I guess I like writing about Christmas sex. Who knew? Not me. I've got no idea why I apparently like Christmas themed stories packed with nakedness and romping. Maybe it's something to do with the word romping, which goes very nicely with Christmas, I feel. As does frolicing- come on, you know what I'm talking about:
"She romped through the snow ladened hills, then froliced through tinsel bedecked living rooms."
Though thinking about it, that line has precious little to do with sex, and much more to do with fizzy twinkly stuff and frozen evol. So since it's Christmas and I'm in a very festive mood, I'll try again, just for you.
"She romped sexually through snow ladened hills, then froliced naked through lube-slicked tinsel."
Better? Possibly. Though I've just this second realised that putting together nonsense snow sprinkled lube slicked sentences tells me very little about why I like Christmas and sex together. The two words don't even go together, really. I mean, the first one starts off with possibly the least sexual word of all time: Jesus' surname. And it doesn't get any better from there. Mas? No. No. Not sexy.
Though I suppose if we shorten Christmas to its heathen brother, Xmas, it gets far easier. Sexmas is practically in the dictionary, for God's sake! Everyone knows Sexmas, even if it's just from the front of some cheeky novelty card that features Santas doing horrendous animal rights violating things to his reindeers.
And that's why I like Christmas paired with sex. Because Santa buggers Rudolph!
I don't know. I really don't. I think it's just the cold outside, and the warmth inside. But then in Waiting In Vain, my hero and heroine do it in a shed. So I'm not sure how that matches up. Maybe it's the presents? The sexy gifts? I don't think a single gift is exchanged in Closer, though I'm pretty sure my heroine loves what she gets for Christmas.
Who wouldn't want Alexander Skarsgard in their stocking? Not that he'd actually fit, mind. I doubt he'd get his cock in my stocking, though Lord knows I'd do anything to squeeze it in. And after all, isn't that what Christmas is about? Cocks in stockings? I hope so, because otherwise I've just waffled on for half an hour with no point at all, because I had too much Christmas sherry while snogging my hubby on the sofa and quite forgot whatever it was I was going to say in the first place.
P.S. If you'd like to check out my two kinky Christmas stories, you can find them here:
Waiting In Vain: http://www.amazon.com/Waiting-in-Vain-ebook/dp/B003XT5QZ4/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&m=A7B2F8DUJ88VZ&s=digital-text&qid=1292888050&sr=1-3