Christmas Wishes

Snowflakes swirled and fluttered playfully in the breezy evening air, settling down to rest on paths, streets, lawns, and rooftops. Just enough snow settled to dust the festively decorated town in pristine white, and no more. A full-bellied chuckle resounded high up in the air, from which vantage point the town seemed made out of gingerbread coated with confectioners' sugar. None of the town's denizens heard the chuckle for they were lulled to sleep by the lullaby of the wind's sighs and the white snow that reminded them of their soft downy pillows. They knew, of course, that a gentle magic was coaxing them to sleep, and they gladly yielded to the magic for they knew Santa Claus was coming. There was greater magic to be wrought on the Eve of Christmas, and Santa Claus could not work such magic observed by curious eyes.

As the clock in the church steeple struck midnight, Santa Claus winked his twinkling right eye. Time froze, or so it would appear. He landed his sleigh pulled by a team of reindeer on a flat roof. With a happy sigh he disembarked, his tall but rotund body covered in his traditional red-white fluffiness. He patted his round belly with his beefy fingers, chuckling with his lips stretched in a wide smile, his white-bearded cheeks full and rosy. He patted each reindeer fondly, complimenting each on a job well done. Then he hoisted an enormous bag of gifts over his shoulder, laughed out loud "Ho! Ho! Ho!" and vanished. Popping in and out of each home, Santa Claus generously gave gifts according to the requests he had received throughout the year. With each gift he laid under a Christmas tree or stuffed into a stocking hung on a mantel, his laughter grew louder and deeper. And each snack that had been set out for him, he ate with relish and gratitude.

He saved the Morrow household for last. Young Timothy had just celebrated his eighteenth birthday only a couple of months prior. For the past five years Timothy had requested the same thing. Santa Claus had felt behooved to decline the request in previous years, but the boy was of age now. And what a good boy he had been, never complaining and always putting the needs of others before his own. The request itself wasn't odd for Santa Claus had received quite a few such requests over the centuries. Every now and then, he would grant one of these requests. Each time, the receiver had been a woman, and the woman had then become his wife. Though his magic had given his wives unusually long lives, they were still mortal in the end.

He had been without a wife for over two centuries now. The elves and reindeer were dear companions to him, but they could not be more than companions. Santa Claus needed someone to share the joys and sorrows of life and----because he is basically a hedonist at heart----the pleasures of the flesh. As he did not abide in the same world as mortals, his being somewhat parallel and askew in time with ours, Santa Claus could not court and ask for a woman's hand in marriage. A woman had to ask him by essentially making it her Christmas wish. For Christmas Eve was the one night out of the whole year his magic, empowered by the belief of countless citizens of Earth, was strong enough to bridge the gap between worlds.

Sadly no woman has wished to be his wife since his last had shed her mortal coil. Modern women seemed more interested in building careers and ensuring for themselves independence from men, even Santa Claus----aside from his Christmas gifts. And his massive figure has become increasingly removed from the tall and svelte ideal of masculine beauty currently in vogue. There was deep within him an undercurrent of loneliness beneath a surface of perennial joviality.

Into this deep water of loneliness, a single drop of hope had made a rippling splash. Santa Claus had received a letter from a teenage boy that read:

Dear Santa Claus,

My name is Timmy. I am thirteen years-old. I think you are the most wonderful and handsome man in the whole world. (Please don't tell my dad!) I think I'm in love with you, dear Santa. For my Christmas wish I want most of all to hug you and kiss you and do all the things that lovers do.

Love,

Timmy

Each year thereafter, Timmy's letters had grown more detailed and passionate as he matured and gained greater knowledge of "the things that lovers do," shocking Santa's already rosy cheeks to a full blush. But Santa read each letter Timmy sent, sometimes more than once. And sometimes he pleasured himself as he read the letters. This year's letter, however, was succinct:

My dear Santa Claus,

I am a man now. I love you and wish to be your lover. Do you love me?

Wholly Yours,

Tim

What had initially seemed cute in a pubescent sort of way and then had turned into a guilty pleasure was now something he had to confront and address. He wasn't sure how he felt about the young man, but he knew it was time for a man-to-man chat.

After doling out gifts for Tim's parents and younger brother, Santa Claus climbed up the stairs and entered the first room on the right. The floor boards would have groaned under his weight were it not for the apparent stillness of time. He shut the door and waved his hand from one end of Tim's bedroom to the other, allowing them to share the same flow of time within the limits of the room. He switched on the light and studied the face of the young man sleeping soundly in his bed. It was a young face, smooth-skinned and unblemished by time or life's hardships, yet even in repose there was a quality of self-awareness etched into his face. Perhaps Santa Claus was reading too much into the face; but the broad forehead, the evenly spaced eyes moving rapidly behind closed lids, the straight nose with a lightly rounded tip, and wide succulent lips curved with a hint of a smile seemed to calmly say, "I know I'm young and inexperienced, but I know who I am and what I want." Santa Claus leaned down and ran the back of his index finger along Tim's cheek. It was warm and soft with a trace of baby fat.

"Wake up, young Timothy." Santa Claus blew the words at the young man.

"Eh? Who?" Tim mumbled drowsily. He blinked his gray-blue eyes open to a happy sight: a jolly face surrounded by white hair, intense blue eyes warmed by laughter lines, a pleasing bulbous nose, rosy cheeks, and red lips he had just been kissing in his dream. "Santa!" he exclaimed as he bolted upright, self-consciously hiding his wet white undies beneath the bedsheets and fixing his wavy blond hair. He possessed a short, lean, and boyish figure, fair-complexioned and still developing.

"Ho! Ho! Greetings, young Timothy."

"Greetings, sir! Wow, you're really here. I wasn't sure you'd visit ... I mean, of course, you'd visit ... but I didn't think I'd see you."

"It's time for us to have a little talk regarding your letters."

"Of course. I hope they weren't too ... explicit?"

"Um, let us put that aside for now, shall we? I'm more concerned with your infatuation with me, young Timothy. You believe you are in love with me, but you know me only through tales and myths. In truth, you are in love with a mythic Santa Claus, not the real Santa Claus."

"And how are you different from the mythic Santa Claus? You look exactly the same."

"Well ... er ... let me see. Sleigh, reindeer, elves, North Pole, red suit, big and round, jolly, big belly laugh, gifts, magic. Hm, it appears I haven't thought this through quite as well as I thought. Nevertheless, young man, how could you be in love with someone you've personally never met?"

"Father says love heeds its own reason, not man's. Besides, if you're anything like the Santa Claus in our tales and myths, I think you are the most worthy of love."

"Very kind of you ----"

"Of course, our tales and myths mention nothing about sex. But surely you must have sex. You've had wives."

"Humph! Do not get distracted. We were discussing love ----"

"Which doesn't preclude sex according to Mother. In fact, she says that when lovers have sex, it is sublime and beautiful."

"True, I grant you that but ----"

"Do you have children, Santa Claus?"

"Well, no, I don't ----"

"But you've had so many wives over the centuries."

"Immortal and mortal: not compatible. Enough! Let us focus on the matter at hand. No more distractions, Timothy. Now, I understand you believe you are in love with me, but it would be best for you to put your adolescent fantasies to rest. You are a man now, a mortal man. You ought to find love among your own kind."

Tim arched his right brow at Santa Claus. "I'm sure you say that because you care about me, but coming from you those words ring hollow."

"Pardon me?"

"You are Santa Claus. Making fantasies, especially fantasies of the young, come true is central to your mission, your existence even. And you, an immortal, have found love among mortals. Did you give the same advice to the ladies who eventually became your wives? I think not, Santa Claus. It is because I'm a man, isn't it?"

Santa Claus sputtered. "I am not prejudiced against homosexuality! The nerve! I have existed for centuries, and you, a mortal of a paltry 18 years, dare to accuse me of prejudice! Oh, I am ... flabbergasted! I'll have you know I am fully capable of desiring a man. Indeed, your letters have aroused.... Oh, dear! There I go losing my temper and saying ---- Now, you just forget everything I said."

Tim's face glowed with joy. He smiled at Santa Claus.

"Now, now. Don't be smiling at me like that, young man. I know what naughty thoughts are spinning about in your brain. The nerve tempting Santa Claus with your pretty face and such succulent lips.... Phew! I'm roasting inside this coat. Timothy! Stop it! Stop smiling at me.... Oh, my, I can't breathe. My heart's pounding in my chest."

Santa Claus peeled off his red furry coat and tossed aside his hat. His white hair was damp on his head, and a sheen of moisture glistened on his forehead. White long johns barely contained his enormous chest and belly. He tapped his meaty hand against the round bulge of his right breast in a vain attempt to calm his racing heart. "Be still, my heart. Oh, you wicked boy! Such naughty thoughts ... so deliciously naughty.... Oh, the things you made me do to myself as I read your letters.... Come here! I must kiss those thick, juicy, red lips."

Tim threw himself off his bed and into Santa's arms, wrapping his spindly legs around Santa's girth. To Tim's surprise, Santa's body was dense with bulging muscles. He had assumed, along with almost everyone else, that Santa Claus' rotund shape was due to fat. Now he realized Santa Claus looked very much like some participants in The World Strongest Men competitions. Tim moaned in appreciation and plastered his lips against Santa's. Big strong arms wrapped around his elven figure and thick fingers dove beneath his briefs and pawed his petite buns. He could feel the heat radiating from the core of Santa's body. Yearning to feel that heat more directly and touch Santa's bare skin, Tim pulled and rolled the undershirt up and above Santa's prominent pectorals. He gave Santa Claus another lip-smacking, tongue-brandishing kiss, and then wriggled downward till he could suck on a hard nipple.

"Ho!" Santa exclaimed involuntarily. The nipple-sucking had taken him by surprise. It was something he had done numerous times to his wives, but none of them had ever sucked on his nipple. His chest, twice as wide as Tim's, heaved. He tipped his head to the side and sighed with a big smile. "The other one now. Oh, yes! Such a good lad."

Tim paused his sucking and straightened up, leaning backward with his hands clasped behind Santa's neck. "You know, Santa Claus, it seems to me that you owe me a few Christmas wishes----five, to be precise."

"What's this? I do not owe anyone any wishes, young man!" Santa Claus declared indignantly, lowering Tim to his feet.

"Please, dear Santa."

"Look here ----"

"Just three wishes?"

"The indignity! Am I a genie?"

Impishly, Tim dug his hands into Santa's pants and found a penis that was as thick and long as a salami. He drew upon the full powers of his adorableness, dropping his crestfallen face just a bit, pouting his thick lips, and mercilessly blasting Santa with his invincible puppy dog eyes as his little hands rubbed and burnished Santa's penis. Santa was defeated, his resolve shattered. Tim's face was too adorable, too mischievously playful; and his young hands were too soft.

"I'm in big trouble," Santa admitted. He snatched Tim's adorable face between his burly paws and smothered the young man with kisses. Between kisses, Santa blurted, "Make your wishes, sweet Timothy. I'll give you anything you want."

As Santa planted kisses on his cheeks and neck, Tim said, "I wish I had the means to please you, Santa."

"Ho! Ho!" Santa laughed. His face gleamed with an inner light, his eyes bright with joy. "An unselfish wish!" he pronounced with a belly-shaking laugh. He winked at the young man. "Can't refuse an unselfish wish."

With the wink of Santa's sky-blue eye, Tim felt his body grow light and warm, buoyed and gently rocked by invisible waves. A confidence grew within him. Despite his inexperience, despite his virginity, Tim knew how to please the man he loved; knew he was completely capable of pleasing Santa. He dropped to his knees, simultaneously pulling down Santa's lower garments. The exposed genitals were huge, befitting the man to which they belong. The salami-like penis had an elongated bell-shaped head that glistened with a metallic sheen. The testicles reminded Tim of two avocados dangling side by side from a thick branch that grew strong where two massive trunks joined. Tim squeezed the ripe fruits with his left hand; with his right, he rubbed the branch. With his soft, succulent lips and tongue, Tim moistened the bell-shaped end of the branch and nourished it to its full size. His jaws and throat opened with ease. He bobbed his head with his lips sealed around the hard, meaty package. The penis repeatedly dove into the caress of his throat.

"Whoa! Hhho! Ooh! Aah!" From surprise to pleasant shock to enjoyment, Santa could not remain silent. Tim found encouragement in Santa's deep-voiced singsong of pleasure and the trembling of his hulking thighs. He gave Santa's penis a flurry of hand strokes and rapid deep-throating, and quickly backed off just before Santa could explode. Santa Claus stood convulsing for several seconds, his lungs huffing noisily. His body hovered on the edge of orgasm with his muscles contracted. He teetered, but just when it seemed a geyser would burst forth from his penis only a tiny bead of translucent white dripped out and fell to the floor. "You ... wicked ... imp!" Santa Claus gasped out.

Tim flashed a coy smile and with a gleeful laugh tossed himself backward onto his bed. He peeled off his white briefs with a wet-dream stain and opened up his pink sphincter. With his legs raised and spread apart and his hairless anus winking, he was irresistible to the orgasm-denied Santa Claus, who gave his own resonant laugh and positioned himself for penetration. His penis pressed up against the tiny sphincter, between two tiny buns, would have given a voyeur cause to doubt whether the scene would progress any further. One might have better luck trying to ram a three-inch diameter steel pipe into a one-inch wide hole. But Santa Claus could sense his magic working in Tim's body. Without hesitation, he rammed his pipe into the hole.

"Oh ... my ... gawd!" Tim cried out with his eyes rolling. There was no pain, only searing pleasure.

"Aah," Santa Claus sighed with a beatific smile. "That is sweet." With deliberate slowness, he pulled out and pushed back in, looking down to see Tim's sphincter hugging the shaft. The lips of the sphincter were soft and supple, moving freely with the slow pumping of Santa's penis. He kept up the leisurely pace for a few minutes, reveling in the minute sensations of his penis embraced by a warm, narrow, yet accommodating anus. He smiled at Tim as he pumped his hips. Tim would have smiled back, but his mouth was agape, gasping out shallow bursts of air. Santa leaned down, sealed his lips around Tim's, and began fucking in earnest. Their breaths, exploding out of their lungs, collided and mingled, and were sucked back in. Santa pounded into the young man with alarming force, ramming his penis until his avocado-nuts were crushed time and again against Tim's round buns. Tim's bed rocked, the posts lifting off the floor, and crashed against the wall. Santa's round but hard belly billowed with mechanical rapidity. As he neared climax, he grew light-headed from breathing in their mingled exhalations. He raised his head, gasped in a lungful of air, and groaned around his convulsing lips, "I'm ... about to ... come."

"Yes! Come, Santa!" Tim cried out lustfully, and then with a gleam in his eyes, he sang loud and clearly, "Santa Claus is coming...."

"HO! ... HO! ... HO!" Santa bellowed, a mix of orgasmic bliss and appreciative mirth. His penis swelled like an over-filled balloon. The geyser he had anticipated earlier burst forth with greater pressure than he had ever experienced previously. The rich fluid seemed to tear through his penis like cannonballs. Santa roared, and his fair-skinned, robust body quaked violently, the tremors centered around his pelvis.

Tim stared wide-eyed as Santa shook like a man possessed, eyes rolled up so that only the whites could be seen. He marveled at the blasts of hot clumps of semen crashing into his intestinal wall. He reached down to wrap his fingers around the exposed base of Santa's penis, squeezing it hard to feel it pulse like a beating heart.

"Fuck!" Santa swore most unSanta-like and pushed himself off Tim. Having his penis squeezed hard as he was coming had been too intense, though not painfully. He wobbled on his feet, still quaking, as the last bit of semen oozed out and stretched long toward the floor. The thick semen hung down like a string of melted cheese, refusing to break free from the tip of his fat, wet cockhead.

Tim slinked down onto his knees on the floor and stretched out his tongue, catching the bottom of the cum-string. Raising his head gradually, he let the cum-string coil on his tongue. When his tongue touched Santa's semen covered penis, Tim wolfed it down his throat, swallowing the load he had gathered on his tongue. Santa gasped and gargled. His quaking intensified. He shot out his arms upward and braced himself against the low ceiling. He continued to gargle, unable to vocalize or breath, as though his throat had forgotten itself. Tim was aware of the sweet torture he was putting Santa through, and he enjoyed every second of it. However, when Santa's quaking began to cause his room to also quake and rattle and Santa's gargling began to sound more like choking, Tim released Santa's penis and slid out of the way.

Santa Claus collapsed face-forward onto the bed, nearly breaking it. The shockwave knocked frames off the wall. He sank into the soft mattress, his knees dropping to the floor. Bent over the bed, his white buttocks were as big and round as two basketballs. Tim was all over Santa's rump like a child pigging out on sweet buns, licking and nipping and groping. He ground his face into the wide crack, driving his tongue into Santa's virgin hole.

"Oh, mercy! Oh my! No one has ... aah, sweetness!" Santa exclaimed, grinning.

"You taste so good, Santa." Tim's words were muffled by Santa's meaty cheeks.

Tim slid a forefinger into the hole as he licked around it. Santa grunted and bucked. Tim slid a second finger in. Santa moaned and humped the bed. Tim slid a third finger in. Santa tensed and clawed the mattress. Tim pumped his fingers in and out and craned his head down to suck in a testicle into his mouth. Santa bit into the mattress and pulled at his white hair. "Oh, sweet Timothy, have mercy!" Santa begged. The sensations that rippled up and down his spinal cord were overwhelming after his orgasm.