Christmas 2015

Only 4 days and then it is Christmas.
Streets and shop windows are decorated. People are shopping for expensive gifts and food.

There is no snow. Temperatures are a 51,8°F at 06:10 in the morning. No snow is expected and yes, it is unusually warm.

Some specialists say it has nothing to do with global warming. They are contradicted by other experts.

To be honest I do not give a fuck. There are hidden agenda’s everywhere.

I simply close my eyes and I am back in the early sixties. Waking up in my bedroom at my grandparent’s place. Anxious and thrilled I jump out of bed. Look through the window. Hell, a white Christmas. Snow. A fucking lot of it.
Pleasure. Warmth. Loving and caring parents and grandparents. No sister yet. The world, Xmas, is mine.

A real tree. Gifts. A stocking. Plum Pudding. Crackers. The red glow of coal glowing and a clock ticking on the mantelpiece.
I close my eyes again. I can see the clock, feel its texture, hear the sound. Oh boy, I wish I had that clock. I cursed my mother when I found out she gave it away when her parents, my grandparents, were gone.

So Christmas, the early sixties. My mother, my father, my grandfather and grandmother.
Warmth and Love and Laughter.
Happiness.
Family.
The works, you know.

One evening, sleepless, getting out of bed and catching my parents filling Christmas stockings. Feeling the embarrassment of my father. I was six or seven, fuck, who cares.
After that I still believed. Like a wife believes her husband loves her even if he beats the shit out of her on a regular base.

1972 – No real Christmas. My father is gone. The decade that follows is not a happy one. My grandmother dies. Grandpa lives with us. It is hard because he is becoming senile.
Christmas in the late seventies is about drinking. Me drinking.
My mom says nothing. She likes booze too.

My first real relation. Xmas is okay but has lost its magic. My sister outs herself and my mom is devastated.

For 4 years it will be a burden and my first love fucks around and I am unhappy. I leave her and find a place of my own.

Christmas changes once again. Now I am a guest, invited by my mother. First she and me, then, finally, with my sis and her girlfriend.

I get married. Christmas the Italian way, the Sicilian way. I hate it. Every year again I fucking hate it. A bunch of noisy people yelling in a language I do not understand. It is not about gifts or pleasuring anymore. It is about showing off.

Ex notices that I am unhappy but she thinks it is because I don’t like her parents.

Ex is gone. I am alone with Christmas. And alone and alone and then there is M. For the next 4 years Christmas is about not being festive because breast cancer and alcoholism are now a part of my life. Don’t ask why please.

I am living alone since December 2006 and only these past 2 years I have set a small, 16″ high Christmas tree.

It is not the real stuff and I am aware that the sixties are long gone. Yet I am sure Princess will, one day, be able to give me a very valuable Christmas present.

I am convinced Princess will give me back the Christmas I am so longing for.

But until then, let there be no mistake. I hate the Christmas spirit more than I hate the annual IRS shit.

By the way, horny Santa Claus has only hot and sexy presents for Princess.

Anyway, I am cooking for Princess. Xmas eve will be a blast, culinary and BDSM wise.

Christmas 2015

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