Merry F-ing Christmas

The winter sun low in his windows woke Jack the next morning. He went out for his morning run. When he got back he showered and went off to the bakery for a couple of pastries. Then he wandered on down the street. He stopped at "The Fancy Dress" shop and stood there admiring the dresses in the shop window. There were various sorts: prom formals, evening dresses, a wedding gown. On a mannequin was a Victorian lace dress, either the same one he had seen on the woman in the park or one very like it. He couldn't help imagining it on the Lady in Lace instead of on the mannequin. He stood looking into the shop window for a while.

Then he saw the mysterious Lady in Lace, coming out from the back room to get ready for business. She looked out the window at him. Again their eyes met. He smiled and waved and was startled to see a slight smile on her face in return. He held up the bag of pastries and in gesture through the storefront window offered her one. She put down the broom and disappeared into the back room. Jack thought she had gone and was about to go on down the street when she came back out with two mugs of coffee. She pushed open the front door with her hip and came out. She said: "Want some coffee with that?" He nodded. She went over to sidewalk bench and sat down, holding a mug out to him. He took it, and opened the bag for her to take a pastry. He sipped the coffee, black, hot and strong.

"I saw you dancing in the park last night."

She blushed. "Sometimes, I like to pretend."

"Your dancing was lovely. I envied your dancing partner."

"He's not that great a dancer," she laughed. "But he's very faithful."

Jack thought to himself, "Yeah, like my 'handy' faithful lover."

He loved the sound of her laugh. "I'm Jack," he said.

"Mary" she replied.

(At this point, dear reader, I must ask you again not to jump too quickly to conclusions. No, her name is not Mary Christmas, and no, her middle name most certainly is NOT Fucking. That would be too silly, even for a romance like this one. If you have read this far, please trust me to tell the story for you straight.)

"So, Jack, what brings you to this time warp of a town?" she asked.

He told her briefly that he had been divorced a year ago and laid off on Monday: He'd gotten his Christmas goose and a Merry fucking Christmas from the factory. He didn't really have any particular place to go so he'd ended up working at the toy store down the street.

"What about you? Is this your shop?" he asked her, gesturing toward the gown shop.

"Yes, it's mine. And now you're going to ask me that old question about 'What's a girl like you doing . . . .?' Well, here's the brief sad story. I got a degree in clothing design and went to New York to gain fame and fortune. I had the talent but not the cut-throat attitude it takes to make it in the fashion industry. I got married, and then the cheating fucker left me on Christmas Eve. I had another relationship that turned abusive. He got drunk a lot. One Christmas Eve, he got so drunk he beat me up and I ended up spending Christmas in the hospital with a broken nose and wired jaw." She snorted. "Yep, Merry fucking Christmas. As you can guess, Christmas is not my favorite day. So, I came back here, opened my own shop, design my own dresses, sell enough to make a living. As to men, well, I've decided you guys are dangerous. Fun to play with, but too easy to get hurt with. So I dance by myself. It has its drawbacks, but it's a lot safer."

Jack thought about that. "You make me feel like an ogre. Well, I never had my nose or jaw broken by a woman, but they have been really tough on my heart. Yeah, there's a lot to be said for the safety of my own company. The holidays seem to be hard on marriages. My parents had a big fight before Christmas when I was nine. My dad left and never came back. Never saw him again."

Mary asked, "What about your mother?

"Oh, she died a few years ago. Cancer. Got the diagnosis in December one year and died the following December."

They ate the pastries and drank their coffees, sitting in silence, each thinking about the dangers of relationships and the hurts that come from losing them.

"So," he asked, "do you always dance in the park at night?"

She laughed. "Sometimes, I can't sleep. I wake up in the middle of the night. Instead of lying there, I put on a gown and go for a walk. Sometimes I dance. Sometimes, I just walk."

She took the two mugs and stood up. "Well," she said, "maybe I'll see you around again. Thanks for the pastry."

"Hey, thanks for the coffee," Jack replied. "I'll be around, at least until Christmas."

She smiled at him and went inside her shop. Jack walked down to the toy shop.

Every day for the rest of the week, Jack and Mary ate their lunches in the park together and then played together on the swings, the see-saw or the merry-go-round. The weather was cold but they hadn't yet gotten any snow and the mid-day winter sun, dim though it was, kept it tolerably warm. Every night, Jack would type on his laptop in his room and then watch Mary dancing alone in the park in the moonlight.

On Saturday, Michael asked Jack if he was busy that evening. Jack laughed: "Wait while I check my busy social calendar. Umm, nope, nothing on for tonight."

Michael asked if Jack would mind driving him to the hospital in his truck so he could deliver toys to the children in the hospital, as it was getting hard for him to drive at night. Jack said sure, he'd be glad to. They closed up a little early that night. Michael showed Jack two big cloth bags of gifts in the workshop and asked him to put them in the truck while Michael changed clothes. A bit later, Jack laughed to see Michael come out of his room dressed in a Santa suit. He had the white beard and chubby tummy for it. Type casting.

When they got to the hospital, Jack helped Michael out of the pickup and tried to hand him his cane but Michael said no, Santa Claus was ageless and it wouldn't do for the children to see him using a cane. They each took a bag of toys. Jack noticed that Michael was walking with hardly any noticeable limp. When they got to the children's ward, Michael seemed completely transformed. He went from bed to bed laughing and talking with each child. He called each child by name and for each one he had a wrapped gift with the child's name on it. Soon, Michael had all the children smiling too. Each gift seemed just right for that child. The little boys were soon "vroooming" their toy cars. For an older child, a young teen girl, there was a book of magic, sorcery and heroic princesses. One little girl got a brown-haired Barbie doll with a dress of Victorian lace. Jack immediately recognized it as a replica of Mary's gown. Michael looked at Jack and winked. Jack thought to himself: "That's one Barbie I'd like to undress." Then they handed out candy canes. Michael even brought presents for the nurses. An antique broach, a necklace and locket for another, a new pair of comfortable shoes, a pair of movie tickets: Each one seemed to appreciate her particular gift.

(Once again, dear reader, I must caution you against hoping for a magical explanation of Michael's gift giving ability. This story is a romance, not a fairy tale).

But for all the joy Michael brought to the ward, Jack couldn't help seeing how sick some of the children were. He thought, "Yeah, here's a nice little toy for you, and a dose of cancer to go with it. Merry Fucking Christmas."

In the truck going home, Michael remained energized from playing Santa Claus. Jack asked, "So, Santa, how is it you were able to know all the kids' names and what gift to get them?" Michael chuckled. "Oh, the candy stripers send me a list ahead of time with a little picture of each child, their names and ages, and suggestions about gifts. I memorize the list so I can call them by name. Of course I also use my own ingenuity sometimes to think of the right gift. The other shops on the street help me out with some of the gifts too, like the books and the dolls and that doll dress from your lady friend."

They got back to the shop, and Jack helped Michael up the back stairs. Michael sat down with a sigh in a chair in the workshop. Jack heated up some coffee for them. Michael told Jack that there was a little bottle of brandy on the shelf up there that would be just right for the coffee. They sat sipping their coffee and brandies. Finally, Jack said: "Ok, Santa, what gift would you select for me?"

Michael took another sip of coffee and gave it a long thought. "Jack, the gifts you need are ones you can't find in a toy shop. In a toy shop, I sell a few moments of fun, a little joy, a brief bit of pleasure. But what you need, I can't give you. What you need are what the Good Book calls the three greatest gifts of all: Faith, Hope and Love. You've lost faith in everything. You have no hope for the future. You've lost love. I can't give those back to you. Those are gifts that you have to find for yourself. But maybe I can help your search a little bit. Let me work on that."

Sunday was a day off for the Toy Shop and many of the other shops on the street, though not all. Jack slept late. After his morning run Jack brought two pastries back to the store and took them back to the workshop to share with Michael with their morning coffee. After they ate, Michael handed him a sealed envelope: "Open this at lunch time over in the park with your lady-in-lace friend. No peeking ahead of time." Jack took the envelope, laughed, stuck it in his pocket and thanked Michael. They spent the rest of the morning in the workshop together, Michael teaching Jack some of the skills and tricks of toy making and repair.

At lunch time, Michael went to his room for his nap, and Jack took his sandwich and apple across the street to the park. Mary was sitting on the bench already, watching some children playing. They ate together, mostly in silence.

Jack commented on how unusual it was to find a park with the old-style play equipment. She said, yeah, she thought of it as Jurassic Park, because it was practically prehistoric. Jack laughed.

Then Jack remembered the envelope. He pulled it out and told Mary that it was a gift for them from Michael. He opened it. Inside were two tickets to the Sunday matinee at the Bijou Theatre. "I guess I'm supposed to take you to the movies today. Care to come with me?" he asked.

"You've got to be kidding me. Do you know what's playing? It's that stupid 'Miracle on 34^th Street', the old one, with Maureen O'Hara, John Payne, and Natalie Wood as the little girl. You think the old man is trying to make us believe in Santa Claus? Yeah, right, Merry Fucking Christmas."

"Yeah I can't believe he'd do something so obvious." Jack said "And I guess that means no?"

"Oh, what the hell," Mary said. "I'm not busy. Why not? I'll go."

Jack shrugged. It was a drippy sentimental nonsense movie, but he wouldn't mind sitting next to Mary in the dark for a couple of hours anyway. "Ok, it's a date."

For the first half of the movie they ate popcorn together out of a big bucket and then held buttery hands for the last half. The movie was every bit the sentimental tear-jerker of a nonsensical fairy tale that they knew it was. Still, they both wept silent tears. It wasn't so much the movie itself, but their own lost faith and love that they grieved for. They came out of the theater in the late afternoon. Jack asked Mary if she would have dinner with him at the café. She said sure, she usually ate there anyway. At the café, she introduced him to Martha. They had hamburgers, french fries, and milk shakes with the stainless steel mixing container on the side, and then lingered over their coffees. Then they walked back down to the park and sat together in the evening darkness on the swings, not swinging, just drifting.

Finally, Mary turned to Jack. "So, I guess if we're going to be lonely, we may as well be lonely together. Are we going to go masturbate alone in our rooms tonight or did you want to come to my bed with me?"

Jack was stunned, taken by surprise. He blushed. He stammered. And then he thought: "I think she means it." He stood up, took her by the hand and said, "Your bed sounds great to me. Let's go."

She led him by a back path from the park, along the alley behind the theater, and up the block to her dress shop. They went in through the unlocked the door and she led him up the stairs to her room. Her room was a vision of feminine fantasy. There was a four poster bed with gauze drapes. The bed had an antique lace duster and a lovely patchwork quit. She lit some candles on the dresser and on the mantle over the fire place.. They came together in a kiss. They clung to each other, holding each other tightly. They explored tongues, sending shivers through them. Jack was hard, his erection insistent between them. He began to do what he had been fantasizing about all week – undoing the laces up the back of her gown. She looked into his eyes, watching him as the dress fell from her shoulders, revealing her in her bra and panties, which were surprisingly modern pale blue though still of delicate lace.

Clad only in those bits of lace, she took her turn. She unbuttoned his shirt, feeling his chest as she went, feeling her way down to his tummy and then unbuckling his belt and continuing down the buttons on his jeans. She pushed him onto the bed then knelt in front of him and pulled off his shoes, his socks and then his pants, seeing his desire bulging out at the front of his shorts. Greedily, she pulled his shorts off too, bringing his raging erection out where she could kiss it, feel it, touch it. He groaned.

Then she stood and slipped off her bra and panties. He gasped at how beautiful she looked. She was slim, her breasts small and firm. The hair at her pussy was light and delicate. He stood then to take her in his arms, and she took him in a dance position, her nipples grazing his chest, but his erection poking hard at her belly. She began a slow waltz with him, humming that same tune he heard in the park. After two turns around the little room, she stopped. She looked up at him timidly, searching his face. Softly, she said, "You won't hurt me, will you, Jack?"

He knew she didn't mean by fucking her. He shook his head. "I was going to ask you the same thing."

They fell together across the bed. He wanted to touch her everywhere. He stroked her flanks, sending goose bumps over her body. He suckled one nipple and stroked the other. Now it was her turn to groan. He kissed her, starting at her mouth, then to her ear, and working his way down around her neck, to her throat, then scattering kisses, working his way ever so slowly down her body, stopping at her breasts, gently nipping at her hard, swollen nipples. His kisses continued down her tummy. She opened her legs to him invitingly. He felt between them. She was open and wet. He pulled back the covers, lifting her light body to tug them out from under her. "Fuck me," she said. "Now!" He knelt between her legs, then settled on top of her as she guided his throbbing cock into her cunt. And they fucked.

It really wasn't "making love." It was two near strangers sharing their emotional pain, thrusting at each other, grinding against each other, desperate for release. Jack seemed intent on plumbing the depths of Mary's belly, and she in turn seemed more than willing to welcome the hot intrusion. And the release came, hard, for both of them, their moans of ecstasy blending with each other, their juices mixing, their spasms melding, until spent. Jack collapsed on top of her. They lay like that, regaining their breath, until Jack's softening cock slipped out of her. He rolled his weight off her and they kissed again. Mary pulled the covers over them, cuddled under his arm, put her head on his chest, and they slept. This night, neither of them woke up at all until morning.

Jack woke when Mary got up in the morning. In the early light, she looked even more beautiful than the night before. She shivered in the cold and he saw her nipples harden. She took her clothes with her to the bathroom and came back dressed again. Realizing his welcome in her bed was at an end, Jack got up too and got dressed. She watched him dress, wrapping her arms around herself, hugging herself in the chill.

She said: "I hope you don't get the wrong idea. We had a great fuck, but that's all it was. A Merry Christmas fuck. I don't do relationships. Relationships are like fireworks. They look all sparkly and fun, but then they blow up in your face. After the holidays, you'll be off to make your fame and fortune. We had a good time this week. That's all it was. You don't hurt me, and I don't hurt you. Just fucking friends. No 'Relationship.' OK?"

He looked at her a long, long time. He half-way agreed. He'd been hurt more than enough already. No use risking it again. Trouble was, it was hurting already. He bit back the words that were trying to get out of his mouth - Merry Fucking Christmas to you too. Instead, he just nodded and bent down to pull on his socks and shoes.

When he stood up, she had gone quietly downstairs to her shop. He went out the back, across the back path to the park, over to the bakery for pastries and took the pastries back to the toy shop where Michael had the coffee pot on. Michael saw him come in. He cocked an eyebrow at Jack. "How was the movie yesterday? I thought it was a matinee, not a midnight special."

Jack said: "That was a terrible movie you sent us to, but I guess it worked out OK. It got me into bed with her at least, but this morning she sent me packing. Not ready for a 'relationship,' she says."

Michael looked thoughtful. Then he grinned at Jack: "So, it was Merry Fucking Christmas to you, huh? Well, things could be a lot worse. The thing about a woman is, it's a very short distance from her womb to her heart. You've gotten pretty close already. One more thrust, and you'll get there."

Jack was shocked. He had no idea Michael could be so earthy. Santa Claus talking about fucking wasn't quite what he expected.

Jack continued to see Mary at lunch each day and some mornings after his run he would take pastries to her shop to share with her for breakfast. On Monday night, he went to his room after the toy shop closed up. He typed for a while at his computer, and then sat staring out the window, hoping she would come dance in the park. But she didn't come that night. He didn't say anything to her about it on Tuesday at lunch, nor did he see her dancing on Tuesday night. On Wednesday at lunch, she commented that Michael hadn't played fair, sending them to that movie, but she'd had a good time. Then she'd blushed.

On Thursday afternoon, Michael said to Jack: "I think you need to buy your lady friend a gift and I think I have just the thing." He went searching through the display cases and shelves until he found it. He brought it over to Jack. It was a music box. On top of the music box there was a carved, enameled pair of dancers: A woman in a Victorian dress and a man in top hat and tails. Carefully, Jack wound the spring. Gently he moved the lever to let it play. It was a waltz: the same waltz that Mary liked to hum while she danced. The pair of dancers went around on a circular track on the lid and at the same time twirled around each other.

Jack looked at Michael in amazement. "Are you sure you aren't Santa Claus? This is incredible. Where did you get this?"

"Oh, just something I've been saving for the right person. That will be $100.

Jack laughed. "You know you could demand any price and I'd have to pay it. Ok, you sure know how to make a sale. I'll bet this is worth a lot more than $100." He got out his wallet, got out $100, and rang up his own sale on the cash register.

Later that afternoon, Jack went down the street to the tailor's shop. He ordered a full dress tuxedo with white tie and tails, complete with top hat. The tailor took his measurements and tried some things on him for size. He brought out a very slightly used tux (how often does anyone use a tux?) like Jack wanted. It wasn't quite the right size, but the tailor said he could alter it to fit and have it ready in a week. At the shoe repair shop Jack ordered a pair of patent leather shoes to go with the tux.