I was feeling completely sorry for myself. Here I was, on Christmas Eve, all alone in a big city, Toronto, knowing no-one. I was totally pissed off at my husband-to-be, Rick, for dragging me to Toronto, for leaving me alone while he went off on a business trip to London — no, not London, Ontario — London, England!

Sure, he had found us a nice house to rent, and he had furnished it comfortably as our new love-nest, but then he had flown off to London on a public relations job to please his boss. I'm sure he could have pleaded off, and got the trip deferred to the New Year, but no, he was too chicken to face up to his boss.

Actually, that's not very fair of me. Rick is in line for a major promotion, so he would have been foolish to turn this trip down. I was just being selfish and bitchy.

But whatever - I was home alone on Christmas Eve, with my boyfriend five thousand miles away in London, and my family and friends three thousand miles away in Vancouver.

I decided to make the most of a miserable evening and had a nice hot shower and climbed into my red long-johns - The ones Rick likes so much; the ones with the flap in the back. I think that's why Rick likes them so much, that flap in the back!

I began to feel very nostalgic for other Christmas Eves in other places and other times, in particular in my childhood. I remembered Mother and Father setting out treats for Santa by the fireplace - egg-nog and cookies - always two glasses on egg-nog laced with white rum, and always four cookies. It only occurred to me much later that the Santa treats were actually for Mother and Father - one egg-nog and two cookies each, a well-deserved reward after setting up the tree, getting us kids off to bed, and laying out whatever presents they could afford that year, usually meagre, but chosen with love.

I raided Rick's liquor stash to make a couple of egg-nogs for Santa now, just as Mother and Father had always done. Sadly, I knew these would still be there in the morning, and I would end up pouring them down the sink. I wouldn't drink them. They were doubly poisonous to me. I am both a recovering alcoholic and a lactose-intolerant.

Likewise with the only cookies Rick had bought - rum-balls. If I ate even one of those I'd be likely to drink the rest of the rum in Rick's stash. But I laid out the goodies for Santa on an end-table anyway.

Rick and I had shopped for real tree in Toronto parking lots, and chosen a glorious one. He and I had decorated it together before he flew off to England. I lit it up now. We also had a real fireplace and chimney, but I didn't know how long since the chimney had been cleaned, or whether it was even useable. We had put a small electric insert into the fireplace and I turned this on now for a little extra warmth, over and above the toasty heat from the central furnace. Snow on the windowsills and flickering past a street lamp I could see through the window reminded me that it was bitterly cold outside. I also tuned our wall-mounted 50" HDTV to the Yule Log Fireplace Channel where a log burned eternally. Christmas music in surround sound gently suffused itself throughout the room.

I turned the room lights low, just relying on the twinkle from the Christmas tree lights and the flicker from the burning electronic Yule log on the wall. I ignored the two recliner rockers, and the sumptuous sofa, and instead curled up with a couple of pillows, my battered childhood Teddy Bear, and our cat on the white faux-fur rug in front of the non-functioning fireplace. The electric insert at least exuded a little glow of warmth. With just the ambient light available, I began to play a silly but amusing Christmas game on the iPad Rick had bought me for my birthday.

After a while the game began to annoy me. The silly frog, despite all my efforts, kept getting run down by the Christmas shopping traffic. The game was repetitive, and I soon lost interest and let the pleasant music and the warmth of the room lull me into a light slumber.

I was awoken with a start, by the yowl of the cat, and a muttered, "Shit! Sorry puss. Didn't see your tail there!" I opened my eyes to see a strange figure before our fireplace. It couldn't be! Yes, it was! Santa Claus was standing in my living-room! The cat hissed at the intruder and fled the scene. I leapt to my feet, still clutching my Teddy Bear.

"Sorry about that," said the figure before me. "I'm not supposed to wake you - or your cat. New at this!"

This Santa was far from my pre-conceived notion of what Santa should look like. For starters, he was not round at all, and didn't seem particularly jolly. Rather than a full, bushy white beard, the had a small, trimmed, blonde goatee, and his blonde hair was trimmed fairly short. He seemed to have lost his tunic somewhere, and was wearing a tight-fitting singlet which showed off his manly physique perfectly. His red work-pants, held up by black braces, emphasized the interesting bulge at his crotch.

He was carrying a brown sack, and poking out of it were a couple of items which surprised me. One was a camera which I knew Rick wanted, but I hadn't had time to search out and buy for him. Another was a pair of hiking boots I had admired while window-shopping with Rick just a few days before.

In spite of being amazed at seeing this apparition standing there, I ventured to ask, "Are you really Santa?" fearing that he was either a vision, or some dastardly burglar come to rob us on Christmas Eve.

"For now I am," he replied. "My old dad is feeling a little poorly this year, so I'm filling in on some of his calls."

There was no "Ho! Ho! Ho!" with this guy. He was very down-to-earth and business-like — not to mention sexy.

"You're Santa's son, then?" I asked.

"Yep, that's me — Junior."

"I didn't know he even had a son." I exclaimed.

"Pops doesn't advertise the fact too much," he explained. "I think he's a little embarrassed about me."

"Why?" I asked.

"Well, mostly because I'm like you and your boyfriend. I like the guys. Pops and Moms think I should settle down with some nice chick instead of some nice guy. I think they are worried that there'll be no-one to carry on the old traditions. I tell him I could always adopt, or find a surrogate, but he insists it just wouldn't be the same."

I was warming to this young Santa - and so were my genitals. I could feel my cock swelling in my red Union suit.

"So what brings you to our house?" I asked. "Don't you think I'm a little old for Santa?"

"No-one's too old for Santa!" he admonished me. "Besides, we knew you were alone, that Rick was way off in London. I visited him there earlier, by the way."

"You did?" I asked, amazed.

"Yep," he said. "We had a nice time together. Don't know whether he'll remember it or not, though. Probably think it was just a dream."

"Where's your jacket?" I asked. "Did you leave it behind somewhere?"

"Nope," he assured me. "It's in my sack. I was getting too hot climbing up and down all these chimneys."

"Do you have something good for me?" I asked, like a greedy child.

Santa Junior put down his toy sack and grasped his real one with both hands in the age-old gesture.

"How about this?" he asked, tugging at his crotch, and grinning broadly, a wicked gleam in his eyes.

It sent my blood racing, but although Rick and I had said that we would have an open relationship, I hadn't yet tested that.

"Well, thanks for the offer," I said, hesitantly, "but I don't think so."

"Why not?" Santa asked. "Rick did, and thoroughly enjoyed himself!"

"You're kidding!" I exclaimed.

Now I knew he was telling the truth.

"in that case … " I began.

"Come and get your Christmas package," he cried, flipping down the front of his red work pants to expose a massive uncut cock. It didn't take me long to drop to the rug, grasp the thick shaft, and bury my face in his golden pubes.

"Ho! Ho! Ho!" he roared. While I chewed on Junior's meat, he managed to slip off his own pants and my long-johns. But, somehow, seeing him naked except for his boots, cap and singlet, took the edge off it for me. He was now just another naked man, not Santa any more.

"Put your tunic on," I begged him. "Let me see you're Santa."

"I'll put on the coat if you wear these," he countered, handing me the boots I had recently admired. "I always find a naked man in boots is so sexy - and kinky." While I put the boots on, he pulled out his tunic and donned it. He was doubly sexy with his cute bubble-butt poking out below the hem of his coat.

I won't go into dirty detail about all the fun and games we two had in the ensuing half-hour or more, suffice it to say that I did get to feel his fat Christmas tree-trunk deep inside me, and to have him suck on my own candy cane.

It all climaxed - a very fitting word here - with him exploding all over me as I lay on my back on the rug, his stiff cock waving up and down and shooting his seed everywhere as he knelt over me, riding my own rigid cock, which took the cue and shot my cum deep inside his bowels.

"Well, that's your Christmas cheer for this year," he said, lifting himself off my still-rigid cock. "Maybe we'll meet again when you and Rick have a kid of your own. Till then … Ho! Ho! Ho!"

And he was gone! Not a sign that he had even been here.

Perplexed, but sated and exhausted, I drifted back to sleep, his warm cum all over me.

When I woke, it was morning, and I was naked and covered with still-wet cum. At first I thought I must have had a wet-dream, but then I remembered my visitor and smiled. If it was a wet-dream it was a very pleasant one.

I felt something on my head. I reached up and touched it. It was a Santa cap! And there was something on my feet. I looked down at them. I was wearing the hiking boots I had tried to hint to Rick that I wanted! And except for the cum, the rest of my body was naked!

Just then the phone rang. Naked, I answered it.

"Merry Christmas, David, honey." It was Rick, calling from London.

"You, too," I relied. "I wish you were here."

"I'll be home in two days," he assured me. "Then we'll celebrate Christmas in our own good time."

"How did you spend Christmas Eve?" I asked him.

"Alone," he said, sadly. "Except …I had a very strange wet-dream," he went on. "I don't remember much of the details, but I think it must have been about you," he added, "because I woke up covered in cum, and you're the only guy that does that for me."

I smiled to myself again. Santa Junior had suggested Rick might not remember.

"Well, hurry on home," I told him. "Maybe I can help you remember."

It was after I hung up the phone that I noticed a couple of other details in the room.

The egg-nog and cookies were gone, and I knew I didn't drink or eat them. If I had, I'd probably be in the emergency room right now.

And then I noticed under the tree the camera Rick wanted. It had a gift tag on it. Glancing down at my boots, I noticed that they also had a gift tag. I stooped to check it out. It read:

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