A Gift from Mother Christmas

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Here, dear reader, for your pleasure and enjoyment, is my entry for the Winter Holidays Story Contest 2014.

My thanks, as ever, to my wonderful editor Winterreisser for his careful and thoughtful work in correcting, honing and perfecting the story.

As this is a competition entry, please do take a moment to rate this story as it is your votes that determine the result. Of course, if you feel moved to send me some feedback as well, then that would be wonderful.


Many times we are given what we want and our lives travel on unchanged. Just occasionally, however, we receive what we really need and we are never quite the same. One Christmas, nearly two decades ago and just as my life was at its nadir, such a thing happened to me and changed my life utterly…

— o o O o o —

I lie amid a nest of coats on the bed. The wailing sobs have passed but tears still fall in silence punctuated by the gasping catch in my breathing. From downstairs the bass-heavy sound of Oasis’s Roll With It thumps through the bedroom floor. The room is dark: curtains block out the winter moonlight and while beyond the far side of the bed there is a feeble firefly glow outlining the door, it does nothing to illuminate the room. Objects in the room are little more than a faint texturing of the darkness. It is not much past nine o’clock so I should be undisturbed in here for a long time.

I know that I am awkward and shy, though my mind is quick thinking and schoolwork and study come easily; I know that I am overweight — okay, I’m fat — that my hair is a dull brown, my face plain, though I don’t believe it’s ugly by any means. Still, do my faults and failings really deserve the abuse my life is heaping upon me? It is three days after Christmas and just ten days after my eighteenth birthday and I feel my life is in ruins. In four days’ time it will be 1996 and I seriously wonder whether I will see the New Year; what would be the point?

Thinking of my eighteenth birthday reminds me of Emmy, my now ex-best friend. We’d had a joint party as our birthdays are on consecutive days. Emily-Rose, my beautiful, ash blonde, blue eyed Emmy, my best friend since primary school… who now won’t even look at me let alone speak to me.

As ever, my mind drifts back to that golden memory of a hot summer’s afternoon and the two of us walking close together through a field of waist-high grass. We lay in the grass, looking up at the perfect azure blue sky, no sounds save the gentle birdcalls and the faint susurration of the breeze in the grass. Our hands met and clasped; moments later our heads turned, our eyes locking together. Our heads were so close I could feel her breath on my lips. Emmy moved, brushing her lips against mine, soft and warm. I hesitated as I gazed into her sparkling blue eyes, whose colour outdid that of the sky, then pressed back and the kiss lingered.

“That was so nice,” I told her as our lips parted.

“It was, wasn’t it Suze,” and our mouths met again. Now I felt her tongue caress my top lip. I couldn’t believe it was happening; I’d had such a crush on Emmy for years. My mouth immediately opened to her and we began a long, deep French kiss. The feel of our tongues meeting was incredible, better than I could ever have dreamt. We gave and took, learning from each other what felt good and what was less enjoyable. We broke off and resumed several times. I didn’t know what it was doing for Emmy but knew I was in heaven.

Eventually she pulled away, saying it was time we were heading home. As we walked I tried to take her hand but she was uncomfortable and pulled her hand away. I didn’t push it, despite the arousal and attraction to her that our kissing had inflamed in me. I could wait for I knew then that I was physically attracted to her and that she felt the same!

We kissed again several times over the following weeks and this moved on to cuddling and kissing. Each time Emmy allowed our kissing to continue for a while and then ended it abruptly. I never complained, grateful for the intimacy she was willing to share and was patient with her, determined to wait until she was prepared to go further. Patient, that is, until the night after our shared eighteenth birthday party.

I was sleeping over at her house, on a mattress beside her bed. I felt her slip in beside me and we cuddled. “So, we’re both grown-ups now,” I said to her.

“Yeah,” she smiled, “Everything’s legal now!”

“Happy birthday, Emmy. I love you.”

“Happy birthday, Suze,” and she kissed me. I responded as normal and we began kissing deeply. This time, however, my hand wandered and cupped her bum cheek. I sensed Emmy stiffen and I feared I had overstepped her limits before I felt her hand on my boob, her thumb pressing my nipple through the fabric of my nightie. I gasped and squeezed her bum hard, pulling her body tight against me. Her hand didn’t move and I could feel my pussy moistening. My hand rubbed along the cleft bursa escort between Emmy’s bum cheeks and I felt her thigh press against my pussy. Despite my resolve to patience, I couldn’t help grinding against her. I gave a quiet moan of desire and wondered if my darling could feel how wet I was.

Emmy’s kissing stopped and she took her hand from my boob, rolling away and getting back into bed. “Night, Suzie,” she said, facing away from me.

“Night, night Emmy,” I replied but struggled to get to sleep.

I awoke to an empty room but beside my mattress was a piece of folded paper that I hesitantly opened and read the words Emmy had written:

What we did last night sickens me. YOU sicken me.

I thought we were just practising kissing and having a nice cuddle, not perving on each other. I never want to see you again EVER, you fat dyke.

Emily-Rose I dissolved in tears even as I dressed. Emmy’s Mum informed me that Emmy had gone out early that morning and that I wasn’t to wait for her to return. It was all so unfair: she had kissed me first, she had initiated most of the times we kissed and cuddled, she had come into my bed… Suddenly, because I was turned on by it she was sickened. Fucking bitch!

I am sobbing hard again at the memories and I struggle to regain control. I sniff and catch again the smell of my sex juices on my t-shirt; now I cannot help reliving again the nightmare of this evening.

The party had started so well. I had dressed appropriately, trying to blend in with my peers in a Blur rock band T-shirt and fashionably ripped jeans, my hair streaked and face made-up; several friends had even complimented me. So when Danny Jackson approached me and asked me to dance I was more than flattered, I was thrilled! Even though Emmy had said nothing to anyone about our kissing and… everything, my going with a boy tonight would prevent any thought or rumour of me being gay and, hey, having a boyfriend would be nice: someone who cared about me and thought me attractive. Not that I found Danny particularly physically attractive; he was good looking enough, with a body kept in good shape from sports and the gym, but there was just no real spark. However, he was male and interested in me, and that was very attractive.

After the second dance he suggested we go outside. I could scarcely believe it: it could only mean he wanted to kiss me, maybe even snog and make out for a bit! My heart was hammering fit to burst and butterflies filled my stomach as he led me by the hand into the moonlit back garden. It was cold outside and I shivered but his arm was around me so I didn’t care as we crossed the lawn. He led me out of sight of the house, behind the garden shed where I leant with my back against the rear wall.

We kissed, just lips at first but I tentatively offered my tongue and he opened his mouth to me. He was inexpertly kneading my boobs; lots of aggressive squeezing that did little to arouse me. Still, he was interested in me, so I wasn’t going to complain about his technique at this point. His hand went to the button of my jeans and I hesitated. “Oh, c’mon Suzie, don’t spoil it,” he whispered. Stupidly I let him continue and even put my hand to his crotch and gave a slight squeeze.

The waistband of my jeans was open and, immediately, his hand slid into my panties. I gave a gasp: his fingers were cold! However, he took this as a gasp of excitement and his fingers curled into my pussy. I gasped again partly from surprise but, yes, there was now excitement too that increased as he began to move his fingers back and forth.

I’m sure, in his head, he thought he was plunging his digits deep within my womanhood. In reality they were sliding back and forth along my labia and barely entering me. However, what they were also doing was rubbing to and fro across my highly sensitive clit which felt fantastic! I was quickly moaning and gasping and knew from my masturbatory explorations that I wouldn’t last long. Sure enough, my orgasm soon thrummed through me, making me tremble and my legs become weak as I felt a hot, wet flow in my panties. My first shared orgasm! I was briefly in heaven as I leant against Danny for support.

He pushed me back against the shed wall as he pulled his hand from my panties. He raised it up and, in the moonlight, I could see it glistened with my pussy’s juices. I could smell them too, pungent in the cold air. Danny’s face showed a faint disgust as, without warning, he wiped his hand on my T-shirt, once, twice, as he stained my shirt with my own cum.

He turned and walked away and I heard laughter. I looked round the corner of the shed as I refastened my jeans and saw, in the light spilling from the house, several lads coming over to Danny, who held out his hand. “See, I told you I could get into the fat slut’s knickers before nine o’clock!” I heard Danny call boastfully to them. Once again I was humiliated and hurt and I fled back into the house, pushing past mocking, leering bursa escort bayan faces. Indoors I headed upstairs, desperate to hide. This bedroom, the temporary cloakroom, has become my sanctuary and I lie here still, curled up as my world crumbles. Fat cow, porker, whale, fat dyke, fat slut… how many more names must I endure?

I stiffen as I hear the door open behind me and quietly turn my head but all I see is the silhouette of a woman’s head with shoulder-length, slightly curly hair, before the door closes. I small sob escapes me before I bite my lip to silence myself. I hear the soft click of a key turning: she has locked the door and a cold fear enters me.

“It’s okay… Suzie,” the voice is calm, gentle and assured and not one I recognise, certainly not in the dark, “you’re quite safe with me. We won’t have anyone barging in on us now.” The fear ebbs but I remain nervous of this strange intruder.

“Who… who are you?” I manage hesitantly.

“Hush, Suzie, I’m here to help you.” Her voice is soft and kindly and calming; some of my nervousness drains away. “I am, well, you’d probably call me Mother Christmas. I know that I’m a bit late, though it is still within the twelve days of Christmas, but I came because you need me. You see, unlike my husband, who gives people what they think they want, I give them what they really need, as good mothers always do.”

“You’re Mother Christmas?” I manage to sob uncertainly. “Mother Christmas? So your husband is…”

“Father Christmas, yes,” she replied perfectly calmly but even in my abject, tearful state I’m sceptical.

“Mother Christmas? I can’t call someone… I mean, you can’t be; I’m not a child.”

“Christmas isn’t just for children, Suzie,” she chides gently. “However, I can see Mother Christmas is not a name you’ll be able to use comfortably so why don’t you call me… Kris?” I hear her move surprisingly quickly and confidently around the bed in the dark room; she obviously has good eyes in the dark. I can hear her standing close to me when she asks, “May I sit, Suzie?”

I sit up, still weeping, and move my legs so I am sitting on the edge of the bed. I briefly see her as a shadow against the curtains before I feel the bed shift when she sits. Her arm reaches around my shoulder to hug me and yet it doesn’t occur to me to resist. “You’re in a bad way aren’t you?”

“Yes,” I manage, “it all hurts so much.” She moves, wrapping both her arms around me and, before I realize what’s happening, I am leaning against her, cradled in her arms. Unexpected though this position is, I feel very safe. Her body is soft and warm, not fat and not skinny just… ordinary. She smells nice: a soft sweet, spicy, homely scent that I find myself liking immensely. She is wearing a dress of some soft, warm fabric that feels pleasant and comforting against my cheek and fingers.

“Tell me,” she instructs and the events of this evening spill out of me, all the upset, anger and pain of what Danny did and the loathing I feel for myself for letting it happen.

Her hand brushes my cheek. “I know tonight seems like the end of everything but it will pass and you will heal in time.”

“No, I won’t!” and with that I find myself recounting the tale of my time with Emmy from that first, golden afternoon to the morning of the final note just before Christmas and how that rejection by Emmy, with the shame of all that happened this evening, means that my life is effectively over even as my adulthood has barely begun.

I remain cradled in her arms while she is silent for some time. I begin to wonder whether she is thinking or if my rambling, tear filled telling has lulled her into a doze.

“Suzie, are you a lesbian?” she asks suddenly and I look up into her faintly discernible face.

“Moth… Kris, I… don’t know. I wanted to… you know, with Emmy but she…”

I am cut off by her soft lips against mine. I am shocked and yet, somehow, I still feel safe. Her hand is still against my cheek and I reach up to touch her face. Her skin is smooth and soft but hasn’t the tautness of youth; she is definitely much older than me.

Her kiss is gentle but lacks the hesitancy of Emmy’s kisses; Kris is confident and I feel her deftly adjust to suck on my lower lip. This slight move changes the game: this is no longer a chaste, friend’s kiss but is now subtly sexual. My body responds even as my mind is still wondering what’s happening and, despite my confusion, I know I like it. “Why?” I whisper when the kiss ends.

“A gift to you; a gift of physical love and affection shared with you, if you want it; freely given and asking nothing back.”

“Um…” is all I can manage as I continue to stroke her face hesitantly.

“It may help you know yourself and to accept that you are worthy of being loved.” Her face is just above mine, each word caresses my mouth with her breath. God, how I want to feel loved but what if this is a trick? bursa sınırsız escort Then I recall the door being locked; we are not going to be walked in on. I tilt my head, bringing my lips to hers. This time I open my mouth and wait, allowing Kris’s tongue to slip between my lips. I respond immediately to show my desire and excitement but letting her lead and then echoing her techniques. However, Kris is patient and my arousal steadily builds.

I feel Kris’s hand slide under my T-shirt across my stomach. I tense: she can feel the soft rolls of my stomach and I expect her to recoil… but she doesn’t. She continues to caress, her hand working upwards. Her fingers brush the underside of my bra and I gasp at the tingle that shoots through me. Her arm reaches around me and I laugh nervously as I feel her neatly release my bra strap.

Kris slips from me. “Lie back on the bed, Suzie my love,” she instructs and I sense as much as see her kneel beside the bed. Her hands return to exploring me as she raises my shirt and then pulls it over my head, stripping it from me. Her hands return to my bra, making me moan softly in anticipation, as she slides the cups up, freeing my boobs to the cool air. I shrug each shoulder in turn, slipping the bra’s straps so she can remove it, leaving me topless.

My heart rate has increased and I am biting my lip waiting for what Kris will do, what I want, hope and pray she will do… “Oh yes!” I gasp as her lips enfold my right nipple and she suckles it softly. Meanwhile her hand has returned to caressing my cushiony stomach. She sucks a little harder for a moment and then begins running the tip of her tongue around the aureole before suddenly flicking it across the nipple. “Kris, that feels so nice,” I tell her, “it’s… it’s making my… my pussy get wet,” I force myself to confess. My hand gropes blindly until it encounters Kris’s breast. I try to be gentle and arousing as I cup the globe of her boob through her clothing, squeezing gently and rubbing it. I locate the hardened dome of her nipple and press it firmly with my thumb before running my thumbnail across it. I am thrilled when I hear Kris moan very softly in response.

Now her hands are at the top of my jeans and I feel her fingers slip under the waistband. I wonder what she will do for a moment then her hand twists and I realize she is trying to undo the button. However, her hand is at an awkward angle and she is struggling; the fact that my jeans are so tight on me probably isn’t helping. I want to reach down and help her, but that would mean letting her breast go. Just then, the jeans button springs open and the zip is immediately pulled down.

Throughout this my nipple had been sucked and licked and nibbled and it is only now released, the saliva coating it chills the nipple quickly in the cool air. “Suzie, I’m going to slip your jeans and panties down to you ankles and remove them. You will be naked and your pussy will be exposed to me, is that okay?”

“Yes,” I manage to whispers hoarsely. Normally I hate my naked body but tonight I want to expose it for Kris. I feel her pull at the waistband and I lift my bum as both jeans and panties are dragged down past my knees in one firm movement. Moments later my legs are bare and I hear Kris folding the jeans and place them on the floor. “Lie on the bed, Suzie,” and I obey, twisting and lifting my legs onto the bed.

“Is… that all you’re going to do to me?” I ask.

“Would you like me to do more Suzie? Would you like me, a woman, to touch your pussy?” Kris’s voice is low and sensual and unbelievably erotic. I sure she could make me cum just talking to me if she wanted to.

“Oh shit, yes!” I gasp. “I want you to do everything a, a, a woman can to me.”

“And what do you think a woman can do to another woman Suzie? What would you have done with Emmy, if she’d let you?”

“I wanted to touch her in all the ways that feel so good when I touch myself, to touch her tits and nipples, to run my hand over her skin. I would caress her bum, her stomach… her pubes.” I swallow hard, my voice is trembling with how much I wanted all of this. “I wanted to slip my fingers inside her, to feel how hot and wet I’d made her and to rub her until she reached her orgasm and she called out how much she loved me”

“That sounds wonderful. Is there anything else you dreamed of? Anything at all, Suzie?”

“I…” I hesitate, fearing that to confess my desire will disgust Kris, but her hand softly strokes my hair and I blurt out, “I wanted to lick her, to taste her down there, where my fingers had made her wet.”

“You wanted to lick her pussy, Suzie. Did you think you’d enjoy the taste?”

I can feel my cheeks burning red in the dark. “I… I like the taste of mine when I suck my fingers after… you know…” I can make out the nod of her head. “And anyway, even if I didn’t I’d still lick her if it felt good to her.”

“Would you like to find how good being touched and licked by a woman feels?”

“Oh Kris, yes!” I exclaim. Thinking of making love to Emmy had been a huge turn on and my legs seemed to open of their own accord inviting Kris between them. She reaches up and pulls my left leg from the bed so my foot rests on the floor, then moves my leg so I am opened wider, allowing her to kneel between the bed and my leg.

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