S & M Santa
An oldie for the newbies.
I know I am about to shock and disappoint you, but I can live with my secret no longer: For many years I had an affair with a married man from out of town. I knew it was wrong, but I was a single woman, lonely, and it was the holiday season.
It began one Christmas Eve. I had gone to bed early, sobbing myself to sleep, dreaming again of the perfect man I had yet to find.
“Darling,” he would whisper, as he held me close. “Tell me one more time about your day – especially the part about the coat that was just what you wanted except the collar was weird and it had a belt instead of buttons but it was also kind of cute so maybe you’ll go back to Macy’s and look at it a second time.”
So there I am, asleep on my tear-stained pillow, when I hear such a clatter that I wake up, petrified, of course. I go into the kitchen and find this fat, bearded guy in a weird outfit grabbing the vodka from the freezer, pouring himself a stiff one.
“Sorry for letting myself in,” he said. “This was the only place where I didn’t hear ‘White Christmas.’ I hate that song. Let Bing Crosby come to the North Pole and shovel me out every morning if he thinks snow is so damn great.”
I never thought I would go for a fat guy, but there was something about this man, who I’ll call “S” for the sake of discretion, that was so masculine and take charge I couldn’t help myself. I blush to admit it, but our affair began that very night.
“But what about your work, all those presents you have to deliver in the neighborhood?” I asked, as he took me in his great, beefy arms.
“Greenwich Village," S. sneered. “The hell with them, they have too much stuff already.”
“You’re much stricter than the Hallmark Specials led me to believe,” I murmured.
“You have no idea, "S. said. “Which reminds me, I have a contract for you to sign. You agree to please me, wear what I tell you to wear, never question my orders, and keep some extra switches on the bedside table. They snap like toothpicks and I hate to lose my rhythm.”
“Sounds fair,” I said.
“We’ll also have a safe word you can use if I ask you to do something that turns out to be too much,” S. said.
“What would that be?” I asked.
“ ‘Yes.’ ”
What S. called my lessons began at once.
“Now tell me,” he said. “What’s your most humiliating, shameful secret? Something you’ve never told anybody.”
“At the office, I reheat the same cup of coffee all day in the microwave,” I said. “I know it’s disgusting, but I just can’t stop.”
“Oh, please,” S. said. “You can do better than that.”
I took a breath.
“Sometimes in the car when I’m by myself I listen to Neil Diamond, " I said. " ‘Cracklin’ Rose.’ Especially when I upshift. It’s fantastic for passing trucks.”
“Oh, Joyce, " S. said, reaching into his sack. “You’ve been a very naughty girl.”
And so I stepped onto the down escalator to depravity. I was, to my surprise, an avid pupil. There were many times, as Christmas Eve came and went, the ecstatic screams of an older babe could be heard down my apartment hall:
“Get the reindeer harness – no, no, without the reindeer! Tie me up — not too tight, I have Pilates tomorrow morning! Run out to Whole Foods and get a container of Lactaid 100 Percent Lactose free milk. Fat free. Not the small container, a big one. Can you remember or do I have to write it down?”
Again and again I told myself it had to end. But once a woman gets a taste of this sort of thing she can’t give it up. I lied to you, dear reader, when I suggested it was over: I yearn for S. still and he aches for me. Christmas Eve, as a sleigh laden with gifts streaks across the sky, you will understand where S. is heading at breakneck speed.
And if he doesn’t make it to your place, tough. You have too much stuff already.
***
This story, originally called “Fifty Shades of Santa”, was published in The New York Times on December 19, 2012. Yeah, I was amazed it got in, too. But my column, at that time, ran in an online section called “Booming” which few people knew existed. Today, you’d find a story on S&M holiday wear in Wirecutter.
You'd better not cry, you'd better not pout.
“Tell me one more time about your day – especially the part about the coat that was just what you wanted except the collar was weird and it had a belt instead of buttons but it was also kind of cute so maybe you’ll go back to Macy’s and look at it a second time.” -- Brilliant! You nailed so many of my shopping dilemmas!