Gabrielle, My Christmas Angel

Fucks sake, I couldn't get out of those damned wool-polyester blend shackles.

"Fuck it, I can't wait," she exclaimed, grabbed my arse in her spare hand to pull me close, and guided me into her.

As her pussy lips closed around my tip, I knew I was home. Burning hot, I wanted her to consume me. So tight, never let me go. So right, as I rocked and thrust into her, filling her void; body and soul, she took me inside her.

Legs wrapped around me, she leant back to give me room to work. I watched her taut frame shimmer as I thrust into her, unable to hold back. Not wanting to hold back. Her boobs danced, and her hair thrashed as she tossed her head. Her pussy clamped round me, I felt her working herself and rocking her hips. I didn't want this to ever end, but both our needs were too strong; we raced each other towards the finish.

"Oh Gabby, I..."

"Gabrielle. Call me Gabrielle," she pleased in a whisper.

It was beautiful; just like her. Perfect.

"Gabrielle, I love you so much."

"I fucking love you too, Neil, you stupid bastard!"

And she laughed, and it was the music of angels, and that drove me past the point of no return. I pulled her up close to me, pressed her body against mine as I filled her with white-hot fire, my cheeks damp with sweat and tears.

///

Our breath condensed in the chilly morning air, frost-crisped leaves crunching under our feet as we walked, wrapped in woollen scarves and duffle coats, along the Serpentine.

She told me of how she'd fancied me since she first saw me at choir practice. How she loved my voice, my confidence, and had set out with the intent to seduce me. How she'd make sure I was looking before she got changed, how she'd seize the opportunity to get me to help her dress, though she didn't need it. Of how disappointed she felt when I didn't respond by making a pass at her; how she resigned herself to thinking I wasn't interested, since I never paid her that kind of attention.

"What, because I sound effeminate and love musical theatre?"

"And you do so much for the LGBTQ community."

"Well, I do like lesbians," I quipped, waggling my eyebrows. That earned me a punch on the arm.

"You just seem more comfortable with the guys."

"Well, I'm kinda shy." There was a long silence; too long, as if she knew there was more to come. "And I got hurt, badly, last year."

She pulled me closer as we walked, and I told her the story - of Julie, my childhood sweetheart; of how she'd destroyed my life and my friendships with such a cruel act of betrayal.

She listened, with no judgement or false pity, just holding me and letting me unburden myself of all the poison of the past year. Looking back on that walk now, I couldn't have asked for a greater Christmas gift.

As we walked through Winter Wonderland, with mulled wine in one hand and an overpriced bratwurst in the other, I felt at peace for the first time in ages; felt the magic of Christmas starting to warm me from inside, thaw me out. We stood, under the giant Christmas tree beside the ice rink, and kissed for the longest time.

We won't ruin this, she promised me. We were good friends; great friends. We'll be greater lovers.

Later, as we lay naked on her voluminous sofa, firelight dancing over her alabaster skin and flashing from the sweat of our exertions, I felt a deep sense of contentment. I stroked Ophelia, curled contentedly next to me. I chuckled at the obvious joke - never thought I'd get the chance to stroke her furry pussy - but didn't spoil the mood by saying it.

She looked up. "I have an early Christmas present for you," she smiled.

I felt guilty. I'd not got her anything. But we'd only been going out for a day.

She danced into the bedroom, then floated back, holding something behind her. She leant down for a kiss, her heavy breasts swaying in the firelight. I pecked her lips, and she handed me my gift.

A spare keycard, which she'd hastily tied a ribbon around.

"Stay," she pleaded. "At least for Christmas. Nobody should be alone for the holidays."

I paused. Could I run out of my own life and move in here? Could I leave my shitty apartment, next door to the cheap hooker, where the drunks were pissing up against my door as they stumbled for the Night Tube home, leaving me a carpet of vomit to navigate in the morning? Let me see...

Damn right I could. It's not like it would be the first time.

Perhaps she misunderstood my hesitation; she knelt in front of me on the fake fur carpet. "I can be quite persuasive, you know," sliding her ruby lips over my stiffening cock and swallowing me whole.

I stared down at her, a tear rolling down my cheek, not believing things had finally gone so right for me.

///

I did find her the perfect gift. A band of crisp silver, capturing the cool ice of winter in its grasp, the sparkle matching her eyes. She wept when I gave it to her on Christmas morning.

Our colleagues laughed, said it was too soon. But our hearts were one; we just knew.

As I watched her walk towards me the following December, through the snow and up the aisle in her flowing white lace dress, I thanked the spirit of the season for bringing us together.

Gabrielle, my Christmas angel.