Steve's worst Christmas gift ever was a Hallmark card from his girlfriend. Or, more accurately, from his ex-girlfriend because inside the card, just under the cheesy holiday sentiment, she had written "I am moving to L.A. with Dennis Finklestein. Goodbye."
He had the card with him, stuffed in his the pocket of his overcoat, when he was coming home from work that Christmas Eve. Steve had volunteered to work the last shift at the store -- as much to avoid his now empty apartment as to make brownie points with his boss. So it was fully dark as he shuffled down the sidewalk with his hands stuffed in his pockets and his shoulders hunched against the cold wind.
Out of the corner of his eye Steve saw movement down a dark alleyway. He turned and saw two rough looking kids standing over someone on the ground. As he watched, one of them kicked out with a big, black boot. He heard a muffled "Ooof!" and started to make a quick getaway.
He hadn't taken two steps, however, before he turned back, shaking his head at his own foolishness. Back in the alley, the shape on the ground was trying to stand up. One of the kids shoved him back down. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, Steve saw that the figure on the ground was wearing a big, red suit. With white fuzzy trim. And a long, white beard.
"Jesus Christ!" Steve exclaimed. "You guys are mugging Santa Clause on Christmas Eve?!"
The kids looked back at Steve dismissively. "Fuck off," one of them growled at him.
Steve looked around in desperation. He really should have planned this out better, the told himself. Finally, he spotted a two-by-four propped against a dumpster. He quickly grabbed it and cocked it over his shoulder like Mickey Mantle stepping to the plate. To Steve's great fortune, the old board had several crooked nails sticking out of it. "No," he said. "Y-Y-you fuck off."
"Come on, man," the first kid said to the second, "this ain't worth it." He picked up a big, red kettle and backed away. The second joined him and they ran off down the dark alley, their kettle of pocket change jingling all the way.
"Some people," the old man in the red suit stood up and started to brush himself off, "have no Christmas spirit."
"Are you all right?"
"Yes, yes. I'll be fine," he answered. "Thanks to you. I owe you one."
"Don't mention it," Steve tossed his makeshift bat in the dumpster. Had he really just done that?
"So," the old guy winked at Steve. "What would you like for Christmas?"
"Hrm. Maybe a new girlfriend," Steve turned and hurried back the way he had come. He was starting to feel like he might throw-up. "Merry Christmas!"
He heard the old man yell something after him that sounded a lot like, "to all a good night" but he didn't turn back. Steve was home in a few minutes. He triple locked the door of his apartment and decided to move to a nicer neighborhood as soon as possible. He warmed up a Healthy Choice microwave meal, ate his dinner in front of the television, and then went to bed with one of his favorite novels. He fell asleep with the book on his chest.
It was still there the next morning when the sun streaming through his bedroom window roused him out of sleep. "Yippee," he mumbled to himself. "It's Christmas."
Steve got out of bed and stumbled to the kitchen in his boxer shorts. A quick rustling noise in the living room brought him back. The cat was climbing the Christmas tree again, he figured. But it wasn't the cat. When Steve poked his head out of the kitchen, he saw a woman under his tree.
He rubbed his eyes. Yes, she was definitely there. Right in front of the four foot Douglas fir that Steve had bought at the hardware store down the street for twenty five dollars. A full-grown, living and breathing woman lying on the floor in his living room. She was on her side, propped up on an elbow with the other arm draped casually over a raised knee. "I though you were never going to get up," she smiled.
"Uhhh," Steve stared open mouthed. "Who are you?"
"Who do you want me to be?" she folded her long legs under herself and stood with a single, graceful movement. She was wearing a pair of sheer, red stockings and sleek red shoes with impossibly tall heels. Her tiny, red satin panties were cut particularly short, clearly exposing a region of flesh Steve would have expected to be covered in hair. A two inch ribbon crossed each of her full, round breasts, ending in a huge bow at the center of her chest.
"No, seriously. Who are you? And how did you get in here?"
"Silly Steve," she smiled and tossed her long, blond hair over a shoulder. She moved across the room, her hips swaying seductively as she walked. "I'm your Christmas present."
"From who?"
"Who do you think?" she giggled and pointed to the ceiling. "Ho, ho, ho."
"But I don't believe in ... in Santa Clause."
"That's okay, Steve," she was close enough that Steve could smell her perfume -- it reminded Steve of vanilla. She was the one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen! Certainly the most beautiful who had ever been in his apartment. When she let her hand rest gently on his chest his heart seemed to stop. "He believes in you."
"So you're a ...?" Steve knew that there were many reasons he should not trust a beautiful women mysteriously appearing in his apartment. But he was having trouble thinking of them.
"A Christmas miracle," she nodded. She paused, biting her lip coyly. Then she leaned in so their faces nearly touched. Steve could feel her hot breath on his cheek. "Aren't you going to unwrap your present?"
"Okay," he said, reaching for the loose end of ribbon that she pointed to with one long, slender finger. He tugged at it and the bow unraveled. The ribbon fell away, revealing her perky breasts. "Magnificent," Steve gasped.
"Thanks," she leaned into him, lightly pressing her firm tits against his chest. She slowly glided down, drawing the smooth skin of her breasts along the front of Steve's body. He was so enthralled that he didn't notice her pulling off his boxer shorts until they were down around his ankles and his erection was thrust into her face.
"What are you doing?" he whimpered, even though it was obvious. She must have understood this, because she didn't explain what she was doing -- she just did it. With one hand firmly wrapped around the shaft, she put her mouth around the head of his penis. He drew in a sharp breath as he felt her tongue undulating against his throbbing member.
She pushed more of him into the warmth of her mouth and then pulled him out again, sealing her red lips tightly around his cock. With her eyes closed as if in deep concentration she began to bob her head back and forth, taking in more length with each thrust.
Then she pulled away. A stringer of spittle connected Steve's cock to her lips. She opened her eyes and looked up at him with a devilish smile. She returned to sucking on his cock, gazing up at him intently this time. Steve stared into her deep, blue eyes and soon began to feel his orgasm looming. At the last moment, she stopped.
