Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 56462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
“What more do you want from me? I’m already wearing the red pants, the suspenders, and the fucking jacket. Do I really have to wear the hat as well?”
“Santa isn’t Santa without the hat,” he tells me. “But you know I don’t have to remind you that any piece of Santa’s suit must be returned to head office, and between you and me, your father will be checking in during the night, and if he finds you left without the hat—”
“Fuck.” I snatch the goddamn hat out of his hand and throw it into the bottom of the sleigh. “Happy now?”
“Ecstatic,” he chimes before waving his hand toward the big, wide world. “Have at it, Santa. Go make some wild Christmas wishes come true.”
I grin as I take the reins. “That’s exactly what I intend to do.”
3
MILA
Reaching up onto my tippy toes, I hang the final ornament on my Christmas tree. I know it’s a bit late to be doing this shit considering it’s already Christmas Eve. I should have had it done weeks ago, but there’s no time quite like the present. Besides, if my mystery Christmas visitor is really coming tonight, then I can’t risk disappointing him.
I want everything to be perfect.
Scrap that. I need it to be perfect.
Ahh shit. Who am I kidding? This is truly insane.
Maybe I’ve made this whole thing up in my head. Maybe Mom was right to send me to a therapist as a kid. Do I really believe that I threw a penny into a fountain and all of a sudden, Santa’s filthy son is going to come down my chimney and fuck me until I scream?
Yes. Yes, indeed. I do believe it. Though it leaves me with so many questions.
First off, I don’t have a chimney anymore. After Dad died, our old family home was sold, and I moved into a little apartment to be closer to work. However, I do have a fire escape, so I assume he could sneak in through there. But also, if this is actually going to happen, I’ve never been more thankful that my neighbors have gone away for the holidays. The last thing I need is for Greg, Allison, and their three kids to hear my world get rocked by a fictional man . . . or maybe he isn’t fictional. I really don’t know at this point. Either way, if and when he comes, I’ll be ready.
Second issue on my agenda. What if this guy really isn’t who I think he is? Sure, he must be somewhat of a good man if he comes to fulfill my Christmas wish every year and leaves me a charm for my bracelet. But what if it’s not actually Santa’s son who’s been coming all these years? What if it’s actually Santa and I just asked him to come down my throat?
Holy shit. What have I done?
Nerves pound through my chest and settle deep in my gut. Am I about to be thoroughly fucked by Santa Claus? What is Mrs. Claus going to think about that? Shit. If that’s the case, I hope he’s been working out. I don’t want to give the old man a heart attack. But also, I hope he’s trimmed his beard for the occasion. I want to be left shaking and exhausted, not left with a beard rash on my pussy and the new title of being an adulterous whore.
Well, I suppose that would make Santa Claus the adulterous whore, right? Not me. Though, it would explain why he’s always so jolly. I would be too if I had women all around the world getting me off.
Oh God. Why am I now picturing Santa getting his dick sucked?
Damn it. I wonder if my old therapist’s number is somewhere buried in all of Mom’s old things.
I really hope this goes the way I want it to because not being thoroughly fucked is out of the question. I just need to get it, him, out of my system once and for all, and then I’m sure I’ll wake up in the morning ready to move on with my life.
I’ll be able to forget about my mystery Christmas Eve visitor, find myself a billionaire who isn’t going to cheat on me with my best friend, and finally settle down. Perhaps buy a home and start a family, have a few kids who I won’t call crazy if they happen to see Santa Claus. Maybe even add a dog to the equation. Sounds absolutely blissful to me.
With the tree finally finished, I take a few steps back to look at it from a distance, and as the lights twinkle in the darkness, the nostalgia hits me like a tidal wave.
For a moment, my chest aches with memories of the past. Having a mother to harp on my choice of dress. A father to wrap his arms around me and tell me how proud he is of me. A boyfriend to bring Chinese food over and help decorate the apartment, and to wake up next to him on Christmas morning. A best friend to show up to dinner with a bottle of good wine and a million hilarious stories to lighten the awkward conversation.