tagRomanceA Christmas Love Story

A Christmas Love Story


You know that's not wise, honey." She cuddled closer. "I know I love you, but damn it, you've been divorced for only a six months, and we've been dating and being lovers and everything for only ten weeks. You're still on the rebound. Sure, I might want to marry you, but you can't be that sure about me yet."

I knew she was right. She hammered home the point. "I know I stop every time we pass a jeweler's window and look at engagement rings with you, but it's too soon."

She sat up. "Maybe your new assignment is a good thing for us. The six months you're going to be mostly away, at least until that new division is working all right, will give you the time to be sure I'm really the one for you. We'll be together nearly every weekend, and sometimes, when Ted takes the kids, I'll be with you during the week."

Ted is her ex husband, and he likes to take the kids for weeks at a time sometimes. It works out well: they both live in Lexington MA, their two kids go to the same schools they always have, and Ted would be happy to see Barbara remarry. "Hell, I'll even pay for the honeymoon - it'll turn off the alimony. But listen, Joe," he also said, "if you and Barbara get married, be sure it's for fucking ever, both for her sake and for my kids. I'd rather pay alimony than see them go through another divorce."

Yes, boys and girls, some marriages end with the couples still being friends. Ted and Barbara's was like that. Mine, however, ended with a cheating wife, no kids, and we were for sure not friendly!

Barbara continued. "So, your orders, when you're away, are to date some other women. I'm going to date some other guys, too. You can even sleep with the women if you like them. I may do that with some guys, for that matter. I'll be faithful and true to you when we get engaged and married, but right now it wouldn't be right for you and me to get engaged. You need more experience learning to trust women. I'll tell you this, though. I may make love to someone else, or have sex with them, but there's only one man who's going to spend the night with me, and wake up with me, and that man is you. You can trust me on that, kiddo, because although I don't like the idea of spending a lot of nights alone, just being with my kids, I don't want to see someone else next to me in the morning if that someone isn't you. And sure, when you come back from Long Island in half a year, and if you still feel the same way you do now, I'll for real choose an engagement ring, and we'll for real choose a date, and we'll be happy and all that ever after. I'm even willing to choose a date for choosing a date. Like, Christmas Eve, 1999. You can propose to me then, and I'd feel secure in accepting then."

"I know you're right. I just wish there was another way. . ." I muttered.

"Shhhh" she countered. "I want to do this now." Her cuddling stopped, and kissing started, her leaning over me, her tongue touching lips, teeth, ear. She shifted, and I watched her head move down, exciting my nipples, my navel.

My cock.

I watched the back of her head as it rested on my stomach, and felt the wonderful sensations of fingers and mouth and tongue. "Barbara, I want to see. I have to see!"

She moved, her head now resting on my legs, my erect penis being touched by her hair, and her tongue. "You do like to watch, don't you?" she asked, and moved her shoulder length hair over her shoulder, so I had an unobstructed view of her, as she raised her head, and lowered it again, on me, mouth on shaft, then lifting that, on scrotum, "That's good, because I like to perform for you."

So erotic. I felt the exaggerated pulse in my cock, the urgency.

"Barbara, I have to get in you: I'm losing control."

Her hand closed on my shaft, and began stroking it: "Lose control, Joe. Lose it now, right now, with me here!"

I couldn't help myself.

Her eyes met mine as she felt the pulsing, the surging, and her mouth captured me, she sucked, and I came. Again,

and again,

and again.

I saw her eyes close, watched her swallow, and pump me more and more.

Afterwards she said. "I loved doing that to you."

"Barbara, I'm really inhibited about doing that in your mouth. It seems almost obscene. . ."

"No, no, it's fun sometimes. Besides, dear, even if I won't have a committed relationship with you, I know sex with you and love making with you is special for me, and I want it to be special for you, too, and better with me than with anyone else.

"And, Joe dear, you have some unfinished business with me right now. You can use that vibrator, or whatever part of you is still working, but right now I'm climbing walls. . ."

I leaned over her.

"I want to watch, too," she muttered, slipping a pillow under her head and leaning forward, legs spread, pelvis tilted up, watching. I opened her, licked her, telling her that when she was going down on me I wanted another penis to be in her, until she, too, couldn't help herself.

Barbara's orgasms are not quiet and subdued. She convulses, giving me as much pleasure in driving her over the edge as she gets being driven over.

Then we slept, and awoke in each other's arms, loving one another, moving with each other only lovers can move and the sunlight flooded in the window that looked out onto the porch and the fenced in yard. I marveled again at Barbara's sexuality. I never met a woman like her who without being touched would be lubricated and ready in so short a time. Men who read this whose wives or lovers take extensive foreplay before they can accept a penis have no idea what a woman like Barbara does for their ego.

Then we had breakfast and a clarification.

"Are you serious, Barbara? You're really going to date and all that, until Christmas Eve?"

"Yes, I am because I want to and I want you to, too. I want you on Christmas Eve to know, even though you've dated and maybe even screwed a half dozen women that when you decide to settle down it's me you want to do settle down with. Deal?"

"OK. I admit I'm a little shaky in learning to love and learning to trust. It's a deal."

"So: you're my main man, and I hope pretty soon my only man. You're for sure my number one priority.

"Now, go pack."

It's a four hour drive to Hempstead on Long Island from my Wayland apartment. Barbara helped me pack and even came with me that first weekend to help me get my new apartment organized.

"I'm a little jealous knowing there'll be some other women in this apartment and in this bed. But you know, I still think it's for the best for both of us. But get your manager ass in this bed right now, buster!"

Barbara loves for me to take her from behind. I did that as she posed, presenting her cunt, on hands and knees.

"When your back is turned to me, do you sometimes think of other guys you're dating?" I whispered as I bent over her, starting to move in her, I felt the contracting muscles as she nodded yes. "Maybe," I said, "maybe you should be sucking that guy's cock while I take you this way" at first being angry about her confession, then somehow excited, too. She climbed an emotional wall with excitement and released it all with an orgasm. It matched my own.

It was on Monday evening when I was talked to her. "How was the trip home, honey?"

"Joe, it went quickly: I was thinking about making love with you, having sex with you, and getting all horny."


"You know, you were saying maybe I needed another penis while yours was being used, and I think I know how much you like to watch me, and I was thinking about all of that."

It really did turn her on! Well, it worked for me, too.

"Oh, you're a bad woman. I wonder if I'm a liberated enough man to be able to deal with all of that."

"I don't know if you are or not. But, lover, you had better be. You know you have no claim on me yet - jealousy isn't part of the deal. What I want to know is, will you be here next weekend? Ted will have the kids and you and I can have a wonderful time here. Please say you're coming!"

"I'll be there Friday about 9. I can't get away from here until about 4, so traffic will be a bitch. I'll be horny, too - I haven't have had enough time to meet anyone here to take care of that little problem, speaking of sex and jealousy."

"Well, being horny isn't a problem for me, honey."

What did she mean by that? "Uh, Barbara, have you met anyone new?"

"Nothing serious, but yeah, there's a guy I dated last week and we're going to a movie tonight. Don't worry, it's nothing heavy."

"Uh, you said you're horny. . ."

"I'm not planning on having sex with this guy, honey. My being horny is for you to fix. Look, I got a couple of kids to take care of now: talk to you tomorrow."

The next day when I talked with her she said the movie was fine, and Walter was a perfect gentleman. "Maybe not quite perfect, he gave me a pretty passionate goodnight kiss, and a full body press. He made sure I knew there was a manly man holding me!"

"You mean he had a boner?"

"Yeah - it was fun. I better be careful though. I was horny from last weekend, and here was a de-horny machine ready and primed and everything. I WILL have to be careful, honey. You know, most times, by the third date, people start having sex. . ."

"I don't want to think about that!" I responded.

"Joe, I want you to get over that jealousy. You have a lot of sexual hang-ups. Don't confuse sex with love if there's not a committed relationship! I'm NOT going to sit at home when you're not here, and you shouldn't, either. I may like a guy enough to have sex with him. You should do that if you meet a woman who turns you on, too. I'm willing to chance that you'll fall for someone else - I don't think you will, but it's a chance - and you have to give me that chance, too. Until Christmas, anyhow. If we still think . . ."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Time enough for exclusive relationships in January. I'll play your game."

We talked of other things: our plans for the weekend, for her next trip, her kids, my divorce. Then the conversation ended.

That night in Hempstead were hell!

"Joe, listen to this!" Barbara said soon after I called her the next night.

A new voice came over the phone. "Hi, Barbara, it's Walter. I'm sorry I didn't catch you at home. Look, I'd love to spend some time with you Thursday or Friday, whenever you're not busy. I can't get the memory of how you felt when I kissed you out of my mind, and I'd love a replay of that. Maybe we can go to the Pillar House for dinner, or whatever you'd like. Think about it, I'll call tomorrow night. Please say yes!"

"I just got that message. Doesn't he sound nice?"

"He sounds like he has more than dinner in mind, Barbara!"

"Yeah, he does. What do you think?"

"Are you asking me if I want you to go out with him???"

"Sort of."

"Why would I want to do that???"

"Well, remember, I don't have to ask you, or even tell you what I'm doing. But let me tell you my idea. You kind of hinted you like to watch. . ."

"Watch? Watch you with another guy? That's nuts!"

"Wait a minute, Joe. I'm getting a little angry here. I can date whoever I want, and until we change things, have sex with anyone I want, too. But you're my main guy. I thought if you saw me with him we'd have a really erotic weekend, and besides I don't want to keep secrets from you. And I'm a bit of a show-off, I guess, and knowing you were watching would sort of be like I was putting on a show for you. I thought it would be sexy."

"Sure, I'll just bet that guy would love to fuck you while I'm right there. It would really be comfortable for him. Not a chance would he agree to do that."

Barbara had thought about this more than I did. "He wouldn't have to know. You could be on the porch, watching, he'd never know you were there. I'd date him Friday, when you'd be coming up here, and if he's nice I'd seduce him for you. I thought he and I might go to dinner, and when we'd come back, well, you might watch, and when Walter goes home, come in, and offer a critique of what you saw. I get turned on by the idea of putting on a sexy show for you. ."

"That's nuts."

"Think about it. Remember our deal, honey. I don't have to ask, or even tell you what I'm doing. I thought this could be fun, for him - if he's nice, that is, and for us, too. I could go out with him Thursday and have all of Friday night with you, but – well, I thought – you know, well, anyhow, I better go take care of the kids. Sorry, I didn't want to upset you."

We ignored the topic the next day, and email and phone calls were a poor substitute for being with Barbara. I began looking at personal ads in Newsday, and responded to a few. Well, more than a few: ten, to be exact.

On Wednesday I was with customers until late in the evening. I checked email, and found a message from Barbara. "What'll I do about Walter, honey? He'd like a date with me. I could go out tomorrow but what you don't know might hurt us. Do you want me to see him Friday, like we talked about? If I was choosing I'd go for Friday, that way we wouldn't be keeping secrets and you'd know everything I did."

I didn't respond. After a sleepless night, half horny, half upset, well, more horny than upset, I made up my mind. I called, only to get her machine. "Barbara," I said, going on record, "I'll come up tomorrow night, and be waiting for you to come home. Uh, I mean I'll be watching. If he's nice, let yourself have fun, but save some of you for me. I'll, uh, come in as soon as that guy Walter goes, OK? As soon as you don't have company."

There, I said it.

I wasn't an effective manager Friday, and was out the door at 4, plowing through the weekend's traffic.

I got to Lexington at 8:40 and parked my car across the street from Barbara's house. It was a nice September evening: a sweater was enough to keep me warm. I was hot and bothered anyway. I went through the gate to the fenced in yard, where I found two plastic lawn chairs set up, one in front of the living room window, the other in front of her bed room. There was even a thermos of martinis. The living room drapes were open an inch or so, and the bedroom blinds were lifted about an inch above the bottom of the window. Sitting in the chair had me lower than the wooden fence the enclosed the yard, there's be no silhouette, and the night was overcast. The yard was dark and getting darker, matching my mood.

At 9:30, it was fully dark now and I heard a car drive up. There's no way Barbara could not have seen my Beamer parked across the street.

I sat quietly and then heard a car door close. Good, he was just dropping her off. Then a second one closed, too. Maybe he was being a gentleman and walking her to the door.

In a moment the lights in the living room went on, and I watched Barbara lead her friend, or her sex project, I didn't know which, to the sofa. He pulled off his jacket and began fussing with the fireplace. By the time Barbara came in from the kitchen carrying a couple of cocktail glasses, the fire must have started, because he moved back to the sofa. I couldn't be sure since the fireplace was on the wall the window I was looking in was located.

The red flickering glow from the fire confirmed I was right. He sat on the sofa while she adjusted the lighting: a low wattage table lamp went on, the bright recessed living room lights were turned off. Plenty of light, though, my dilated pupils demonstrated: I could see him clearly sitting there, and Barbara sat down beside him, raising her glass in a toast.

In a moment the glasses were put on the coffee table, and Walter extended his arm along the sofa's back, behind her, inviting her. She moved closer, placing her head on his shoulder, her eyes not on him, or on the fire, but on the window. I saw her slowly wink - at me! – as she put her hand on his thigh.

The game was on, she WAS going to seduce him!

I placed my hand on my crotch. This was a ritual, a play, where he and she and I all knew the outcome, and each of us was fascinated with the process of getting there.

He turned to face her, and his hand, now on her shoulder, touched her opposite side cheek so that she was facing him, too.

And there was a kiss. A first kiss. A very long first kiss.

When it broke, he had arranged it so that Barbara was laying on the sofa, across his lap, her arms around him, and one of his supporting her. He lifted her a little, bent forward a little, and she rose to meet his lips again. I could see this was very much a mouth open activity. She kicked off her shoes, and lay there, knees raised, skirt falling back to mid thigh, in his arms.

That pose was broken as Barbara sat up to sip from her wine glass. She seemed to glance toward the window often, but Walter was too distracted by this lovely woman to notice.

Barbara said something, rose from the sofa. Oh, both glasses were empty: she was refilling them.

Once again she came back, sitting next to him.

Again his hand turned her head so that they could kiss. I watched Walter as he kissed the woman I considered mine, how his other hand caressed her cheek, then moved to her throat. It was erotic, exotic, and it made me horny and angry at the same time.

She didn't object when that hand glided lower, to her breasts, touching them while his lips were sealed to hers.

My anger began fading: she was going to put on a show for me! A sex show.

She didn't object when that same hand went to her neck, fumbled. She looked down at his hand watching as he found a button and released it, and another and another, until her tan blouse was undone to her skirt's waistband.

Nor did she resist, but instead complied, as the arm behind her pushed, and she leaned forward, so he could pull her blouse free of the skirt.

And her arms went from around his neck to her sides, as he slid the blouse back, and down her arms and off. She sat up wearing only a slip over her bra, the shadows and flickers of the fire creating patterns as sexy as any I'd even seen on her.

She reached for his tie, got it loose, and off, and began on his shirt buttons, too. He kicked off shoes, pulled off socks. She didn't get too far before he stood in front of her, and drew her to a standing position, too, and enfolded her in his arms. But his arms went lower, until they were on her hips. The kiss stopped, she stood still, in front of him, her hands on his shoulders, looking into his eyes, as both his hands worked at the clasp on her waist band, and worked at lowering the zipper, and then, as I watched, by now with my own slacks open, my own erection in hand, her skirt fell away, sliding over her slip, to the floor. She stepped out of the puddle of that material, and again faced him, now clad in undergarments only. I, and he, I was sure, could see the dark shadow of bikini panties and pantyhose the slip - it added to the erotic image.

She stopped being passive: his shirt was unbuttoned now too, and she was pushing it down his arms, He broke away from that, released the cuffs, and removed it, now before her in a tee shirt.

Barbara - I knew she'd do this, she did it with me - pulled some of the pillows from the sofa to in front of the fireplace, and knelt, then lay there, her head resting on them, drawing Walter down with her. He, on his side, looked at her, on her back, and began working on the puzzle of her bra.

After a minute she laughed - she has a lovely laugh - and pushed him away. She, kneeling up, reached between her breasts, and released the clasp on her bra that defeated him. She extracted that garment in that mysterious way some women have, from under her slip. The nylon of that tan and shear slip concealed her breasts, but it outlined them, and showed curves, and the protrusions that were her erect nipples, and was sheer enough so that their darker color was obvious. I loved the way the shoulder straps hung in an arc, supporting the material of her slip away from the upper portion of her breasts, and showing that wonderful swelling, that swoop, of them. The shadows under her breast added to the visual pleasure, the mystery. As she knelt there, facing the prone Walter, and the fireplace, and me, with the flames from the fireplace radiating her with changing colors, and shadows, my own cock swelled almost to bursting.

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