfelt sigh. “Oh my. The way you look at me…”
“How do I look?”
“As if… I’m everything you ever wanted.”
I smiled. “That’s because you are.” I kissed his neck, the skin warm, that same spicy scent filling my nostrils. His hand was still on my crotch, so I figured turnaround was fair play. I cupped his dick, and a shiver rippled through him. Beneath my fingers, something stirred.
Something sizable.
I couldn’t resist. “Wow. I think there’s one more package to deliver this Christmas Eve.”
He groaned. “Please, no Santa puns.”
I pulled him to me, our arms entwined as we kissed, only now the kisses deepened, each one blurring into the next, until both of us moaned into them.
He stroked my dick and I ran my hands over his chest, teasing his nipples, eliciting more shudders and sighs.
My fingers strayed once more to his crotch, where his cock pushed against the black pants.
I needed more.
I placed my hand on his taut belly and eased my fingertips under the waistband, encountering—
The bare, smooth head of his dick.