The Most Wonderful Follow Up: The True Meaning Of Christmas free porn video

The Most Wonderful Follow-Up: The True Meaning Of Christmas By Katharine Sexkitten I left the security guard clothes in the public washroom. They smelled. In fact they reeked. No doubt about it. Up until earlier this morning, I would have thought the odor was unusual, and not altogether attractive. Now I thought they smelled like heaven. They were completely covered in my own cum, more or less dried. I remember vividly making the mess. It was more cum than I'd ever generated in all the masturbation sessions of my entire life. Perhaps combined. Santa had worked his first bit of Christmas magic on me then. I grabbed my wallet, and my keys, and left the mall. It didn't matter to me that I was leaving dressed as I was, like a movie star slut, or that I was leaving three hours early, or that I was abandoning the two other guys. My hips took over, and I sashayed my way out the main doors, leaving them unlocked behind me, and swished all the way to my car. It didn't matter to me if someone saw me. Anyone. I had never been happier. I had never been prouder. I was, finally, who I always dreamed of being. A feminine, sexual human being. I was no longer trapped in dull and dreary boy clothes. I was no longer trapped in unnatural gender stereotypes. I was no longer a virgin. That thought settled in, as I settled down on the car seat. If I didn't know it already, sitting down reminded me. I had been magnificently made love to. My ass felt alive, and throbbing still, and so wonderfully sore, like my buttocks and hole had had the greatest workout of their lives. They were letting me know, in a trillion little nerve quivers and shakes, that my life as Virginia, a sexual womanly young man, had now finally begun. Plus, my panties were very wet. Delicously wet. But not my cum this time. A man's cum. My ass was reminding me that I'd just been royally fucked by a man. It was just shy of six in the morning when I got home, to my condo building, so it came as no surprise to me that I didn't see a single soul on my walk through the parkade, the lobby, the elevator, and my hall. I knew everyone was asleep, early Christmas morning, dreaming of the presents they might soon get. I had already received mine. The greatest presents a gurl like me could be given. Gorgeous, sexy, feminine clothes, and makeup, and heels. A fantastic man to hold me, and kiss me, and send my emotions soaring. A big fat thick long cock to suck. Several mouthfuls of delicious cum to swallow down. And then the best present of all. The fucking of my life. The fucking that started my life. Yes Virginia, there most definitely IS a Santa Claus. I closed my condo door, and threw my keys onto the stand. It was at that moment that I realized that I was exhausted. I was practically falling down off my heels, I was so tired. Physically, yes, but emotionally too, the events of the last four hours had been so shattering, so outside of any normal I'd ever had, that I had been drained of energy. I needed to sleep. I moved past my living room, my heels creating a dull thud in the carpeting. In my peripheral vision I saw my little fake Christmas tree right where I'd left it, on top of the coffee table. I took two more steps towards my bedroom before I stopped suddenly. Something wasn't right about that picture. I took two steps backwards, not always the easiest thing to do in four- inch heels. I got to the doorway, and leaned slightly to my right, just barely peering into the living room. Which was full of presents. Boxes of every shape and size, wrapped in the most unique paper I'd ever seen. Piles of boxes everywhere. Boxes on my couch. Boxes on the floor. Boxes on my desk, surrounding my laptop. Several smaller boxes on the fake mantle above my fake fireplace. All of them wrapped with Santa's special paper. Hanging off the little star on top of my fake little tree was an envelope. It was snow white, and the perfect size for holding a Christmas card. On the outside there was a name, handwritten in a beautiful scrawl. Virginia. My true name, he'd said. I opened the envelope like I was about to announce the winner of Best Picture. There was a card inside. The front was a photograph of me, standing in Santa's Workshop, with my hands on my hips, my legs spread below me, my little boobs thrust forward, my mouth pouting and shiny wet, my eyes smokey and tantalising. You could see my bulge too, a little one. Even my nipples were hard in the shot. It had to have been his view, when I first reappeared in front of him, after dressing. Somehow, using his magic, he'd taken that visual image of me, and transferred it to print. I opened the card, and sure enough he'd written me a message. My sweet Virginia, Thank you. You've made an old man happier than he's ever been. Seeing you, as your true self, and spending time with you, accepting your kisses and your hugs, and your love, changed everything for me. I've never before had the spring in my step I had tonight. Because of you. After leaving you (and believe me, sweet Virginia, if I didn't have the responsibility of delivering toys to all good girls and boys around the world I would NEVER have left you there by yourself) I completed my route in record time. The reindeer were astonished at how fast this old guy can move, when he's happier than he's ever been. I wanted to give you a few more presents. I hope you like them. There's everything here that you will need, my darling child. As many clothes as you would have owned by now, if you'd been your true self right from the beginning. I wanted you to have them, clothes and shoes and accessories that will bring out the real Virginia. If that is the life you choose. Your future is yours now, my darling. I can't wait to see what you make of it. Eternally yours, Kris. I began opening boxes. Box after box. I was crying, tears of abject joy. All of the dreams and desires I'd had, my entire life, suppressed down into nothingness, were all now blossoming. Dresses, skirts, blouses, sweaters, lingerie, makeup, shoes of every color and shape, loungewear, formalwear, casualwear, eveningwear. My tiny living room was soon filled with clothes. All of them were gorgeous and feminine. All of them were my size, and colors I loved. All of them were me! One box held sex toys. Dildos, vibrators, cock rings, butt plugs, and lube. A lifetime supply of lube. I think Santa wanted me to continue being the real me. I couldn't think of my life in any other way. So after I'd filled my kitchen and hallway with empty open boxes and paper, and after every flat surface in my living room and spare room and office had piles of clothes on them, I settled back on my bed, sinking into the loving caress of a sea of panties and bras and slips and camisoles, I spied another envelope, on my pillow, with Santa's handwriting on it. You've never seen a gurl move so fast. I had it open in record time. My darling Virginia, Never have I felt more alive, and more loved. Your soul has sparked a flame in me, one that I'd long thought over. I've watched you grow into a wonderful human being, and now I've seen you grow into the special woman you were perhaps always meant to be. The future is unknown, but yours for the taking, no matter which path in life you choose. This life is yours to live. Remember, sweet child, that I will always be watching. If you choose to return to being Simon, you will always have my love. If you let Virginia shine through, no matter how, or how often, I'll always be here for you. One last present, my most beautiful feminine lover, To make your journey easier, the elves and I have paid off your mortgage, and all your debts. Be free, Virginia. Be who you want to be. I love you so much, Daddy. I passed out, in shock, and surrounded by femininity. It was all too much, combined with the very real physical sensations I was feeling. I was emotionally overwhelmed, and body tired. Santa had fucked the life out of me! And by doing so, Santa had given me a new life. One that I wanted to pursue, more than anything. I slept the entire day away. When I awoke, nearing midnight, there were two messages on my answering machine. One was from my parents and sister, wishing me a Merry Christmas. One was from my boss. Well, former boss now. He yelled on the phone, firing me, of course. He screamed that I could kiss my final paycheck goodbye, since I'd ruined his clothes. I listened to him ask me, and I quote, "What kind of a sick fuck ruins someone else's stuff like that?" I giggled out loud, wearing panties and a bra and the silkiest negligee I've ever seen. "This kind of sick fuck," I responded, grinning from ear to ear. Another human being, I decided, who would probably never understand. My next few days were spent in feminine paradise. I had to clear out my boy clothes in my closet, to make room for my new clothes. I ran out of space, so the hanging stuff that Santa had left me also went in my spare bedroom closet (which was tiny anyway), and my front hall closet. I filled every nook and cranny I had, in furniture, on furniture, beside furniture, with all my new gifts. I learned right off the bat that lubing up and then slipping in a butt plug made me feel divine. I learned that piercing your own ears is doable, but difficult. I learned that thigh-high leather boots are sexy as hell, but can make your legs sweat. I learned that a dildo with a suction cup on the end can lead to the most unimaginable joy, and that my pussy just feels better with something in it. I learned that food delivery drivers love it when a barely-dressed feminine creature like me answers the door, smiles, and tips. The tipping was the best part, I decided. It felt like I was spreading a little Christmas cheer, every day. And that's the biggest thing I learned. It occurred to me, a full week after Christmas, when I hadn't done anything except revel in all my new clothes, changing sometimes on the hour, just to feel them against my skin, just to see how sexy they made me look, and feel. It was New Year's Eve. I was lounging, in a tank top, bra, and panties, my toe and finger nails freshly painted, my hair getting longer and beginning to touch my shoulders, my face lightly made up, my lips shiny red and kissable. I was freshly out of the shower, having spent the previous hour on my knees, my panties on the floor, an eight inch dildo suctioned to the wall, low down, sticking out lewdly, my pussy wet and lubed, riding that cock, reverse cowgirl style. As if someone special was directly behind me, making love to me, in the doggy position. The sweat had poured off of me, staining the towel I'd laid out underneath. I could see the individual drops, when I looked down, as I bounced back and forth, my own penis throbbing with a fever, until my volcano erupted again, up and all over the towel and the floor. I was fucking myself multiple times a day. I was doing multiple loads of laundry every day too. Anyway, I was taking a break, and flipping through the channels on the t.v., when I saw it playing on a movie channel. The Meaning Of Life. Monty Python. I didn't watch it, though, having seen it many times. But it started me thinking. The Meaning Of Life. I decided that I'd never known it before, in all my days. But I knew it now. Santa had taught it to me. Make every day like Christmas day. The spirit of Christmas was love, I decided, and right then and there, my shaved smooth legs drawn up under me, with a blanket wrapped around me, toying with my nipples, gently twisting and pinching them, I made the decision. I would dedicate my life to one simple mission. I would spread love, every second of every day. As Virginia. It had to be that way. It was the only thing in life I was sure of. I would never again let society hold me down. I would never again let my true nature be repressed, or mocked, or jeered, or insulted. Love, and all of its manifestations, was the only thing that counted. I would be love. Virginia would be love. And then, it was like a blanket gently fell on me, all around me. An invisible blanket. Covering me with security, and confidence, and warmth. It was as if I'd made the decision that would free me, satisfy me, and justify me. I am Virginia. And I will spread this love. At that exact moment, I heard a noise behind me. I jumped off the couch, fear beginning to cascade through me, my nerves afire with worry. I spun, and gasped. There, standing at the back of my living room, was a man. A MAN WAS IN MY CONDO! OH MY GOD, A MAN WAS IN MY ROOM! My fight or flight module cut in, and I looked at the front door, ready to flee. Then I looked at him again. He was a tall man, maybe as high as six-four or five. A big man too, probably two hundred to two hundred fifty pounds. He had greyish-white hair and a perfectly coiffed beard to match. His skin was tanned, and his cheeks were rosy. He was wearing jeans, and a sweater, and a huge opened top coat, from his shoulders all the way down to his toes, trimmed in fur. He had big feet. He had the world's biggest smile. His eyes lit up when he saw mine, and he started chuckling, the deepest most satisfying sound I've ever heard. My fear, real and vivid initially, immediately and instantaneously turned into joy. Pure abject joy. I screamed out his name. "DADDY!" It took three skips, in my bare feet, to reach him. His arms opened wide, his arms long and thick, his great coat flapping open, and I leapt into his grasp. My arms went around his shoulders. His went around my back. My legs kicked up, and I wrapped them around his bum, his cheeks strong and muscular. Our groins crushed together. I could feel his excitement grow, in the first few seconds. My lips found his, instantly reminding myself of their thickness and plumpness. His breath tasted like Peppermint, and his tongue soon touched mine, our mouths open to the other. My soul, open to his. There were no words spoken. We kissed and tongue-wrestled for minutes on end, both of us lost in each other's passion. Our hands explored, our fingers caressed. Fervently. He shrugged off his mighty coat, walked us through the living room, down the hall, and into my bedroom. As though he knew where it was. He'd been here, I reminded myself. He knew where my bedroom was. My lips never left his. He laid us down on the mattress, our kisses consuming us. Still holding me, he somehow managed to get his belt undone, and his jeans, and he slid them down his powerful legs. My eyes were closed, lost as I was in his kisses, and I felt him pull my panties to one side, a big finger immediately teasing my hole, testing it. I opened for him, and tried to suck that digit in. He giggled into my mouth, but never stopped kissing me. Finding me to his liking, he knee-walked himself into place. Sticking his tongue as far into my mouth as he could, he lined his cock up to my pussy. And then, like slipping into your most comfortable sweater, or old pair of shoes, he sank himself into me. In one solid slow motion. Santa pierced me with his cock. In the most exquisitely gentle motion of my life, I lifted my hips, and opened for him, one sweet inch at a time, willingly. Exuberantly. With love and gratitude and joy and splendor. Our bodies made a thudding kind of sound, when he was fully in me. His hips slammed into my wide-open thighs. I felt stuffed. I felt the most enormously satisfying fullness, my insides rearranging themselves with a liquid languor. I felt right. And it was only a week ago, for sure, but it seemed to me at that moment that he was bigger than before, that his glorious cock was even harder and stronger. For me. Because of me. Then nature took over, for both of us. I settled back, my mouth full of his tongue, my pussy full of his cock, his body weight gently crushing me into the mattress, and allowed Virginia to take over, and do what she was born to do. I started rocking my lower back, moving my ass up and down, taking his cock into me, wanting it, needing it, demanding it. Silently encouraging him to do his job. To fuck me. And Santa, once again, did not disappoint. For the next twenty minutes, Santa pile-drove me. Again and again and again and again and again. Like a metronome. One toe-curling stroke after another. BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG. Sometimes he'd change up the angle of the stroke. Sometimes, off the cuff, he'd change up the tempo, or give me three or four bangs in rapid succession, like changing a rifle from single shot to full auto. He was shooting me with his love. BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG My headboard slammed against the wall, each time he bottomed out inside my pussy. I'd never felt so happy. If the neighbours didn't like the noise, too bad! Close to half an hour of continuous slamming, and Santa finally broke our kiss. Both of us had saliva and slobber on our lips, our tongues, and our cheeks. On each other. He lifted his mighty upper body off me, straightening his arms and looking down at me with a ferocity I'd never seen before. If I didn't know better, I could have sworn he was mad. But he wasn't. He was stoked. He was just getting started. The rifle became a machine gun. For an old guy, he could move fast! I just hung on for dear life. His cock, wet and ramrod straight and well over nine inches and thick as my wrist, started moving at light speed. In and out of me. In out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out IN OUT IN OUT IN OUT IN OUT IN OUT IN OUT IN OUT IN OUT IN OUT IN OUT IN OUT IN OUT!!!!! Santa was fucking me. Just absolutely fucking me. Santa kept fucking me. I was in a state of gibberish. Mentally I was lost, gone to the world, consumed in my love-making. I saw stars, and white bright flashes of lights. I heard grunting, from both of us. But mostly, I floated on the edge of consciousness and utter sublime pleasure. I'd never known how life-affirming being Virginia could be. I'd never realized what passion could be like, never imagined that it could be so encompassing, so enveloping. I'd never known love-making could be so fan-fucking-tastic! Santa roared, his voice huge in the quiet of the evening. I knew for a fact that my neighbours could hear that. "Here come Santa Claus, here comes Santa Claus.." Just like Christmas morning. And then my inner volcano, the one that I learned about that morning a week ago, made itself known to me again. Faster than ever before, and more powerful than ever before, it gurgled and roiled and burbled and bubbled into life, and then just went KABOOM! I started cumming, from inside me to outside me. Like a firehose through a straw. My guts lurched and jolted, and I coated my tummy and my chest and my neck with cum. Screaming out my new favorite word. "DADDY!!" My pussy hole clamped down on Santa's cock, as my own penis blasted out its load. I couldn't stop him from moving, but I gave it a good try. He stopped all on his own. I managed to open my eyes, and look up at his face. At first I thought he was in pain, such was his expression. His eyes were clenched tight, his forehead and cheeks were strained, all his muscles and skin taut, scrunched up, his lips were open but his teeth locked and closed. We screamed together as we came. He flooded my insides with his cum. There must have been gallons of it, or at least pints. I could feel it all in me, pooling and moving and searching out every little nook and cranny to slide into. If I was a genetic woman, I thought, I'd be pregnant for sure. Daddy collapsed on top of me after his orgasm finished. It took well over a minute or two for that to happen. Then we laid there, him on me, his weight pushing me down, covering me, protecting me, owning me. I was his, in body and soul. Eventually he rolled over, onto his back, and pulled me with him. His cock shrank in size, but we both made sure it didn't leave me. I wanted him in my hole, always. I'd never known such bliss. We cuddled, his arms around me, the covers pulled up and over us. His heat warmed me, his breathing moved me. We came back down to earth together. Like a man and wife would. When his heartbeat became manageable again, he started chuckling. Little bursts of his mirth, his laughter, his joy, began to come out. He was happy. Which made me elated. Then we slept. We slept right through the big moment, with the ball dropping. We woke at the same time, just after three in the morning, and made an unspoken deal to make love again. It was better than before. It was heavenly. We fucked. We made love. We rutted. We screwed. We banged. We made each other cum. We made each other complete. After another sleeping session, and a long time in the shower, we emerged into the world shiny and clean. We cuddled on the couch. "I felt it, the moment you decided to become Virginia," he whispered, "and knew I had to be here." He stroked his big fingers over the skin of my back. "Mmmm, Daddy," I whispered back, "I can't tell you how happy I am that you did come back to me." He murmured his approval. For long moments, we cuddled in silence. Both of us, deep in post-loving bliss, and both of us in our thoughts. But even restful, he was very quietly humming something. It took me minute after minute to discern it, but finally I understood. "You were humming that same song on Christmas morning, when we made love for the first time." I felt his head nod. "It's my favorite holiday song. Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas'." "I love it too." "It's heavenly," he added, "and, as it turns out, it holds within it some very special words. The most important words, really. The true meaning of Christmas. Most people pass it by." I ran the lyrics over in my head. "Do you know them, my darling Virginia?" he asked, a slight chuckle in his voice. "The loveliest words? The phrase that truly encapsulates what Christmas means?" The whole song seemed wonderful, to me. The gentleness of it, the peaceful lilt of it, all the words speaking of the most pleasant of times. Peace on earth. Goodwill towards men. He moved slightly, and looked me in the eyes. And then he sang them for me. The words. The true meaning of Christmas. "Have yourself a merry little Christmas, make the Yuletide gay." My eyes shot open. I gasped, out loud. "You mean...?" I sputtered. Santa began laughing, that rolling river of HO HO HO, genuine, delighted, full of life and playfulness and glee. "Santa is gay, Virginia," he whispered. "I always have been, and happily so." Visions of advertisements and cartoons and holiday movies suddenly flashed through my excited brain. I could see her face, her rosy cheeks, her wire-rimmed glasses. "But what about Mrs. Claus?" I asked. Santa laughed again, a big belly roar. "There's never been a Mrs. Claus," he chuckled, his own cheeks rosy and glowing. "I'm a single, mature gay man." My mouth dropped open. "Father Christmas?..." He finished my sentence for me. "Is a SilverDaddy.." We both roared with laughter, and he squeezed me into him more. Cuddled as we were, I looked up and he looked down and our giggling turned into a kiss, soft and fluttery at first, but quickly turning to open-mouthed tongue dancing. I LOVE HOW HE KISSES ME! Minutes later, we both moved away, and caught our breaths. Then a thought occurred to me. "But Daddy," I started, "I thought the word 'gay' in that song lyric meant, you know, gaiety. Frivolity, or joy, or however it's defined in the dictionary?" He fixed me with a warm stare. "The dictionary defines it as, and I quote, 'the state or quality of being light-hearted or cheerful". I nodded my head. "Exactly," I said, "but now you're saying that the true meaning of Christmas is to be gay? As in homosexual?" Santa roared again, with a huge whoop of laughter. "No, sweet child, no," he said, "gay is indeed a state of mind. But the secret is, being homosexual makes it so much better." I giggled. And then I had an aha moment. I realized, right there, at that moment, that I was gay. It hit me, just like that. I am a male, albeit feminine-acting and dressing, and I've made love to and been fucked by another male, one demonstrating all the textbook qualities of the masculine. So I was gay. I'd discovered myself. That's the best present Santa gave me. Myself. He looked at me, smiling in a proud way. "Santa is gay," I said, slowly, matter-of-factly, "and now I know that so is Virginia." His smile could have melted the coldest heart. He pulled me to him again, and our mouths joined again. The kiss was deep, and delicious, and sinfully slow, and we swapped liquids back and forth, over tongues and teeth, gulping each other down. It was the best of kisses. It was wet and supple and fantastic. Minutes later, perhaps ten, we broke again. His hands were caressing me, all over my back and bum. My hands were in front of me, kneading his chest, pinching lightly on his nipples. "You've learned the secret," he said, rosily, "that everyone can have Christmas in their hearts, but to truly understand what complete joy and bliss and happiness is, keeping Christmas in our hearts every day of the year, a person has to let go, free themselves, come out of the closet, literally and proverbially." He paused. "Don't misunderstand me, Virginia. Heterosexuals can love Christmas, and can experience all the joy and beauty and peace that the season has to offer. But something about their "straightness" means they can't see that there's more, there's one more level above that. Keep Christmas in your heart, all year round. Keep the Yuletide in your heart, all year long. And always," he giggled, "make the Yuletide gay." We laughed again, both of us, our joy echoing through my condo. "Virginia," he said, "I'd love to show you my home, the Enchanted Village, where I live, with the elves. Would you like to see it?" "At the North Pole?" I asked. He smiled. "Close to it." I was suddenly struck with a thought, one that made me sad. "If there's no Mrs. Claus," I reasoned, "have you been trapped all alone, by yourself, in that house? All these years? No one to hug you, or kiss you, or make love with you?" Santa chuckled, gleefully. "I live alone, darling Virginia," he said, "but I'm not a monk." He chortled and giggled. "I'm a man, after all, and sexual. I pop into all sorts of towns, throughout the year, all over the world, without the big red suit. Then, I'm just another horny SilverDaddy, like so many others. Have you been to Mardi Gras? There's always lots of fun to be had there, gay or straight. You can get laid from sunup to sundown!" I bounced on his body, his roar of delight was so huge. "Pride Week in Paris, France? Oooh la la! I go skiing every winter, to the Gay Ski Pride Week in Whistler. Ski all day and chase beautiful younger men all night. Santa can ALWAYS find young sexy men to be with. And he does." I beamed at him, so happy to find out he had an outlet for his passion. No one should go without. Me included. "Are the elves, um, ..." Santa smiled. "Gay?" I nodded, slightly biting at my lower lip. "Oh goodness," he erupted in laughter, "yes, of course. We're busy most of the year, getting things ready, but that doesn't mean all day every day. After work, on weekends, the elves are the gayest tramps you've ever seen!" We laughed. "They're all randy little buggers!" We laughed again. "And buggerers," he added, laughing even more at his jest. Sitting as I was, I could feel his cock moving again, rising again, underneath me. I realized that my bum cheeks had slid down and more or less sandwiched him between them, as if his magnificent love stick was a hot dog, and I was the bun. I looked him straight in the eye. "Then I have something to say." He nodded. "A declaration." He nodded again. "I am Virginia," I declared, "and I state here, and now, for all to hear, that I have let go the bonds of society, and I am going to live every day of my life, every second, as this feminine sexual creature you see before you. I pledge to make every moment, every hour, into a Yuletide, and I am going to make my Yule as gay as they come. And I," I paused, kissing him, softly and tenderly, "would love to be your Mrs. Claus, if you'll have me." His cock, mighty and thick, jumped underneath me. I could feel his pee hole push out a dollop of his precum, which I knew tasted like the sweetest candy cane ever, and I sighed a moan of delight feeling the wetness on my cheeks. His nostrils flared, his cheeks became rosier. His eyes, the colour of chai tea, and always twinkling, fairly lit up like fireworks. "On one condition," I added. He looked down at me, one eyebrow moving slightly lower. I sensed that he had no idea what I was going to say. "Which is?" he asked, slowly. "That every time you want to pop out and go to Paris or New Orleans or anywhere, that you take me with you. While you're having your fun finding younger sexy men to fuck, I get to find me some horny SilverDaddy's to get myself fucked." For a moment, Santa just stared at me. Open-mouthed. Then, building slowly but bursting bright quickly, he positively bellowed with a roaring laugh. HO HO HO HO HO HO HO HO! Merry Christmas to all, with joy in your hearts And laughter and passion and glee And spread all your cheer, every day of the year While spreading your legs, just like me. Katharine Sexkitten The End.