Make It Real, Santa
It took Emma until Richmond Station to stop fuming. Why did she always forget about how much Christmas pissed her off? The required shopping for holiday gifts irritated her, but the real ball-busting started when she showed up at her parents’ place for Christmas. If it hadn’t been the repeated quizzing from her grandmother about when and whether she planned to get married (she was a sophomore in fucking college, for Christ’s sake), it would have been the comment by her mother about how women who expected to go anywhere in life really shouldn’t tart themselves up like some punk rock sluts.
This year it was the nose ring. Last year it had been the bleach-blonde hair. Emma felt particularly foolish, because she’d dyed her hair chestnut-brown just a week ago in anticipation of the Christmas holidays. She thought Mom had gotten over the nose ring — but in fact she seemed to have been saving it to comment on at a really inopportune time.
In any event, if Emma hadn’t been so annoyed already, her lecherous uncle Fred’s dirty jokes and Aunt Tiffy’s predictable tendency to drink herself into a celebratory stupor punctuated by the reliving of family trauma from 1965 would have really pissed her off. Luckily, Emma herself had slung back a few Jack and Ginger’s, so by the time the two sisters began arguing about the disposition of their beloved convertible Cadillac (circa 1958) she was happily in the arms of Morpheus, freezing to death on the chaise lounge out on the back porch. Luckily the sun had come out and Emma had narrowly avoided frostbite, awakening just in time for a drunken exchange of unwished-for presents.
When she transferred off Amtrak, Emma decided not to go straight back to the dorms; it was Saturday, and almost no one would be home from Christmas break just yet. She didn’t particularly want to socialize, but she didn’t want to be alone just yet, either. She decided she had an errand to run.
She’d taken the 12:00 train — the earliest she could get any of her crazy relatives to drive her to the station. When she got off the local train and trudged up the street past shivering homeless folks, she was seized with middle-class guilt and started distributing her quarters, having forgotten that she needed them to ride the bus. By the time she arrived at the sex toy store, she was on the edge of desperation.
The place was empty — deserted. The Saturday after Christmas, and no one was thinking about sex, apparently. Except her.
The place was staffed entirely by women who made the pierced and plaid-skirted Emma look like a member of the Republican National Committee. Three counterpeople — one young butch dyke, one purple-haired goth-looking chick, and a dark-skinned trans woman in improbable heels — were leaning against the counter looking bored.
“Hi,” said the babydyke. “Can I help you find something?”
“I need the dirtiest sex toy you have,” Emma blurted, dropping her army-green duffel bag near the door.
“Um,” said the babydyke. “We, um, ah… dirty?”
Emma tried to clarify and got pretty much nowhere. “I don’t mean ‘dirty’ dirty. I mean… I don’t know what I mean. Something really bad. I mean bad-ass, not low-quality. About a hundred dollars?”
“Christmas money,” said the trans woman.
“You know it,” said Emma.
All three employees nodded knowingly.
“Rough time with the parents?”
Emma slumped into the armchair next to the counter and looked up miserably.
“You want to buy something to take care of yourself.”
“Yeah, I guess that’s a more positive way to put it,” said Emma. “Something filthy.”
Several moments of silence passed before the butch dyke piped up with a smile: “Filthy is all in the mind.”
“Oh, I know,” said Emma. “But right now, my mind says ‘filthy, filthy, filthy.'”
“All right, then,” said the Goth chick helpfully. “What does filthy, um, mean to you?”
Emma’s eyes flickered over the racks and racks of multicolored dildos, settling on one that was particularly garish in its size and realism. Fitted with a suction cup, the thing was networked with bulging veins and an improbably thick head. It must have been 12″ long.
Emma felt her body begin to react before she realized it. The flush went right to her cheeks and she felt her nipples hardening inside the tight sweater she wore.
“Maybe I just need a really, really big dick,” said Emma, as if thinking to herself.
She crossed her arms and legs nervously, smiling as innocently as she could manage.
The trans woman came around from behind the counter. “Ah, yes,” she said. “A common sentiment. But make sure your eyes aren’t bigger than your… appetite. Would you like to see some more samples?”
Emma awkwardly followed the trans woman around the store, viewing several walls’ worth of phallic toys and hearing a lecture about the relative merits of silicone vs. jelly rubber. She tried very hard to listen politely and not keep looking back at the improbably-headed cock with its beckoning veins and stiff shaft.
When the tour was finished, Emma cleared her throat and said “I, um, I think I’ll take that one. The, uh, the big one.”
“Excellent choice,” said the trans woman with a knowing smile.
“I’ll get one from the back,” said the butch dyke.
“And of course don’t forget the lube,” called the Goth woman helpfully from across the room.
“I was getting to that, Janessa,” said the trans woman, flourishing her hand Vanna-style over the impressive wall of lube bottles. Since the dildo she wanted was well under a hundred dollars, she spent the rest of her Christmas money on numerous bottles of lube and a glossy fetish magazine of pinup models being spanked. What could she say? It caught her eye.
The total came to $101.53. Emma fished around for dimes and pennies and gave the trans woman exact change.
“And since you’ve topped a hundred dollars,” said the trans woman as she put the toy and the lube in the bag, “You get one of our seasonal gifts.” She produced a Santa hat with the logo of the store — a woman pleasuring herself.
“Now that,” said Emma, “is filthy.”
“I thought you’d like it,” said the trans woman with a wink. “Come again!”
Emma thanked the three women and left the store, feeling a rather uncomfortable heat growing inside her as she felt the daunting weight of the toy in her bag.
The dorms were deserted, as Emma figured they would be. It was just as well, because she’d spent the whole bus ride thinking about what she was going to do when she got back to her dorm room. There weren’t many PG-rated thoughts in her head.
Emma felt sweaty from the overheated bus and the many layers of winter clothes piled on her. But she couldn’t bear the thought of running down the hall to the shared bathroom to shower. Instead, she upended the plain brown bag over her bed, which she’d irresponsibly left unmade when she’d departed for the long holiday weekend. The dildo looked an awful lot bigger and more thickly-veined in this light, with no smaller, smoother dildos to compare it to.
She didn’t feel like going all the way down the hall to wash the dildo in the bathroom sink — what if someone else happened in while she did, anyway? — so she dug in her top drawer for a condom and tried to slip it over the head of the dildo.
Now that took some doing. The head was so thick that she broke two condoms trying to stretch them over it. Just handling the big dildo turned Emma on. She felt incredibly naughty knowing she’d spent her Christmas money from her conservative relatives on the biggest dick she would, presumably, put anywhere near her pussy. By the time she finally got the condom on it, she was incredibly wet.
Emma stripped off her clothes and began to rub her clit.
She opened up the fetish magazine and leafed one-handed through page after page of fetching retro-clad pinup girls bent over men’s and women’s knees. She felt her pleasure mounting as she rubbed her clit faster. Then she turned the page and saw something that sent a surge of excitement through her.
It was a picture of a woman in a latex elf costume, bent over Santa’s knee. Her tight-fitting green latex dress was pulled up to her waist and Santa’s hand was connecting with her full, rounded lace-clad buttocks, squarely between her emerald-green garters.
“Oh, that’s filthy,” said Emma out loud, and remembered the hat.
She put on the Santa hat and grabbed her hand mirror from the nightstand. She looked at herself in the hat, admiring the way the woman pleasuring herself reflected her own frantic rubbing of her clit. Approaching her orgasm quickly as she looked from the mirror to the naughty elf and back again, Emma tossed the mirror on her pillow and reached for the dildo.
“Make it real, Santa,” she said, indulging her private sense of humor. Surprising herself, she found that talking dirty about Santa actually did something for her. “Make it fucking real, Santa. Spank my fucking naughty elf bottom.”
Eyeing the magazine, she rubbed her clit with one hand and guided the thick head of the dildo up to her pussy.
She realized with the first pressure against her cunt that there was no fucking way this thing was going anywhere. She grabbed a lube bottle at random and drizzled lube over her pussy and over the latex-sheathed head of the dildo.
“Make it fucking real, Santa,” she said. “Shove that big thing in my pussy.”
The pressure against her entrance made her moan. God, this thing was fucking huge. Her pussy lips curved around the thickness of the head, but even with a firm pressure the big thing failed utterly to enter her. Emma rubbed her clit further and began to press the cockhead rhythmically against her opening.
“Make it fucking real, Santa,” she moaned. “Oh, Santa, you’ve got the biggest dick in the world. Shove it in me. Shove your fucking cock in me — oh!”
Emma came unexpectedly, her whole body shivering with pleasure as the pressure at the entrance to her cunt brought her off. She kept rubbing her clit rapidly as her orgasm heightened, and her glazed eyes roved over the naughty elf in Santa’s lap as she whimpered “Fuck me, Santa, fuck me!”
The last spasms of Emma’s orgasm exploded through her and her back arched as she pressed herself against the bed. She grabbed the dildo with both hands and forced it rhythmically against her pussy, gasping “Yes, Santa, yes!” as she came. Finally the tension went out of her body and she laid there, holding the dildo between her legs.
When she looked down at it, she was struck once more by just how big it was. How had she ever thought she was going to put that thing inside her?
But she could still feel the warmth of her orgasm inside her. She smiled and peeled the condom off the dildo, tossing it into the bedside garbage can. Curling up on her bed, Emma tucked the dildo and magazine under her pillow and put the lube in her nightstand. Exhausted from her long journey and session of self-pleasuring, she decided it was time for a nap.
As she slipped into a welcomed alpha state, she kept her hand curved around Santa’s dick, reminding that it had, for all practical purposes, been purchased for her by her arch-conservative relatives.
Out on the quad, Emma could hear someone playing Christmas carols. She even found herself humming along with “Here Comes Santa Claus.” She wondered if anyone else was getting off on it.
“Make it real, Santa,” yawned Emma, feeling deliciously naked as she drifted to sleep.
Thomas S. Roche is a worker-owner at Good Vibrations and the author, editor or coeditor of 11 books, including three volumes of the Noirotica series, His and Hers.