So, I'm writing this at one o' nine on Christmas morning and not sure if it makes sense or not, I just got a random idea and had to write it down, call it my Christmas present to you :D
*I wrote this on Christmas day 2010. Thought I'd put it up because I can't wait for, like, nine months. I want to hear all of your opinions. (March 2011)
Anyways, enjoy, Josie x
It was Christmas Eve and all was silent in the house, nothing could be heard, not even a mouse. Okay, I'mma' stop right there. This sounds too much like The Grinch, at first that was the intention, but... well, now I just feel like a twat doing that. So, here's how it really started. I'd just come in from a Christmas party at a friend's. I was slightly tipsy (just a couple of drinks to celebrate baby Jebus' birthday, nothing too much), and now wandering in through the front door, trying not to wake anybody. I dropped my heels to the floor and went in search of the kitchen, needing a coffee.
As I flicked on the kitchen light switch, I heard a slight banging noise and the dink of baubles hitting the wooden floor. I grabbed my coffee and walked into the lounge to see the culprit of the noise sprawled across the carpet covered in soot. "S'cuse me, my family are trying to sleep. Now, get your ass outta' my house before I call the police." I said before I turned to walk away from the lounge. Stopping and turning on my heel, I did a double take of the guy that was now dusting himself off in the centre of our lounge. Okay, I'm not gonna' water it down, he was fucking gorgeous. He was like an orgasm dressed in red and ready to go. He was tall with tanned skin and dark brown hair, it sat scruffily around his face, framing it beautifully. It highlighted his strong cheek bones and gorgeous blue eyes. He was in a pair of red trousers that were fitted just enough to show his great legs, a tight, white v-neck t-shirt that did his toned chest great honours, a pair of red braces were stretched over his muscular shoulders and across his to-die-for chest. Man, I just wanted to go and rip his shirt off and run my tongue along those washboard abs. He wore a pair of black worker boots, the laces hanging freely, and a cute felt Santa hat was perched on his head.
I put my coffee on the phone stand, walked over to him and said "Okay, I don't believe in Santa, or any of that crap, so would you like to explain why you're dressed like that?" I put one hand on my hip and popped it out slightly.
"Well, I'm working." He replied, his voice like melted chocolate and runny honey. I raised an eye brow.
"So, let's just say that - for arguments sake - Santa is real. I'm pretty sure he's meant to be old, fat and white haired. Correct me if I'm wrong." I said, looking him up and down slyly.
"Nope, that pretty much sums up dad." He said with a grin on his face.
"Wait, huh...dad?" I stammered, turning my head to the side and having a confused-blonde-bimbo expression involuntarily plaster itself across my face.
He gently pinched my cheek, like an elderly aunt would, and said "Can you repeat that? Maybe put it into English that a normal person might be able to comprehend?"
"Please tell me I'm hearing things and that you didn't just say Santa is your dad."
"You're hearing things and I didn't just say Santa is my dad."
"Phew! So, I'm not going mad."
"Oh, you are. It's all true." He said, nodding with a smile sitting on his Cupid's bow lips that I so badly wanted to kiss.
"Then why'd you tell me that it wasn't?" I snapped.
"Okay, Hannah, you're asking all the wrong questions."
"How do you know my name?"
"I may be new to this, but I can read a gift tag. You're the only girl in this house."
"So, Santa's your dad?" I questioned, clarifying what he'd told me. He nodded. "And your Santa's son?" He nodded again. "How?" I asked, shaking my head in disbelief.
"Well, when a man and a woman love each other very much they-" He started, a smile tugging at his luscious lips.
I cut him off and said "Dude, I had the 'birds and bees' talk rammed down my throat when I was ten, I didn't wanna' hear it then and I sure as hell don't wanna' hear it now." He smiled and nodded.
"Let's just say that Santa's been a busy boy this year." He told me.
"Okay, eugh! Gag! Unwanted granny sex images entering the brain. Please stop."
"It wasn't granny sex. Some of the elves we have are very attractive and also very desperate."
"Okay, now you're taking the piss." He shook his head, his face straight and honest. "Urgh! That is gross and gag-worthy!"
"So, d'you have a name?"
"Nick." He muttered.
"Yep, my thoughts exactly." He said, referring to my thoughts of the many names for Santa; Father Christmas, Santa Claus, Père Noël, Papá Noel, Vater Weihnachten, Nollag athair, Boże Narodzenie ojca. All of them running through my head at the memory of a Christmas lesson we'd had in Languages before breaking up for Christmas.
"Alright, why are you doing the big man's job then?" I was just chopped full of questions tonight.
"The silly shit slipped on a toy car after too many a Brandy. Typical old men, eh?" He told me, his silky voice making my knees weak again. "Well, gotta' go now, only a few billion houses left to do. Merry Christmas, Hannah." Nick said before leaning towards me and dropping a sweet kiss on my forehead.
"Merry Christmas." I muttered.
"Thanks, and maybe lay off of the Vodka next year." I nodded as a blush rose to my cheeks.
After Nick left, I don't know how, it was all a bit of a blur of him going towards the chimney and then, sort of, poofing and vanishing, I looked into the mirror that hung above our fireplace and said "What the fuck just happened there?"
To this day, I'm still not sure as to whether my meeting Nick was real or part of my drunken haze. I do know that I'm never drinking that much Vodka again. So, all I can say to finish this 'tale' off is 'God bless us, everyone' in an awful - but cheery - cockney accent.