I hate myself a bit sometimes.
Right now I hate myself a bit for my almost visceral, wanting, reaction to this tweet from the lovely Lilly.
The truth is, as soon as I saw this tweet I could see exactly how wonderful that Christmas Day would be but I immediately suffered a rush of guilt for wanting its erotic simplicity.
My ‘real’ Christmas this year is going include a lot of pretence. My wife and I will be playing happy families, pretending everything is all OK, concealing from our offspring, and assorted parents, that we are going to dump our planned separation on them in the new year. I’ll spend a lot of time hiding in my cooking creating lavishly complicated meals: huge brunches and joints of meat with all the trimmings; even a light lunch will present a dazzling array of choices.
I’ll be cooking as though every meal was the last supper, which, in a way, it will be.
It will be fun to spend time with the boys, fun to spend time with my parents and doubly fun to see the one generation with the other. In truth, I’ll probably really enjoy almost all of it, apart, that is, from the huge elephant in the corner room. I’m not even going to glance in that bastard’s direction, never mind mention the big ugly brute of a thing.
Here’s how Christmas day with Lilly would be:
Late morning she’ll arrive at my AirBNB rental in an old converted church in a small village in the West Country. It’s a space full of character; mostly one big room, well equipped kitchen, dining and sitting areas all linked together under the arched ceiling.
We’ll kiss. Unlike the family Christmas, where the opening of presents will take half the day, wearing me out with its excess, we’ll swap our simple, single gifts. I’ll have bought her an art deco silver collar, marking her development into submission in the year we’ve been playing together. She’ll have bought me something thoughtful and intimate and quirky because that’s who she is.
Of course there’ll be Champagne, possibly quite a bit of Champagne but, having all day instead of our usual hour or two, we won’t need to rush at it, just sipping while we kiss and touch and get to know each other again. We won’t need to rush at the sex either. Instead, while the meal I’ve prepared before her arrival cooks slowly in the bottom oven of the ancient AGA, we’ll play out an elaborate, erotic role play, some kinky scene from a fetid corner of my imagination. There’ll be costumes I’ll have hired or bought, some “set dressing” for the room and a complex fantasy of dominance, submission, bondage and sex that develops over several hours. However, well before all the evolutions of my prepared scenario have run their full course, I’ll allow the role play to drain out of the scene as I realise, as I always do, that it’s more fun just to be with Lilly as herself.
Reaching a natural hiatus after shared orgasms, we’ll take a pause. I’ll phone my family and she’ll phone hers and then we’ll hold each other for a while, sharing the bitter-sweet melancholy of that moment, both feeling slightly guilty at our hedonistic self-indulgence.
We’ll eat, sat across from each other at the ancient oak table, touching often and talking about travel and music and theatre. We’ll reminisce about the experiences we’ve shared since we first met in March. She’ll say nice things about the food I’ve prepared and I’ll say nice things about how beautiful she looks. The complicated chocolate dessert, bought from a local artisan patissier, will be forgotten as we return to the bed one last time before she has to go.
As I carry her bag down the spiral staircase, I’ll slip an envelope with her fee into it.
I’ll sigh a little as I watch the tail lights of her car disappear down the ancient high street.
This is, of course, just a fantasy. Christmas is a time for family and I am lucky enough to have one. Like most, it’s messy and complicated; in fact, just now, it’s really messy and complicated, but I wouldn’t want to be away from it on Christmas day, especially as I’m not sure how many more we’ll have together. After my wife and I have separated, who knows? Perhaps, if we end it well and amicably, as is our firm intention, we’ll be able to make space in our new lives for us all to spend some time together at Christmas.
But if not, and it’s one of those years when the boys are with her and my parents are at my brother’s place, I know who I’m going to call.