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 o  The Bookshelf Directories offer a very wide variety of stories.  o
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A Christmas Story
By schulz_h@hotmail.com

***

I knew it was Sara the moment I answered the phone. She was an
apartment neighbour, she was cute, and I fancied the hell out of her.
The problem was that she was hot, I was not, and she was with the
latest in a long line of boyfriends. Many lonely Saturday nights were
spent with my ear pressed against one cold wall, hoping to hear her
moans again, fascinated and horny but shamed by familiarity and
propinquity from taking the easy (or perhaps hard) way out.

Still, we were friends. We talked about literature, politics, science
and other shit which, on a the "Stuff I would like to do with Sara"
list, rated rather poorly since it didn't involve anything to do with
having sex with the said Sara.

"Hello Sara."

"Hi"

It was nearing the end of the year, and this always made me depressed
since it seemed I would yet again fail to fulfil my resolution (you can
guess what it was). Heck, I had been resigned to failure for a good
three months, and was determined this year would be the last time I put
myself through this.

"What do you want?" I was always deliberately gruff with her. I wasn't
about to go all flirty with her- I didn't want to seem stupid, and if
she figured out how I felt, I was afraid she might trivialize it.
Besides, in less than a month, I was determined to start life afresh,
sans Sara-related sexual thoughts.

"What are you doing Christmas Day?"

"I don't celebrate Christmas." I thought I had made it clear to her on
too many "just talk" occasions how I felt about this nonsensical
occasion.

"Yes I know, but I do." She insisted.

"I'm not doing anything."

"Do you want to spend it with me?" Alarm bells rang. Words I never
thought I'd hear from her. My heart quivered like a box of arrows.
However, my well-drilled brain went into Defcon 3 and re-established
defenses as she continued, "I don't know anyone else and I don't want
to be alone..."

"Don't you have a boyfriend?"

"Oh, we broke up."

Defcon 2.

"Your parents?"

"My parents and I don't get on. That's why I moved up here. Didn't I
tell you?" She had, but I wanted to be sure as poor brain went to-
Defcon 1.

And eventually shut down. I blamed budget cuts.

"OK, but you're mistaken if you think I'm going to give you anything."
I finally answered.

Oh, how wrong I was.

*

Christmas day. The doorbell rang at 9am. To be honest, I couldn't sleep
the previous night. It was the first time Sara and I would be together
due to a specific prearranged engagement on a day where traditionally,
people who are close to each other enjoy one another's company. This
thought raced through my mind. Surely this was a breakthrough, or
perhaps it would turn out to be another talk-fest. Sigh.

"Merry Christmas." It was Sara, she looked hot. I hardly needed to
mentally undress her. But I did so anyway as a matter of course.
She held out something. I understood it to be a gift. I took it from
her.

"What's this supposed to be?" I asked.

"It's a present, merry Christmas." She smiled her broad smile and I
felt weak at the knees.

I put it up on the bookshelf as she came in and sat herself down.

"Aren't you going to open it?"

"I don't celebrate Christmas."

"For chrissakes open it."

"Hey, don't impose your religious beliefs on me in my own house."

She seemed kind of pissed off so I took it down and opened it. My
principles are kind of easy. Especially when challenged by a cutie like
Sara.

It was a book of poetry. A part of me hoped it was erotic poetry, but
it wasn't, rather a collection of the English kind.

I thanked her. I was genuinely pleased. One can never have too much
English poetry.

"So read something." She asked (coyly, I imagined).

I randomly opened a page and began.

"A careless shoestring, in whose tie I see a wild civility."

"Ooh, Robert Herrick- 'Delight in Disorder'," she was quick to
interrupt. "It's quite likely that it's the sexiest poem ever written
by a sixteenth century Englishman."

"Seventeenth century." I corrected her. Normally I would press this
point, but other thoughts entered my head. Had she said sexiest? Had
she said SEXteenth century? Why had I chosen this page? Was strange
fate guiding me?

I came back to my senses as she glared- "Start from the top please."

"A sweet disorder in the dress
Kindles in clothes a wantonness
A lawn about the shoulders thrown
Into a fine distraction,"

She leaned forward from where she sat, tilting her head , a slender
strap from her dress slipping down to hang limply on her upper arm and
baring the shoulder. My hands shook and I swallowed to contain my
voice. She was looking away from me, and I was able to conceal my
discomfort. I was also able to have a good perv.

"An erring lace, which here and there
Enthrals the crimson stomacher,"

She absently uncrossed and crossed her legs, I followed the
spellbinding of the nylonbinding of her stockings from her heels up
to... Where her short skirt was inching its way up her thighs. I stood
transfixed, like a man hoping to get a glimpse of panty, before
realizing I was such a man, and continuing with the poem. I spent the
next few lines trying to read and peep at the same time. I was relieved
to finally get to the final coupling, I mean, couplet-

"Do more bewitch me, than when art
Is too precise in every part."

I closed the book with an exaggerated gesture as she turned to me and
grinned.

"Do you think he was right?" she asked?
"I don't know. It's the difference between a skank and a schoolmarm
right?" I said facetiously.
"So which do you prefer? The skank or the schoolmarm?"
"I don't know." I said again sullenly. I'm not sure I could see where
this was going.

I perched myself on a stool and looked at her. I changed the subject.

"So what are you going to do now?" I asked.
"I'm going to invite you to Christmas lunch."
"What are you cooking?"
"Christmas things."
"You know what people call Christmas was in fact an ancient pagan orgy
where they sacrificed people and ate them. And I don't mean just the
choice cuts like leg, breast or rump, I mean the whole lot, including
the er, private parts."
"You're a lying liar" she laughed.
"OK, I'll be there, but I warn you, I don't eat private parts."

Oh, how wrong I was.

*

I was there, one o'clock sharp.

"So what's this?" I gestured to a small, brightly wrapped package
sitting on her coffee table as she came through from the kitchen.
"Hmm, I don't know." She picked it up and looked at it. "It's a
present. Is it from you?" she seemed pleasantly surprised. "It wasn't
there before."
"No." I answered innocently. "What does the card say?"
"Love Santa Claus" She read.
"A former boyfriend?"
"No..." she opened it, and laughed happily as she pulled out a red and
white Santa hat, and a matching set of red lace lingerie.
"What the hell is that?"
"Santa brought me a sexy bra and panties"
"The filthy bastard. I've a good mind to report him."
"I'm going to try them on" she said, and skipped to her room.

I not only caught my breath, but stuffed it, mounted it, and hung it
above the mantelpiece as she returned, wearing nothing but the
aforementioned sexy red lace lingerie and the Santa hat to stand and
twirl and pose before me like a garage calendar pinup. I must have been
more eyeballs than human at that point, as I openly studied the sweet
geography of her figure. Her titties rose magnificently like twin peaks
pressed upward and together, a hint of aureola through the red lace
Alps and falling down to the gentle bare slope of her belly and further
into the red lace river delta and the dark, rich bayou of the mons
veneris.

"So what do you think?"

It must have been a good millennium before the nerve signals from my
ears even reached the brain.

"How did Santa Claus know what size you are?"
"Maybe he went through my laundry?"
"The dirty son of a bitch"

Much of the meal was a blur. All of my nervous system was pretty much
dedicated to sight, Sara having decided to honour her mystical
benefactor by wearing the outfit for the rest of the day, or so she
said. I made no demur. Who was I to stand between a woman and her
lecherous boreal spirit?

At length, Sara looked at me and asked, "Why have you never made a pass
at me?"
"What?" Nerve signals were quickly rerouted.
"Why have you never tried it on with me?"
"Should I?"
"We've known each other for sometime, and I thought..."

I thought about acting cool and pretending like I didn't care, but the
time for games was over. I could no longer hide behind insecurities and
false hopes. It was time to be a man and tell the truth, or in this
case, the least embarrassing version.

"I wanted to, but I didn't think I'd have a chance. I mean, I've seen
the guys you bring home, how can I compete with that?"

She seemed thoughtful, "They don't mean anything to me anymore, I was a
fool to think I could be happy with someone who's just looks and no
brains. I realize now that I'd much rather be with someone who's smart,
and funny, and knows when Robert Herrick lived...like you."

"I didn't really know about Herrick. I saw it on the book." I couldn't
believe what I was hearing. I wasn't at all sure it was happening.
Suddenly I was afraid. I mean, I'd fantasized about this moment and
what I would do many, many times, but that's why it's called
fantasizing, right? Because you never expect it to happen. My mind was
blank. "I'll help you with the dishes." was all I could say.

So I helped her with the dishes. It seemed a mistake- we were closer
together in the confines of the kitchen than before, it was all I could
to not look at her too much, still in her festive red lace, and I kept
my head down concentrating on not dropping anything. I was almost
grateful that she had decided not to pursue the matter.

"Excuse me," came Sara's voice from somewhere beside me. She smiled
demurely, "I just need to put these plates away in the cupboard."
"Sorry." I stepped away as she brushed past me, my flesh superheating
from her touch.
"I can't seem to reach, could you possibly..."
I took the plates and reached up  for the shelves. Sara was positioned
between the cupboard and I and facing away. As I stretched upward, the
smell of her hair filled my senses, and I began to breathe heavily, my
heart racing. I shifted my feet and noticed for the first time my cock
was hard- hard up against something. Sara's ass. I leaned forward and
put away the plates. My free hands came down on her shoulders. I wasn't
the only the only one breathing hard. Her shoulders rose and fell as I
grasped them and drew her body close to me. I buried my face in her
hair and stood for some moments. I still couldn't be sure whether Sara
wanted this or not. So I told her.

"Sara, I want you very badly." I said in a ragged whisper.
"So have me."

I took one hand, pulled off her hat, threw it behind me and brushed her
hair to one side. I put my lips on the bare back of her neck, then
worked my kisses around to her throat as she leaned her head back. Our
mouths met as she twisted, and we worked our jaws and tongues. My head
filled it with an intense heat and I absurdly wondered how the wetness
of her mouth kept from vaporizing.

Her ass kept pressing into the my cock with insistence but I was
sensible enough to satisfy my long held tit fetish. My hands slipped
off the straps of her brassiere from her shoulders and worked
themselves down and forward to the cleft between her tits while we
kissed, our tongues sliding entwined. My fingers crawled inside the
lacy cups and squeezed, and I marvelled at the firm softness or the
soft firmness of Sara's breasts. I felt myself finally vindicated in my
mammary allegiance, despite the protestations of ass or foot lovers
everywhere.

My heart was thrilled to hear, in person, Sara moan with sexual
pleasure as I rolled her nipples with my fingers and thumb. We broke
off the kiss as she turned around to face me. Her eyes shone and
nostrils slightly flared as her breath heaved. My eyes instantly
drifted down to her chest. My own breathing must have nearly stopped as
I caught sight of those glorious boobs, the magnum opus of Evolutionary
Art, a masterpiece of womanhood in a frame of red lace. I reached
behind to fumble at the clasp and to finally free her tits, observing
them in their natural state. They didn't remain that way for long as my
hands went to work, shaping them like an over-excited sculptor. Like
Pygmalion must have done until Galatea could finally tell him to fuck
off. But I digress. My mouth and tongue quickly followed, as Sara
demanded I suck her tits and lick her tits and other such things as she
ran her fingers through my hair. I happily complied.

We stood for some moments, regaining our composure after I had thought
I had given her breasts enough attention (for now). She took me by the
hand and breathlessly pulled me into the living area.

"There's my tree" she gestured.
"I prefer bush" I responded.
"What a delightful segue"

I hit her couch stripping. Sara was kind enough to help, and sat me
down comfortably. She feverishly ran her hands and mouth over my chest
and down my belly to my still clad cock struggling to free itself from
its cotton confinement. She cooed in satisfaction as she removed my
briefs, my erection wet with evening dew springing forth to attention
before her face. I cooed in satisfaction also, glad to have measured
up. I closed my eyes and tilted my head back with the first touch of
her mouth on my cock. She worked her tongue around the tip of my
sparkling uncut gem and at length, took it in her mouth. I opened my
eyes and brought my head up to watch with trembling fascination as Sara
sucked my cock. Her head motioned up and down, and she looked up at me
with smiling eyes as I reached down to stroke her cheek. I doubt I
lasted long. I was soon telling her that I was about to come like the
No.69 sexpress from Cumbria to Cumberland. And I did. And on time. Choo
choo.

She took me by the chin and pulled me on top of as she leaned back
herself.
"My turn." She insisted. Ah, sexual equality. I'm all for it.

I slipped her panties down to her ankles and she removed them with a
kick and a flourish. I ran my hands down the slender length of each leg
and parted them to reveal the rose in her secret garden wet with rain.
Yeah, her pussy. I fancied she must be orthodox as I traced my fingers
over her unshorn labia. I licked my lips as I licked her lips. My mind
flicked through the cunnilingus scenes in every Euro-porn vid I had
seen. And I had seen plenty. Apparently, so had Sara, as she thrashed
and moaned and gasped like a starlet as licked and flicked at her clit.
I took aim with my tongue through the bolthole of her fortress. I
opened her oyster to claim the pearl. She came like Lassie as I
whistled.

"It's time you fucked me." Sara whispered in my ear as we lay together
on the couch shivering from sexual fervour or the perspiration cooling
off our bodies. She slid down onto the floor and pulled me with her. On
to her knees, she turned away and leaned across the seat of the couch,
supporting herself on her forearms.

"Do me from behind" she urged, looking backwards at me. She had arched
her back and thrust behind, her pussy beckoning me in the secret sign
language of sex. I got on my knees and positioned myself between the
spread of her folded legs. I held my erection with one hand,
manoeuvering it like a smart bomb into her bunker. She groaned as the
warhead penetrated her defenses.

"I am the UN and this is my most powerful member." I told her, still
grasping my cock.
She groaned again in reply.
"You should have thought of that before you began your sexual
cleansing." I chided.

With the blue helmet trooper firmly inserted into the field of
operation, I freed my hands to grip her waist and pull her back as I
thrust forward. Our bodies rocked as I worked my cock like a crank.
Soon we were rolling along like a well-oiled machine and I dragged my
erection in and out like a piston creating a little internal combustion
of our own. I was the back seat driver, steering with my hands all over
her back and rump, urging Sara to rev it up while her engine roared.
Inevitably, it blew.

I imagined myself Vesuvius to Sara's Pompeii as waves of molten love
gushed forth with a violent shaking of the very earth. The temple of
Venus trembled and fell. Then I ran out of metaphors as the orgasm blew
my mind.

I collapsed onto her back as I belatedly told her I was coming.
She lay wordlessly beneath me, breathing hard.
"Oh, God." She finally uttered.
"I don't celebrate Christmas" I reminded her.


*

I held her tightly to me, not wanting to let go, and we lay on the
floor for what seemed an eternity until I noticed a present still
sitting underneath the tree. I reached for it.

"To Sara, Love G", read the card.

"So who's G?' I asked her, although I already suspected.
"My boyfriend." She replied, gazing straight into my face.

I grabbed her ass with one hand and drew her closer to me.

"So where's G?"
"Celebrating Christmas with his wife and children."
"Some guys want everything." I noted.

So we lay there and talked like we usually did.

"What you said about being tired of studs and wanting geeks like me-
that was all bullshit?"
"Yeah. And you believed it."
"Shit, my hopes were kind of raised before you dashed them down."
"But I do like you a lot." She winked. "We can still fuck sometimes."
She pressed her mouth to mine to accentuate the positive. I parted my
lips and put in some tongue. She didn't seem put off so I gave her
titties a squeeze. After all I may never have such an opportunity again.

"The gift from Santa?" I eventually asked.
"A plant."
"This was all freaking elaborate. What are you, KGB?"
"It worked didn't it?" she grinned.
"Why did you do it?" I was grateful, but genuinely puzzled.
"Because it's Christmas."
"It seems I've underestimated this Christmas thing." I pondered. "Well,
Merry Christmas, Sara."
"Merry Christmas, you."


Fin.