Hello everyone!
Today has been a very productive day, and I’ll tell you why: not only did I get to post a very interesting story in a genre never attempted by me before (probably for the last time too) – erotica – but I’m also publishing a guest post. Well, I call my work super soft erotica, because I could honestly not write something too graphic. I could describe to you a whole murder scene, but a sex scene – off limits. Anyway, I have the pleasure to introduce you to a wonderful tweep, Simon Tall, aka @simonpoore. Please follow this guy because his writing truly rocks my socks off, even if I wear no socks right now.
Our yesterday conversation led us to discuss shoes – high heel shoes – and how a girl can become the biggest source of attraction just by wearing the right pair of shoes… This became a story. On my end, a temptress who lives just for sex. On Simon’s end, a fantasy that turned into harsh reality.
Please enjoy this amazing read. I present to you: The Girl Called Christmas.
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“The Girl called Christmas”
The Tuesday before Christmas…
Trevor woke with a start. It was dark and his head was throbbing, like the blood in his skull was trying to escape, pounding against the pillow. He took a few deep breaths and rolled over onto his back. The red numbers on his clock said 2:15. Two fifteen AM. Through a small gap in the curtain he could see that snow was still falling, tiny flakes melting on the glass. He began to lift his head but thought better of it. The dark room seemed to spin and he still felt drunk. He lay back and sighed, spreading his body. His arm fell over the side of the bed and his hand hit something on the floor. His fingers gripped it; a shoe. His fingers traced it’s shape, a woman’s shoe. He lifted it to the dim red light coming from the numerals of the digital clock. A leopard print shoe with a very high stiletto heel. A puzzled crease appeared across his brow as he stared at the shoe in the dim light. How did that get there?
Looking around he could see the bathroom light glowing from under the door. Suddenly it opened with a soft click. Startled, he lifted his head again to see and he caught a glimpse of the curves of a female figure in silhouetted in the light. She doused the light and padded across the carpet in the dark.
Trevor just lay there confused, the shoe still in his hand, unable to see her properly in the dark.
“I see you are awake,” she said, her voice husky, seductive, like gravel mixed with honey, “would you like me put those on for you again?”
She reached the bed and took the shoe from his hand. Leaning down she cupped his cheek in her hand, her soft hair falling on his face. He see the curve of her naked breast and could almost taste her scent, sweet and coy, with the merest hint of sex.
Before he could speak she pressed a long delicate finger on his lips, “don’t say a word, just lie back and enjoy…again.” He couldn’t see her face but sensed from her voice that she was probably smiling.
She walked to the far side of the bed, in the dark he could see her hour glass shape as she seemed to be dressing. His mouth was dry and he rubbed his face, but he could feel the deep stirrings of anticipation.
His eyes watched her shape, desperate to see this girl. He had no idea who she was or how she came to be in his apartment. For once though he thanked his lucky stars. Drinking several too many whisky sours on a Tuesday night had actually been a good idea.
She returned to stand by his side of the bed. He could smell her again. She leant down and turned on the lamp on the bedside table, adjusting its angle poise head. Light streamed downwards and Trevor blinked in its brightness. He looked down at her shoes. Perfect stockinged feet inside them.
“You know you can touch them,” she said. He reached over the edge of the bed and placed his hand on her foot, feeling the shoe and silky stocking on her foot. He was breathless now and his hand was shaking.
“I know you like to look…and touch…” she said. He let his hand glide up her leg, feeling the seam of the glossy stocking at the back of her calf, fingers tracing its arc. His eyes followed his hand, staring in lust at her legs. Fingers lingering on her thigh he looked up at her body slowly, taking in the black silk and lace clinging to her curves, encasing her breasts. Her face was in darkness above the cone of light from the lamp.
“Let me see your face?” he whispered.
“Tut tut,” she said, “you know the rules.”
Without saying anything further she pulled back the bedcovers and switched of the light. His hands caressing her as she straddled him in the dark, and he surrendered himself to pure anonymous, sensuous pleasure.
And so it had begun. Every Tuesday night she appeared, somehow in his apartment, and they followed a routine of pleasure like no other he had ever experienced. The first Tuesday he tried retracing his steps, drinking in the same bars, but he couldn’t tell if she was there or not having not seen her face. She appeared that night anyway, waking him with her skilful fingers. Again he didn’t see her face. The next week he stayed home and and tried to stay awake, but just as he was dozing off she appeared from the bathroom and into the darkness of his room. He couldn’t tell how she got in. He tried to ask her questions but she remained coy and mysterious, preferring to concentrate on their mutual pleasure. Sometimes she would talk; erotic whispers and compliments. Sometimes she silently pleasured him and herself in the most sensuous and imaginative ways he had known. Always the shoes; every encounter began with the delicious leopard print stilettos coupled with the most amazing lingerie. Her stockings seemed like gossamer under his rough fingertips. Sometimes corsets or basques of all designs, sometimes a simple bra of finest silk. She was like his fantasies all come true; all he had ever dreamed for in a woman, and, for Trevor, it was like Christmas came every Tuesday.
And always, she hid her face in the dark…
Soon he accepted the delicious routine of it. His days were spent anticipating their next encounter and he smiled often, daydreaming of who she might be. His imaginings of her began to fill his waking hours. Love? Could he be in love with her? Without seeing her face? She was his true life fantasy girl, could he spoil it all by demanding to know who she was, what she really looked like?
The next Tuesday she appeared again like clockwork. He lay in the dark waiting. This time she came through the door to the hallway. Moonlight streamed from the open curtain and she crossed its beam. Her face was covered by her hair, she was dressed in a tight fitting little black dress, a simple string of pearls at her neck. She clutched her bag as if she were going to a fancy dinner party at an embassy. On her feet as always were the shoes, perhaps incongruous and slutty compared to the demure but sexy dress.
“Hello,” she said softly, sitting on the edge of the bed, her hand slipping slowly under the bed covers to caress him. Trevor placed his hand on her thigh.
“I was going to give you a name, like ‘Christmas’ or something,” he said smiling, “because being with you is like Christmas.”
“How nice,” she purred.
“But I guess that’s a bit silly,” he said pausing.
She continued to touch him slowly in the silence. His breathing quicken for a moment. He slid his fingers under her dress, caressing her stocking tops and the soft milky skin above.
“Why do you always wear those shoes?” he asked.
“Because these are my sex shoes, my ‘fuck me’ shoes. And of course I know you love them so,” she replied.
“You are wonderful,” he sighed, reaching up to touch her face. His fingers pressed her cheek and suddenly she froze. The skin of her face was soft and smooth but something was wrong. He realised as his fingers traced along her face that they had never kissed. Somehow during all of their delicious love making she had engineered every movement, controlled it so that he never touched her face.
He sat bolt upright in the bed, something was very wrong. He moved his hand further along her face, he could feel no lips, no contours, no eyes! Jumping quickly out of the bed he ran to the wall and slapped on the light switch. And there she sat, the girl called Christmas in all her glory. Her body was perfection itself but she simply had no face, her perfect blonde hair framed an empty picture. No features; simply smooth flat skin.
“What the fuck..” said Trevor, naked back against wall in panic, “what the fuck are you?”
A small lipless mouth appeared through the skin at the bottom of her faceless face as she began to speak softly and calmly. “Maybe I am your ‘dream’ come true,” she said, “maybe I am everything you ever wanted from a relationship. Or maybe…just maybe…you should be much more careful what you wish for next Christmas…”
With that she rose demurely and crossed the carpet, hips swaying seductively. Trevor slumped down the wall, his eyes fixed on her blank face. He sat on the floor and watched her perfect shape slip through the door.
The Tuesday before Christmas…one year later…
Trevor sat alone at the bar, nursing a cola, picking nuts from a bowl and staring into space.
“Hello,” said a female voice, breaking his reverie. He turned to see a girl climbing onto the bar stool next to him. She was pretty but prim, ordinary in a check shirt and jeans, straggly brown hair up in a bun.
“You know what,” she said, “I fancy a whisky sour, it’s been a rough day…join me?”
Trevor found himself looking into her eyes, “Well,” he said smiling, “I haven’t had one of those in quite a long time, don’t mind if I do…I’m Trevor…
The Manicheans 