A Special Christmas PresentbyRumple Foreskin©
note: A special thanks to Impressive, English Lady, and Logophile for their kind words and counsel. RF
* * * * *
I was halfway between Sears and being totally broke, sitting alone in the mall’s noisy food-court, eating a tasteless salad, and wondering why I let my mother con me into getting dressed and driving into town with her to go shopping the day after Thanksgiving, the busiest shopping day of the year.
She was right to insist. My mother is always right. And to prove the point, I somehow managed to finish all my Christmas shopping. That’s good, because I could be a little busy in a few weeks.
Today’s shopping cost me more than just max’ed out credit cards. My feet hurt, my back ached, I felt tired, bloated and miserable. Of course, I felt that way long before hitting the mall. Being eight months pregnant can do that to a girl.
Make that an unmarried, pregnant girl. Of course, I’m no girl either, although it does seem like I stopped growing a lot sooner than the owner’s manual told my parent’s to expect. In her infinite wisdom, Mother Nature decided five-foot nothing was more than enough for Becky Miller to handle. So there’s not a whole lot of me to pack around a baby that keeps getting bigger by the hour and seems anxious to get out and look around.
It’s not like I didn’t know better. This will be my second baby. My first, Kylie, is two and can’t wait to play with her baby brother. But my knowing better and doing what’s smart isn’t the same thing. At least it isn’t for me, not after falling in love with someone I may never see again.
The baby’s daddy, Matt Hampton, never knew I was in love with him. And I wasn’t, not at first. We’d known each other forever. Of course, everybody knows everybody else out where we live. In high school, we fooled around a little, but never really dated. A few years later, I got married just before he joined the service.
Last Christmas, I came limping home with Kylie, and a black eye. Stuart, my rich, good-looking, socio-path husband, gave me both.
That’s when I learned Matt had been wounded wherever he was serving while doing whatever it was he did. A few days earlier, he really had come limping home with his left leg in a cast.
Kylie and I went over to visit him the next day. Back in high school, a lot of girls had a crush on Matt. He was an all-everything jock with a boyish smile and teasing attitude that was just a little cocky. The Matt I saw that day was still blonde and good-looking, but he was no boy. His skin wasn’t tan so much as a hard, weathered brown. There were tiny creases around the corners of his eyes. And sometimes those familiar blue-eyes had this funny, distant look. Most of all, the cockiness was gone, replaced by a quiet self-confidence.
In other words, he was a man--and I wanted him.
The next afternoon, I went back, without Kylie. We were alone, and began making love.
"Becky Miller, you so have the most delectable boobies.” He interrupted a very thorough job of licking and sucking my nipples to say that, and was now smiling at me. My sweater and bra were off; my jeans and panties were about to follow. We were on the carpet in the living room. A few small logs burned in the nearby fireplace. The lights on the big Christmas tree were turned on. So was I.
I stroked his short, blonde hair and grinned. "Don’t give me that, crap. We both know I'm an original member of the Itty Bitty Titty Club.”
"Size don't mean jack-shit. I’ve always told you that." Matt circled a nipple with the tip of his tongue. "Quality means a lot more that quantity. Believe me, lady, yours are first-rate. In fact, while these prime samples of female flesh may not be the biggest, they are, without doubt, still the finest pair I've ever had the pleasure of enjoying."
I don’t mind having small breasts. In fact, I prefer mine to the big udders most guys seem to go nuts over. That’s just as well. Even after having Kylie, there was little change in mine. At most, they went from hard-fried eggs to a couple sunny-side up. Matt’s gentle teasing and compliments reminded me how sweet he could be, and how much I wanted him.
"If that’s what you think, then there’s more than just your leg that needs attention. Lay back and let’s see if I can give you an early Christmas present." Switching positions with that cast on his leg was a challenge. Once accomplished, his sweats soon joined my pile of clothes. We kissed at first, then I began nibbling my way down his hard body, sampling various parts of his anatomy.
He wouldn’t explain the scar on his chest or the one on his right thigh, except to say he fell. But something told me they were special, and to treat them with gentle respect.
By the time I reached his cock, it was nice and stiff and bobbing in anticipation. I ran my lips up and down the sensitive underside of the shaft. Then I put the head between my lips and took my time sucking it into my mouth. After a few slow trips up and down the shaft, I picked up speed while taking all I could without gagging.
"This is great," said Matt, trying, with limited success, to keep his voice calm. "But unless you want a snack, you better back off. Why don't you climb on top and finish the job?"
It was a sweet, even considerate, suggestion. But this was fun. I removed the glistening cock from my mouth and began to lick the shaft. Cutting my eyes up at him, I winked and smiled. “Thanks, but I really don't mind the taste, well, not too much. So, I think I'll finish what I've stated. Besides, I've never done it that way."
"Are you shitting me?”
"I shit you not," I said, between long licks.
"But all those guys you dated, and your old man?” There were few secrets between us. Matt was well aware of my pre-marital sex life. I never cheated on any boyfriend or my husband. But in between was different, and had sometimes included him.
"The back seat of a car kinda limits your possibilities. And Stuart’s the macho type who always wants to be on top."
"Well, haul your ass up here, lady, and let me teach you a thing or two."
With Matt's encouragement and assistance, I managed to climb on top and straddle his middle. Then I got back off and we wrapped the cast in his sweats. That thing could hurt.
Once back on top, I felt his cock head slip into position. Then, as he suggested, I began slowly lowering my ass, savoring the feel of his cock slowly burrowing into me. The further I sank, the deeper it penetrated. Just as my butt contacted his hips, the last few inches slid into place. I let out a sigh of total pleasure. Damn, that felt so good.
We stayed still at first, sharing the sensation, then Matt began rocking his hips as much as the cast would allow, driving his hard pole even deeper inside me. I responded to the pressure by leaning forward, putting my hands on his shoulders, and pressing my hips down to meet his upward thrusts.
Either Matt’s a great teacher, or I’m a quick learner. Maybe both. I was soon setting the pace, pumping up and down his long, thick marvelous shaft, and loving every minute of this new experience.
The first ripples of an orgasm began shooting through me. When a strong one hit, I jerked upright, then gasped at the sudden pressure in my pussy, and tried to lean forward. Matt caught me and pushed me back. He cupped my breasts, squeezing and twisting them while forcing me to stay erect.
Maybe it was the position, but the approaching climax kept building until I was ready to scream. When it exploded, my body seemed to contract around Matt’s unyielding cock. After that, I’m not sure what happened, although at some point, I heard a strangled grunt and felt Matt erupting somewhere deep inside my body.
For a few, perfect moments, we were frozen in a lover's knot of passion and release. Then we both collapsed and I pitched forward onto his chest. It was a good place to be, and I was content to stay there, feeling his heartbeat slow down while my body moved to the rhythm of his breathing.
Matt broke the silence. “Personally, I think you look a lot more like a cute elf than old Santa Claus. But I do love your Christmas presents and the great way you deliver them.”
After that we were together almost every day. Since his parents both worked, it was usually at his home, although we went out a few times. I’m sure everybody in town figured they knew what was going on between us. After all, everyone in our town not only knows everyone else, they usually have a pretty good idea what their fellow citizens are doing. But I never heard of anyone so much as raising an eyebrow, much less objecting. That included our parents. In fact, I think they, like everyone else, approved.
Still, Matt and I knew it was just a brief affair, nothing more. He would return to the service, I’d go back to college. No strings attached. That’s the way it’d always been between us.
Then I fell in love with him. It’d been coming on for some time, but I wouldn’t admit what I was feeling. All that ended the night he beat-up Stuart, my husband who beat me up, twice.
It was right after the divorce papers were filed. We were at a club with some friends. Matt still had his cast on, so we were just listening to the band.
Stuart came over to our booth and started carrying on. Matt never moved, just told Stuart, who was almost leaning on him to get closer to me, that he should leave. When Stuart ignored him and kept yelling at me, Matt hit him several times, real fast, just how and where I’m not sure. Stuart let out this funny, gurgling noise and sank to his knees beside our table.
Matt put a hand on Stuart’s shoulder and must have done something, because I saw Stuart grimace. Then Matt pulled him a little closer, and asked, in this dead-calm voice, if he was ever going to bother me again. Stuart’s a big guy and, believe me, he’s strong. But I could see fear in his eyes as he mumbled, no.
From then on, I was hooked. All my life, I’d felt in total control around men. It’s not my looks. I’m short, flat-chested, and no great beauty. But guys seldom seem to notice. I like to think it’s my eyes, and smile, and personality. Maybe those do play a part, but mostly it’s my butt and the fact I’m a total flirt.
All that ended when Stuart beat me up. After that, especially the second time, the last time, when he started for Kylie’s room before I got him to turn back on me, I would feel this twinge of fear and uncertainty. But there was none if Matt was around. Then I was my old self again, feeling safe, in control, complete. I’d always liked Matt, now I loved him. My problem was how to convince him he loved me.
Then he told me he wasn’t just going back to the service, but back to wherever he was when he got wounded. He felt responsible for the deaths of two friends. “I trusted someone who betrayed us. My friends are dead. He’s still there.”
I thought I was going to have a breakdown. This wasn’t fair. What scared me most was the absolute certainty he didn’t give a damn whether he lived or died, just so long as he killed that other person first. The only thing that seemed to give him any second thoughts was my reminder that he was an only child. I begged him to think of what his death would mean to his family.
But I knew he wouldn’t budge.
After Christmas, he went back to the service to spend a few months getting his leg in shape and preparing to return to his old assignment. Meanwhile, I re-entered college and considered my very limited options.
In April, he came home on leave prior to going back to wherever that other guy was. I met him with a big smile, and a body that was all his and free of any trace of birth control pills. If all I could have of him was these last few weeks, maybe I could still have his child. And his parents, who I dearly love, might lose their son, but I was going to do my best to make sure they had his grandchild. Maybe that would ease their grief, our grief.
Now, eight months later, Matt may be dead or alive, I don’t know. But I’ve got his child, his son. “Matt Hampton, Jr.,” I whispered the name, smiling at the sound. Then I heard myself continuing, “…only child of the late Matt Hampton,” and began to cry.
“This seat taken?” I didn’t look up, just shook my head and kept searching for a napkin.
Someone pulled out the chair next to me and sat down. “Is the food here that bad, or are you just sad to see me?”
Who the hell was this idiot? I turned, and was staring at someone who looked just like, Matt Hampton. For maybe the first time in my life, I was speechless. Just breathing was hard enough. Before I could think of something to say, he leaned over and kissed me. It was soft and gentle, and seemed to last forever, which was way too short for me.
Nothing made sense. “What are you doing here?”
He smiled. “Glad to see you, too, Miss Miller.”
Then it registered. “You’re alive!” I threw my arms around his neck, buried my face against his chest, and really began crying.
I didn’t want to look up. The face I saw might not be Matt’s. This could all be a dream. But I recognized his hard body, his special smell, and his gentle touch as he stroked my hair.
When I did dare to look, all I could think to say was, “Really, what happened?”
“You can’t just quit—can you?”
“My mission was accomplished. My time was about up. I told the bosses I had personal business to attend to, and quit.”
“Am I that personal business?”
“Damn straight. I got a message a few weeks ago from old Dad. Don’t ask how. Anyway, he filled me in on what you did and how things have been, well, developing since I left. He said you were way too good for me, and that while there may have been a few bastards in our family, they were all self-made men, not accidents of birth.”
“He shouldn’t have done that. This was no accident,” I touched my belly. “I don’t want you here because you feel sorry for me.”
“I don’t. I’m just—“ The smile left his face. To my amazement, Matt looked away, but not before I saw a tear roll down his cheek. After a moment, he wiped a hand across his face, turned back, and gestured toward my protruding middle. “You love me that much?”
“Oh, Becky. Before leaving, I had to fight falling in love with you, and it wasn’t easy. Dad didn’t let me know about you and the baby until after I finished what I had to do, and that took longer than I figured. But he was right to wait. Because since then, you and baby and Kylie and just life itself, that’s all I can think about. So I had to get out. I want life now, not more death, and it’s because of you, because I love you. God, how I love you. Becky, will you please marry me?”
I nodded and then we were hugging and I was crying again all the while grinning like an idiot. Then we were kissing. It made the first one seem like a chaste peck on the cheek. When we came up for air, I patted my very big belly. “I’m afraid it won’t be much of a honeymoon.”
“That’s all right. I’m counting on having a long life to make up for lost time. When’s the baby due?”
“Well, if your son will wait that long, around Christmas.”
“A boy, around Christmas.” He seemed pleased with the prospect. “And we’re not even Jewish.”
“You’re an idiot. But I do love you.”
“And I love you, too. Always will. Remember last Christmas, when we first made love and I said I liked your presents and the way you delivered them? Well, I still do.” He reached out and laid the palm of his hand on my belly. “It’s just that I never counted on such a special Christmas present this year.”
I began to cry again, and pressed his hand tighter against me. The baby picked that moment to kick. Matt grinned, stood up, and began helping me out of my chair. “I’m not sure, but I think that was a not-too-subtle hint from our son that we better get moving on this marrying business. Where’s the nearest jewelry store? We need to buy some rings.”
My story was a work of fiction. Your votes and comments, however, are a reality that would be appreciate. RF