Christmas Story - By Unferth!

"Christmas" - By Unferth

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“Shall we dance?” She had stretched, ever so slightly onto her toes, so that her words came as a breath in his ear, her perfume sweet to his nose. As he hesitated, she brushed her lips against his “or perhaps you’d like to hold me as I dance or” – she pirouetted, graceful even in her high heels, so that she stood finger-tip apart from him, head tilted in question “would you just like to watch me?”

He looked away, awkward. He’d not been surprised when she’d said earlier that she was a dancer, she’d moved with a lithe elegance, the black of her dress catching the flaring and flickering as she lit candles in the flat. “I’m afraid I can only manage Gangnam Style – and that badly!”

Her head tilted again as she smiled– he couldn’t decide if he found the mannerism irritating or endearing. “We should put some music on, anyway.” She dropped his hand, turned and quickly traced the rack of CDs with her finger. He couldn’t see the title, just the red sleeve and smiling santaclause on the cover before she opened it, pulled out the CD and left the open case on the TV, and kneeled down to the CD player beneath. He watched her hemline rise – he still couldn’t see if the sheer of her thighs came from stockings or tights – and her skirt pull taut over her buttocks. “I don’t have any PSY” She turned, dropped her hands to the carpet “but Gangnam Style it is. You sit astride me!”

From the speakers, a keyboard played a simple waltz rhythm http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BjmGbI-Mnys

“I’ve never danced Gangnam to Saint Cliff!” Gingerly, he stepped over her, eased himself gently into the small of her back

“Me neither” she twisted her head round, so he could see her smile “Do you mind sitting a bit further back? Don’t want to damage myself”

“The child is a king…” he felt her rock beneath him, backwards and down, “…The carollers sing…” and forwards again, “..the old is past…”; back again: her bottom must have been pressed against her heels: his knees bent, his thighs nestled into the wide gold belt round her waist, and he rested his fingertips on her shoulders so that the straps of her dress peeped out between his fingers “…there’s a new beginning…” as she pivoted forward again, he felt her muscles tense beneath his fingers. “…Dreams of Santa…” his hands slid over her, so that her shoulders cupped in the palm of his hands ”… dreams of snow…” and, as she rocked forward again, he let her lift his feet off the carpet, let his fingertips flow across the warm sculpture of her shoulder bones. “…Fingers numb…” with his weight fully supported on her back, he could better feel the satin of her skirt as it slid between her hips and his thighs,”… faces aglow” He moved forward as she did, then, gripping her tightly between his knees leaned forward further, so he was almost laying flat on her back, his hands gripping her arms just above her wrists.

“Christmas time, Mistletoe and Wine…” He’d expected her to rock backwards again, “…Children singing Christian rhyme..” and was slightly unbalance as instead she swayed her hips. “…With logs on the fire…” from left to right in time to the singing: “…and gifts on the tree..” he heard her sharp intake of breath as he momentarily squeezed harder with his knees “…A time to rejoice in the good that we see”

“A time for living, a time for believing…” He was ready for the change this time, sitting straight, his palms on the cool smoothness of her dress back, his fingertips on the warmth of her skin “…A time for trusting, not deceiving…” his feet brushing the floor as she rocked, slowly backwards, then forwards again “…Love and laughter and joy ever after…” He wondered if, in the next verse “…yours for the taking, just follow the master.” he’d be able to kiss the nape of her neck, just beneath the knot of almost-black hair.

“Christmas time, Mistletoe and Wine Children singing Christian rhyme…” Then he realised, as he enjoyed the sensation of her hips, swaying beneath him in time to the chorus, that the back of her neck was stationary. “…With logs on the fire and gifts in the tree…” So he leaned forward, squeezing her waist, gripping her wrists, and gently touched the vertebra of her neck with his lips. “…A time to rejoice in the good that we see” Her gentle moans of pleasure as he kissed again counterpointed, in a dusky contralto, the melody of the song.

***

“I’ve set the CD so that it only plays one track at once” she explained, in the silence after the choirboy’s solo. He stood up: she stood up, stretched, then wrapped her arms around him again, pushed her body into his. “You enjoyed that, didn’t you? Again? But this time you can have reins! Its not proper Gangnam without reins.” She stepped back, reached to the back of her head and removed one, two three hairclips, and waves of hair cascaded down her back. As she turned quickly on her toes, to put the clips next to the CD box on the television, her hair flowing in the candlelight, seeming black against her pale skin, rich chocolate against the black of her dress, and casting a dark shadow across her belt. She tilted her head again, laughing. “Why don’t we up the stakes? If you can stay on my back as I dance, you choose the next track. If you can’t, I get to choose?”

“I don’t know which track is which”

“Ah, but I do! And it’s my flat, so I’ll make the rules up to give myself some advantage!” She dropped to her hands and knees again “Come on, think of a number from one to – er twenty, I think. But not three. Cliff was three.”

“One”

He sat astride her again as she pressed buttons under the TV. Then those chords http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MzczoqLBWAY “A good choice! If I was standing up I’d have my air guitar out.” Then suddenly her head was shaking, her body writhing in time to the music. He couldn’t catch her hair, and the smoothness of her back offered nothing, so he hooked his fingers into the gold of her belt, braced his knees into her waist with his feet and hung on as her upper body thrashed and shocked to the music.

“What will your daddy do…” She paused: the only movement was her breathing, heavy from her exertions “…When he sees your Mama…” and he took the opportunity to lean forwards, grab handfuls of her hair “…Kissin' Santa Claus?..” and pulled it tight, hoping that the reins she’d offered would control her ” “ …Ah ah” “Ah ah” – she sang along and as the music picked up the tempo again – she’d evidently caught her breath - “Are you hanging up a stocking on your wall?...” not headbanging now – his hold of her hair stopped that “…Are you hoping that the snow will start to fall?...” but rocking, twisting “…Do you ride on down the hillside in a boggy you have made?...” shaking and singing, suddenly rearing “…When you land upon your arse then you've been Slade.”

How she turned so quickly after he’d fallen of her back he didn’t know. He managed a rueful smile “I’m not sure that’s quite the right lyric”

“I threw you!” the singer’s cry of “Merry Christmas” became her cry of triumph!

***

The gold belt joined the hairclips on the television: her hemline dropped ever so slightly “Can’t give you too many things to hold on to! Ready for the next round?” She dropped to her hands and knees again, her dress more fluid now that the belt did not restrain it. “And it’s my turn to choose. Lets have thirteen!”

“Unlucky for someone” He sat, carefully on her back, gathered handfuls of her hair, and gave her ribs an experimental squeeze with his knees as she pressed the buttons on the CD player. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VCEZEOYdfwo

“DaDaDaDaDaDaDaDaDaDaDaDaDaDaDaDa” her hair held her head still, but her shoulders shook violently to the music until the straps of her dress pulled to guitar tightness… “DaDaDaDaDaDaDaDaDaDaDaDaDaDaDaDa” and at the cymbal splash, she arched her back. “Santa Claus is coming to town” And suddenly her head reared towards him: instinctively, he grabbed hold of her, almost letting go of her hair, then feeling the softness of her breasts push against his hands as she dropped back to all fours “Santa Claus is coming to town” This time, his face was filled with her hair, her perfume: he scrabbled with his feet to stay seated. “You’d better watch out, you’d better not cry, you’d better not pout, I’m telling you why.” He was more – or less ready for her this time, holding her shoulders through her hair, letting his legs take much of his weight, and able to enjoy the sensation of her back pressing against him…

“He's making a list…” She moved more gently now – perhaps tiring: he slipped forwards slightly, watching as the dress rucked and crinkled above her waist “…And checking it twice…” and pinned the hank of her hair to the back of her neck with his hand…” …Gonna find out who's naughty and nice…” and squeezed her with his knees, and very gently tapped her buttocks. “Santa Claus is coming to town” That gave her energy! “Santa Claus is coming to town” But he was ready: keeping his balance. Another tap on her arse – definitely not tights! And this was a dance he understood. He would choose the next track!