Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
I used to live in a small rural town, a community large enough to have a mayor, but small enough that he didn’t have to quit his day job. And while I was there I began helping out with the annual Christmas parade. At first I was just a general gopher, doing odd jobs and making sure people and floats were where they ought to be, but as I continued to help out, my job evolved. Eventually, shortly after my divorce, I found I had some extra time on my hands and accepted the position of chief coordinator for the day of the parade.
Now our town’s parade is a modest affair, and this past year proved to be as humble as most. It consisted of a string of about ten floats constructed on flatbed trucks, hay wagons pulled by tractors or open trailers behind pickups. Between these floats march the high school band, an ever-diminishing troop of World War Two vets, some truly frightening clowns, a group of horses that clearly consist on a diet of high-fiber hay and prunes, some of the homeliest cheerleaders I have ever witnessed, and a caterwauling knot of bagpipe enthusiasts (I carefully avoid referring to them as ‘players’, they don’t seem to play the bagpipes as much as they appear to be, well, torturing them, and judging by the sound that comes out of the instruments, that is exactly what they are doing.)
While the floats are not splendorous, they are indeed unique and often bewildering.
A local feed store offered up the float “North Pole Christmas”, which used as a centerpiece an igloo made entirely of clear plastic pop bottles. This resembled…a big round pile of pop bottles. And if it wasn’t for the three stuffed penguins (which I’m sure were won at the ring-o-lo game at last month’s fall fair) it would be hard to tell just what the float was trying to represent. I decided not to mention that there are no penguins at the North Pole. Anyone who thought that a wayward Inuit had wandered that far north and built an igloo was clearly not interested in accuracy. The float was accompanied by music, provided by a 1980’s era ‘ghetto blaster’ that had lights on the speakers and a sound quality that could only described as rhythmic static. Standing in front of the pile of bottles was what I could only assume to be the hopelessly lost Inuit, although I’m not sure that an Inuit would wear quite that type of snowmobile suit, and he certainly wouldn’t scotch tape a fur steering wheel cover to his hood in quite that fashion.
As humble as the North Pole float was, the opposite end of the spectrum could be seen on the “Christmas In Wonderland” float. It could have been called “A Colgate Christmas” with its dazzling whites, glittering sparkles and bright shiny silvers (think dental braces). The float was built around a remarkable tree, of which I will speak more of momentarily. There were graceful, snow covered slopes and finely sculpted drifts, all bright white and dusted with shimmering sparkles and silver sequins. When the sun hit the float it looked like half-time at the Super Bowl. The effect was so dazzling that even the snowsuited kids on the float itself were staggering around bumping into each other in a blinded stupor.
However, the most arresting feature of the float was the tree at the center. It swept majestically upwards, its great lush green boughs frosted in glistening snow, delicate silver garland hanging in fine draping loops from its branches, and as it towered towards the heavens it came to an abrupt halt. The tree had been unceremoniously truncated about three quarters of the way up, leaving the top of it a flat bare stump. Apparently the float had encountered some issues with the town’s overhead electrical wires and about sex feet of tree had to be lopped off.
“Couldn’t you have cut the bottom off of it and lowered the tree?” I asked the lady in charge of the float. The look she gave me clearly indicated that the thought had not crossed her mind. And as it did now, it brought tears to her eyes.
The float called “A County Christmas” looked as if someone had opened the attic window and tipped the house over, spilling its contents onto a hay wagon. There was every manner of gaudy lawn ornament known to man stuffed haphazardly into great piles of cotton batting. Plastic snowmen leaned on plywood Santas. Plaster reindeer stood in drunkenly reeling lines, and garden gnomes trying desperately to pass themselves off as elves hunched beside hastily decorated shrubs that looked as if they had been pulled at random from people’s yards as the float made its way over to the parade grounds. In fact, the entire float looked that way. Perhaps there were some irate neighborhoods that had been ransacked and pillaged by this parade-route pirate ship.
The “Gingerbread House” float caused quite a stir and the paramedics were only just leaving. The house itself was a large cardboard box festooned with “candy”, Frisbees, coloured paper plates, paper Mache swirls among other round items. It resembled a giant yard sale box that escort ataşehir had been turned inside out.
Earlier a boy was brought to me who was in obvious pain. He was clutching his stomach and groaning, complaining about the Gingerbread House. After I had talked with him for a few moments, I called one of the assistants over. “Take this boy to his mother and tell her that Einstein Junior here has eaten about five buttons.”
Finally the floats were in place and the parade was ready to begin. It was just about then that began to fall apart. Margaret, the other coordinator, rushed up to me with a dark scowl on her face. No good news ever comes from people wearing dark scowls.
“I just got a call from Ida Lane,” she said. I could feel the tinny taste of rising panic in my mouth. Ida was Rod Lane’s wife. Rod Lane was our Santa Claus. He had been the Santa for as long as anyone could remember, a fact I found startling considering that this was the same Rod Lane who frequently took out personal ads in the local paper looking for “adventurous couples interested in swinging”. Rod and Ida were in their late sixties and were widely shunned as the town perverts. Interesting how towns seem to need these ‘official’ characters in order to function: town drunks, town fools, town ne’er do wells, town perverts. I wanted to be the town Poet Laureate, but I doubted that any of my dirty limericks would qualify me.
However, I thought the town was a bit harsh on old Rod and Ida until one evening when I was driving past their place I saw them in their living room window with the curtains open. Rod was wearing something that I have only previously seen on Freddie Mercury and Ida was on all fours on the coffee table, sporting a pony saddle on her back. At that point I decided that in the future I would find an alternate route home.
But still Rod was a great Santa. He had the full belly, the rosy cheeks, the glimmering eyes and, more importantly, he owned his own suit.
“What’s happened to Rod?” I asked.
“He fell down and broke his leg.”
“How?” I asked. The look that Margaret gave me told me that I really didn’t want to know. I nodded in comprehension. “Okay,” I said, “see if you can find me a new Santa.”
“I have a list as long as my arm,” she said.
“This is like Miracle on 54th Street.” I said.
“This ain’t no 54th Street, honey,” Margaret said. “This is Disaster on Rural Route 3.” With that, Marge tossed a plastic shopping bag at me. I opened it up and found that at least Rod had sent his suit along. I hoped and prayed that he and Ida hadn’t played “Santa Meets the Naughty Girl” with it.
Before I had a chance to figure that out, the parade had started moving. Immediately there were problems. The North Pole float took a sharp turn and the entire pop bottle igloo rolled off the trailer and out onto the road. It sounded as if a crowd of a hundred people were standing around popping their thumbs out of their mouths. Then the leader of the high school band rushed up and asked if we could place the horses behind the marching band instead of in front of it. A sensible idea if I ever heard one. And finally one of the guys off the Country Christmas float, the one that looked like Santa’s Trailer Park, came over and asked very casually if anyone had a spare fire extinguisher…
And then I noticed the Santa float, still bereft of a Santa. A sense of agitation dawned on me, then eased aside to allow urgency to come along, which ducked down so a good dose of panic could fly by.
I ran around aimlessly for a good ten minutes, looking for a good Santa but everyone I came across was already busy with one aspect of the parade or another. It began to dawn on me that there really was only one solution.
I pulled the suit on and looked at myself in the reflection of a van window.
It appeared that hard times had fallen on the North Pole and starvation was rampant. If Santa ever started looking like this, I was positive the reindeer would begin to get skittish. Tonight’s menu: brisket of Blitzen.
The suit hung off me in great folds and the beard covered most of my face so that I looked as if I was french-kissing a bisson-frieze. I dug around in the back of my car and came up with an old sweater which I balled up and stuffed into the jacket. Now I looked as if the famine had really taken its toll and I was starting to bloat.
Margaret wandered over and had a good laugh, but she produced a pillow from somewhere and tucked my beard up with scotch tape and an elastic band.
I still looked like a scrawny Santa, but at least I was more presentable.
The parade was about to start and I bounded up onto the Santa sleigh and took my seat. The Santa float was the oldest float in the parade and it showed. The sleigh itself was badly in need of a new paint job and several of the reindeer had seen better days as well. In fact the entire reindeer entourage looked as if it had been kadıköy escort bayan set upon by a ravenous pack of wolves. There were ears missing, noses broken off and legs hanging onto the bodies with duct tape and good intentions.
I was also accompanied by two women dressed as elves. One was Rita Hoffle, the big lady from the grocery store who threw hard candy at the kids with a Nolan Ryan sidearm. Her idea of an elf suit was green warm up pants and a sequined vest.
The other elf was Nora, the leggy hairdresser who had volunteered three years ago to wear an elf costume and had just assumed that her place was on the Santa float ever since. Not that anyone ever complained. Nora’s elf costume was scandalously brief and showed off her long legs and ample cleavage. The kids cheered for Santa, but the fathers cheered for an entirely different reason.
I seemed to bump into Nora a lot lately, at the Coffee Mill, the grocery store, the dentist, and she was always warm and flirtatious with me. I only assumed that she was like that with everyone, that it was just her way.
When I sat down Nora was shocked to see me. After I explained the situation she smiled. “At least I won’t have Rod trying to grab my ass for the entire parade route,” she said. “But you,” she leaned down, revealing a generous amount of breast in the process, “can feel free to try anytime.” I looked up into the sultriest pair of blue eyes I had ever seen on an elf.
I glanced over to the portly Rita, but she was preoccupied warming up her pitching arm.
“You should try the microphone,” Nora said. I picked up the mic and looked at it doubtfully. Rod had a nice deep voice that resonated wonderfully in a particularly Walter Cronkite way. I on the other hand had a voice that sounded less like a broadcaster and more like one those guys reporting from in front of hurricanes.
“Ho, ho, ho,” I said, hesitantly into the mic. My voice came out of the speakers sounding almost exactly like the Jolly Green Giant on helium. “Maybe I’ll just wave,” I said. Nora nodded vigorously.
“You’re awfully fit to be Santa, aren’t you?” Nora asked.
“I want to be a positive role model for kids,” I said, “Santa promotes obesity in children.”
“Kids want to SEE Santa Claus, they don’t want to BE Santa Claus,” she said. She had a point. I shut up and waved.
It was rewarding to be Santa. The kids were smiling and cheering and shouting, except for those who were being pelted with eighty-five mile-an-hour candy canes being delivered by Rita “The Rocket”. And not only was I rewarded by the reaction of the children, but as an added bonus, I had a particularly winsome elf standing in front of me, bending over at the waist, showing me her delightful ass and legs and using every opportunity to turn around and flash her breasts at me. It was difficult to concentrate, especially when she would lean over and ask if I gave special presents to really naughty girls.
“After the parade,” she said, “I want to sit on Santa’s lap and give him a gift in return.” I blushed as red as my outfit and felt very jolly indeed.
The parade actually went quite smoothly. I had lots of assistance and the volunteers did a wonderful job of keeping everything moving. As we rounded the last corner and pulled into the arena parking lot, I let out a sigh of relief. Quickly I bounded off the float, prepared to get everything squared away and direct traffic so people could get their floats home. We were also planning an after-parade get-together with hot chocolate and donuts so I was eager to get inside the arena and make sure the arrangements had been taken care of. Just as I was about to run off, I heard Nora call to me from the float.
“Don’t take that Santa suit off, lover,” she said. “Believe me; I’ll make it well worth your while.”
I grinned like a schoolboy and blushed. I could feel my ears turn red.
I did remove the scratchy beard and the pillow however, and had to tuck the costume pants into the waist of my jeans underneath. As I walked around, people congratulated me on how well the parade went and what a wonderful job I did as Santa. I believed the former and took the latter as just good manners.
I did discover that the boy who ate the buttons turned out okay, and that the doctor had found about twenty-six cents in loose change and a piece of Lego as well.
I kept craning my neck looking for Nora, but I was kept so busy that I could only catch quick glimpses of her. By the time things wound down it was dark outside and Nora was nowhere to be found. I wandered out into the parking lot and looked at the remaining floats, the ones that were actually owned by the parade committee. I was tired but content, it had been a good day and the parade had been a success. I had missed my chance with Nora, but it would give me something to fantasize about later.
I picked up the shopping bag with the Santa beard in it from off the float and turned escort bostancı to head to my car.
“You should put that beard back on, Santa.”
I turned and saw Nora coming out of the arena door, still dressed in her short elf skirt.
“I thought you had left long ago.”
“And miss telling Santa what I want for Christmas?” she said playfully. “You don’t get a chance like that every day.”
She walked past me and stepped up onto the Santa float. In the dim glow of the arena lights I caught a glimpse of her beautiful pale naked ass beneath her skirt. She hopped up onto the float and sat down on the sleigh.
In a flash, I was up on the sled myself. I’m sure my eyes were twinkling and my dimples, if I had any, would have been merry. Nora leaned over and slipped the beard down over my face. As she did so, I had a wonderful view of her deep cleavage.
“Now, Santa what I really want for Christmas is a ride to the North Pole.” She sat down on my lap and felt my hardness pressing into her. “Well, there’s the North Pole now!”
This was just about the corniest thing I had ever done, but at that moment I couldn’t have cared less. Nora took my hand and placed it on her hot, naked thigh.
“You know what I find tragic? Every year Santa brings presents to all the good little girls and boys, but nobody ever gets a present for Santa. Well, Santa, this is your lucky year.” She slid my hand up to the soft warm skin of her inner thigh. I could feel an even greater heat emanating further afield. “This year Santa, I want to give you a very special present.”
With that my fingers touched her, she was smooth, shaved completely and her skin was hot and moist. I let my finger run up and down the satiny slit for a few moments and then slipped a digit inside her. She groaned loudly and pushed her pelvis against my hand.
She rocked on my finger for a moment and then pulled up as I added a second. My thumb rolled over her clit, causing her to cry out in the cool night air. She began to bounce up and down, driving my fingers deep into her. Her arousal ran down my wrist as she gasped and panted.
And then she froze, her body vibrated and tensed and she let out a soft, high squeal. I felt her fluid gush over my hand as she came.
Nora took a moment to catch her breath then leaned back against me. “Oh Santa, you ended up giving me a gift after all. Wow.” She then climbed off me and got down on her knees between my legs. “Poor Santa, I think you need a bit of attention.” She pulled my red flannel pants down and undid the jeans beneath. In a moment, my hard cock was standing straight up in the cold air.
“Jesus, Santa, you could kill a girl with that,” Nora said. She wrapped her hand around my shaft and I groaned out at the intense feeling of her soft, warm palm around me. I saw her lower her head and felt the hot, wet heat of her lips suck around me.
Nora’s head began to bob up and down, slowly and rhythmically at first, then more passionately until finally she was frantically sucking on me. It felt amazing, her lips sliding up and down my shaft. Too amazing, I suddenly realized and begged Nora to stop. She sat back on her haunches, a wide grin on her lips. “Did that feel good, honey?”
“Oh my god, yes,” I said.
Nora reached into her top and pulled a condom out from between her breasts. She tore it open with her teeth and began rolling it down my cock. “I am going to make your Christmas fantasies come true.” She looked at me in the eyes. “Who’s kidding who, this is actually MY Christmas fantasy.”
She straddled me, one hand on my shoulder, the other hand guiding my cock into her. And then she sat down, her pussy engulfing me completely. I gasped and thrust upwards, pressing against her cervix. She cried out and threw her head back as she began to ride me. My hands went to her breasts and I pulled the bodice of her elf costume down. It was elastic and came over her breasts easily. She had removed her bra, and her creamy globes sprang free, almost glowing in the dim streetlights.
I buried my head between her bobbing breasts, taking one nipple between my lips and then another. She was gasping and pulling my head to her chest, hissing for me to suck her tits. I complied completely and devoured her, sucking her nipples hard between my lips.
By now the float was really rocking. I looked up in time to see a reindeer teeter over in the cotton batting, it’s cracked and busted hooves flicking up into the air. Nora’s fingernails suddenly dug into my shoulders and she cried out “I’m cummmmming!!”
I felt her tense up and shudder, her muscles clamping down on me like a velvet fist. It was too much and I joined her in my own climax.
She flopped against me, her breasts pressing into my face. I fell back and we sort of lay in a panting heap on the sleigh.
“Well Santa,” she asked between breaths, “am I on your naughty list or you’re nice list?”
“Oh god, Nora, the naughtier you are, the nicer it is,” I said. She laughed and began to untangle herself.
“I think, we should do this again real soon,” she said, leaning over me and kissing me on the mouth. “Just because Christmas only comes once a year doesn’t mean Santa should.”
Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32