Zoe Joyall A couple of years back, I escaped a small family gathering on Christmas Eve to have sex.
I usually align my holiday plans with whichever family member has the largest supply of alcohol. But my girl texted me mid-afternoon on Christmas Eve. “Can you have a sleep over tonight? My roommate is gone and I have wine.” My decision to leave Mum’s house was easy to make.
Mum knows I’m a miscreant and wasn’t bummed out when I said I was leaving to go see a girl. My sister asked if I was coming back. When I replied “No,” and she asked “Why,” I said, “Because I was going to have sex and would likely not want to put my clothes back on.” At that point my sister reminded me that the next day was Christmas Day. “I know,” I said, with a smile. When I left the house, I thought my sister was going to put a frozen dog turd from the neighbour’s back yard in my stocking.
I had made it over to my girl’s place and immediately admitted I had gotten her nothing for Christmas — no gifts, no presents, no cards. “Same,” she replied. Then we proceeded to exchange wine soaked French kisses and bodily fluids. Giving comes in many forms and positions.
The house’s decorations rivalled Santa’s workshop. There was one x-mas tree upstairs and one x-mas tree downstairs. There were indoor and outdoor x-mas lights. X-mas figurines littered any open space. And there was enough fresh x-mas baking to give Santa diabetes.
My girl and I had sex in every space exhibiting excess Christmas decorations. It was like we had our own personal porn-themed film set. In between a round of wine and gingerbread cookie-fuelled intercourse, I went searching for a stray Santa hat, which I never did find and therefore could never completely fulfill Christmas themed sexual cosplay.
Ditching family to have sex during the holidays is great. I had limited interaction with family members. I still got my mitts on some holiday baking. I drank wine. I performed lewd acts in front of figurine elves. And I had morning sex when I woke up Christmas day.
