Merry Fucking Christmas

Christmas had always been my favorite time of year. That is until I was faced with the first one after my separation. The thought of not spending the entire day with my child filled me with grief.  All the holiday rituals we had become accustomed to were lost since he had to split his time equally between myself and his father, forcing me to make new ones, the first of which would be drinking, heavily.

Two weeks before Christmas I decided to take my son to the mall for a visit with Santa. We’d tried several times in the past and failed due to his anxiety over actually speaking to the bearded man, not to mention both his and my inability to wait in a ridiculously long line of antsy kids, but this particular year I was hell bent on getting a picture of us on that old man’s lap and starting a new tradition, just the two of us.

While we waited in line that afternoon amongst the ill behaved children, I couldn’t help but stare at the man who sat in the cheesy winter wonderland before me. I swore a few times I caught him checking me out too. There was something familiar about him, although I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. As we neared the front of the line, I began fantasizing about what he might look like minus the fake beard and suit, and what he was packing underneath all that jolly goodness. It was at that moment, when I found myself lusting after the generic mall Santa, I realized how badly I needed to get laid.

As my son and I simultaneously sat on his lap and he greeted us, I realized he was much younger than I had anticipated.

“Ho, Ho, Ho.”

By the sound of his voice I guessed he was in his early thirties. By the bulge in his pants I could tell he was more interested in stuffing my stocking than my son’s.

At least I hoped.

As I looked him in the eyes he gave me a wink and put his hand on my thigh.  I wondered if anyone saw what was going on, particularly my child, but everyone seemed too caught up in the Christmas magic to notice Santa groping me. A less open minded, and less desperate, woman probably would’ve been offended, but not me. I actually rather enjoyed the attention as it had been a long time since anyone had made me want to get on their naughty list.

I pretended not to notice his roaming hand as my son rambled on to him about the gifts he wanted. By the time they finally took our picture he had successfully reached second base and I was pretty sure he was working his way to third underneath my overweight jacket. Just as our time was up and I began to walk away, he grabbed my hand and pulled me towards him.

“Do you even remember me?” he chuckled.

“Umm, should I?”

“Well, we did fuck behind a billiard hall in the 11^th grade.”

And that’s when it hit me: those eyes, that voice, the roaming hands; I’d lost my virginity to Santa Claus.

Of course he wasn’t Santa Claus back then, but he did cum bearing the gift of my very first orgasm. And if memory served me correctly, he had one of the nicest packages I’d ever seen.

We chatted for a few minutes until my son started tugging on my leg, as the rest of the children and adults neared a riot in the line behind us for taking so long. Since I couldn’t hand Santa my phone number directly at the risk of breaking his character, I decided to leave it with one of the elves who had taken our picture to give to him at the end of his shift.

Two days later Santa called me and we went out for drinks. Going out with him was like stepping into a time machine and heading right back to high school. While I had grown up, he was exactly the same, minus a few hairs and plus a couple pounds. He was still not married, still living at home with his mother, still smoking weed nearly 24/7, and still working the least responsible jobs he could find. But he was fun, and at that time in my life fun was just what I needed.

We started hanging out the nights my son was with his father. While I knew it wasn’t the best idea, he kept my mind off of the rapidly approaching holiday and out of a complete state of depression. We reminisced about our teenage escapades over bong hits and Budweiser. We made out to Pink Floyd and laughed our asses off while watching Cheech and Chong. Time stood still at 1993 while we were locked away amongst the crushed beer cans and empty pizza boxes in his filthy bedroom, but when I left it I was always happy to come back to 2008.

Before I knew it Christmas morning came and went, after which I found myself in a drunken stupor. The moment my son’s father drove out of my driveway, taking my boy with him, I had uncorked a bottle of wine and was now halfway through bottle number two. As I sat alone in my living room, caught somewhere between wanting to throw up and wanting to saw at my wrists with a broken candy cane, I decided to turn my night around the best way I could think of in my inebriated state, by being a ho-ho-ho. And with that I called Santa in the hopes that he’d sleep me.

As luck would have it he was just leaving a family gathering and he agreed to swing by my house. At the time I had moved back in with my parents so I could save money for a new apartment. Although they weren’t home I knew they could be at any minute so seducing him at my place was out of the question. After a short discussion we decided to meet in my driveway and decide where to go from there.

I quickly threw on a little black dress, sans panties, and slipped on my favorite knee high boots, as I remembered what it had been like when he took my virginity so many years before. While it had only lasted five minutes, and ended in me covered in dirt and grass stains, I imagined he would be a much better lover now and even if he wasn’t, bad sex was better than no sex. By the time he texted me that he was outside I had worked myself up into a state of pure lust at the thought of touching his north pole. My blood alcohol level didn’t help matters either.

I stumbled down my walkway and opened my gate to greet him. I was completely taken aback at the sight of him sitting in his car in full Santa gear. Turns out he dressed up every year and handed out presents to his nieces and nephews at their family party and hadn’t had time to stop home and change before meeting me. While the vision of him in his fuzzy red suit and synthetic white hair brought on a fit of laughter, it also took me back to that afternoon at the mall and how naughty I felt sitting on his lap while he groped me amongst the fake snow and twinkling lights. It was then that I decided I was going to fuck him in the back of his Volkswagen Golf, right there in my driveway, prosthetic beard and all.

Being as fun loving as he was, he had no arguments when I coyly placed his Santa hat on my head and insisted he join me in the rear. Unfortunately, five minutes later my parents pulled up next to us in the driveway. You can imagine the look on their faces, and the thoughts running through their minds, as they caught sight of me riding Santa’s sleigh.  I sat there like a reindeer in headlights, half wanting to finish and half wanting him to get in the front seat and floor it. As I hopped off Santa’s pole and tried to compose myself, I couldn’t help but think “What would Mrs. Claus do?”

We all sat there for a good ten minutes, still in shock, neither party wanting to be the first to exit their car and break the awkward silence or acknowledge what had just happened.  When I finally opened the car door and came face to face with my parents, I decided that ignorance would be bliss.

“So, who wants some cookies?”

Mrs. Claus would’ve been proud.