A Story by Peter Rogerson

That pain his chest and a beauty beyond belief....


Santa felt a sudden burning in his chest.

The bimbo stood on the apex of an old thatched roof, and smiled. Santa had to swerve the sleigh to avoid colliding with a crumbling brick chimney, and stared.

How, he wondered, could anyone be wearing so little on a night like this and still be breathing?

The bimbo was breathing. Clouds of mist issued from her mouth and drifted off towards the moon.

What are you doing here like that, me beauty?” he whispered in what he believed to be his sexiest voice.

He asked because the bimbo was beautiful.

He'd never seen such beauty before, and he had two Mother Christmases at home in the Ice Castle, though one of them could hardly be accounted as anything but ugly in the way that women who have totally let themselves go can seem ugly. But the other, his blonde and beautiful better half (or, he mused irreverently, better third) was truly special. And she loved him. He knew she did. It had always seemed a little bit odd, just one of those weird things that grace us in life, which is partly why he loved her in return.

But this girl on the roof, silhouetted against the night sky, the moon over one shoulder, Venus over the other. He had never, ever seen such perfection before.

Not naked. Nothing like naked! Just not far from being naked. Very close. And very far away.

The little dress, black against her autumn skin, dark against the night, rippling where it folded and creased with her least movement, its skirt caught by the midnight breeze and moving as if controlled by flesh, beckoning him. And her long legs, pale and naked...

Shaped like perfection...

Santa pulled Rudolf to a standstill and averted his eyes. This beauty was too much for him. Mother Christmas the Younger was one thing, but this lady was something a great deal more.

But he couldn't help glancing back up.

A teasing few photons from a distant star touched her breasts, made them seem to glitter, black dress shining with a reflected alien light.

The suggested outline....

He lifted his eyes and gazed at hers.

I have never seen such wonder... he thought. And he hadn't, not ever in his life. Her eyes stared back at him, not rudely, not curiously, but beautifully.

Then her lips moved. The misting clouds that accompanied her words were fragrant, like the essence of the groves of flowers his imagination told him surely bloomed on the valleys of the sun.

I have been waiting,” she said, musically.

He had never heard such a voice. It held within it all tones of sound, was modulated into the four words as though uttered by the lips of an angel.

Her thighs, muscular yet smooth, seemed to ripple as though adding emphasis to her words. He knew because he had lowered his eyes again. He had to.

Waiting for me? he almost said, the burning in his chest threatening to become an explosion.

Then she beckoned him, the crook of one finger bending, her eyes tracking the route they would take, across the thatch of the roof, and to the crumbling chimney stack.

You can't go down there!” he spluttered. “It's bound to be filthy down there! Wait �" I'll go down and open a door for you...”

Silly boy,” she almost sang, and lifted one leg to step into the chimney.

He saw her underwear! She lifted that long shapely leg and he saw her underwear! And he never before had seen such a rich white silk before, glistening with glimmers of reflected light. The autumn beauty of her natural skin, tinted with a colour quite new to his ancient eyes, not skin at all but at the same time very much skin, the sheer white silk of her barely present panties, her teasing smile as she told him to follow her, everything about her … he was hypnotised. Inside his many layers of thermal clothing he felt a sense of rising excitement.

I have lived for this moment … I am on the very portal of Heaven...his mind told him, playing with the syllables, teasing him with them.

I have brought you here...” she whispered.

He looked around him.

Under the thatched roof and crumbling chimney was the busiest of busy rooms. Men and women in white coats hurried here and there, purposefully, desperately working on a figure clad in red lying on an iron framed bed, the beautiful lady in black faded like perfection always does, became one with the shadows, one with the night outside.

And her underwear went with her with the sheer black dress and her ebony eyes.

Outside he heard Rudolf snorting. Inside there was a sudden shock on his naked chest, and all of a sudden he opened his eyes...

© 2015 Peter Rogerson

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Added on December 11, 2015
Last Updated on December 11, 2015
Tags: Santa Claus, pain, femme fatale, beauty, little black dres, underwear, chimney


Peter Rogerson
Peter Rogerson

Mansfield, Nottinghamshire, United Kingdom

I am 79 years old, but as a single dad with four children that I had sole responsibility for I found myself driving insanity away by writing. At first it was short stories (all lost now, unfortunately.. more..