It's like the Great Wall of China up there...

I'm talking in my head.

The writers block. The wall is so high that if you cut my skull open, I'm sure it could be seen from space.

But I'm not going to complain - not now. Because it's Christmas, and it's a tough one already. Not one day has gone by this month that I haven't cried. But that's to be expected, right?

I know my dad would want me to go on - to have the Christmas spirit and continue all the traditions that we've established.

We're lucky we got the tree up this year.

My mom can't listen to any music - hasn't been able to since he passed. When she's not home, I put on the carols. Try to get some Christmas spirit going.

We used to have a "war" in the house - Jimmy Buffet's Christmas Island v. The Carpenters Christmas Album. Guess who's was who's? It kind of left the kids in the middle. My brother didn't care too much. Me? I love both.

So I've been listening to both.

Now, unfortunately, I don't know how to put something up on youtube. And my dad's favourite Jimmy song isn't on there. It's called Merry Christmas Alabama (Never Far From Home). I'd love to put it up here for everyone to listen to. (If anyone can figure out how I can do that, please LMK).

What I will do is put up one of my favourite carols - sung by the incomparable Lea Michele (yes she's on Glee, but her vocals are just incredible).





Hopefully I can find a way to make a few more posts before the holidays are over.

I think it's what my dad would have wanted.

Merry Christmas, every one.

Holiday Thanks

Hold hands with the person next to you. For me, it's disappointing, because it's not you. Won't be, can't be. Right now, it's him.

"We now bow our heads Lord, and silently give you thanks for all the blessings in our lives."

I'm hot. These days it doesn't take much - just a thought of your lips on mine, or the phantom touches that remain in my skin's memory from the last time we were together.

And it's been too long.

My body aches for your touch. Even something as innocent as holding your hand sends a burning through to my core.

I need you.

As we sit at the family dinner table, heads bowed, I smile because they would all be shocked if they could hear what I was giving thanks for.

I'm giving thanks for the eight inches of solid cock that I love sliding in and out of my mouth as your long fingers probe my aching pussy. I lick my lips as if I can still taste your jets of come spurting down my throat.

I'm giving thanks for that talented tongue that takes long laps at my wet cunt, from hole to clit and back again. I try not to visibly squirm as the thought causes my juices to flow, and my thighs tighten to hold back whatever might leak onto the good chairs mom has put out for the holidays. My stomach clenches and quivers as I think about long you fuck me with that tongue, bringing me to the edge, but never letting me go over. You're too cruel for that.

I try to sigh inaudibly, as my mind wanders, remembering laying flat on my back while you climbed on top of me, teasing me by rubbing your hard on against my slippery clit. I bite back a moan as my clit grows in anticipation, even though I don't know when I'll see you again. I shift a little, the movement causing friction against my sensitive bud. I hold my breath, waiting for the sensation to pass.

I'm giving thanks for your able hands, and how they grasp my sensitive nipples and twist them at just the right time, causing pain to add to my pleasure; how they tangle in my hair, forcing my head to the side so that you can bite into my neck, causing an internal bruise, but no marks are visible; how they caress my ass cheeks, bringing them apart before you insert a finger into my puckered hole.

I'm giving thanks for the time we have together, where you fuck me senseless; where I forget my name, and all that my life entails. I'm giving thanks for the way you fill me, in every sense; for the way you fulfill my desires and fantasies, even those I've never articulated.

And I'm giving thanks for the numerous times you've made me come - waves upon waves of hot, sticky pleasure, whether it be with your cock, your tongue, your hands, or with your memory and my hands, my toys.

I look up to see little sister staring at me with a bemused expression. Only she knows my secret. Only she knows why I'm smiling. He glances over, and smiles back at me. He'll never know.

"For all this and more, this holiday season, we give you thanks Oh Lord."

A-men.



©2008