The second in an unrelated series of stories, inspired by the 12 days of Christmas; Day 2: Two Turtle Doves
On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, two turtle doves.
It’s Christmas, the day I am allowed to revert back to my childhood and get all excited for the day. A day to eat, drink and open presents.
You’d think, with my advanced years, that the joy of Christmas would be jaded, but I hold a love that transcends age. There was a time when I’d have bounded down the stairs, eager to find what my true love had left for me under the tree.
The enthusiasm hasn’t waned, but the passage of time has taken its toll on my knees, and now I find myself sidling down the stairs sideways. We’d always joked that one year one of us would get the other a stair lift. Judging by the size of the present under the tree, this year isn’t that year.
Wrapped in the usual red lustre paper with gold bow; a combination as timeless as our true love; you learn that after 50-odd years, some things never change.
I carefully approach the tree, and brace my hip as I bend to pick up this year’s small package. I look over to my true love. She gazes back at me, her eyes deep and emotionful, drawing my gaze, capturing my attention as she captured my heart over half a century ago.
In my peripheral vision, I see her lips move, shortly followed by the sound of her voice.
“Go ahead, open it, darling” Her voice as soft and beautiful as the day we met.
I tear off the wrapping to reveal a small bottle. It’s dark in both contents and labelling. I hold it up to read the lettering. My eyesight isn’t was it used to be, but after turning it in the flashing lights from the Christmas tree, I make out the words massage oil.
“Come on” my true love says, taking my hand and leading me back up the stairs I had only just come down. She started tugging and my shirt buttons and led me into the bedroom.
With my shirt half undone, she began to run her hands over my chest. My chest hair is sparse these days; she ran her fingers through the grey wiriness none the less. Pulling her closer to me, she ran one hand round behind my neck and tugged at the hair at the nape of neck. I slipped my hand around her hip, dipping my head so my lips could make contact with her lips.
Our lips have locked together a million times over the years, but I will never tire of the rush I get from feeling her breath entangle with mine. The feeling of her skin against mine, and that little tickle she does with her fingers along my neck.
The kiss lingers, my hand drops from her hip to her bottom; squeezing it and pulling her yet closer. She slides the shirt which she has now fully unbuttoned off of my shoulders.
Her fingers dance across my collarbone. It doesn’t matter that the tone has lessened, she knows my body better than I know myself. Crawling upto my trapezius, her light touch turns into a kneading motion. I stretch into her grip, enjoying the attention of my true love. Her hands continue over my shoulders, pushing the shirt until it falls to the floor.
She pulls in close, her chest against mine as she runs her hands down my back, sending shivers up my spine. A relaxed sigh escapes my lips, and I cup my hands together behind her back.
We gaze into each other’s eyes, her breathing in sync with my own. She pulls away slightly and tugs at my belt, unbuckling it with ease. She slides the zip down, and my trousers join my shirt on the floor.
She pulls away from me, and holding my gaze, unbuttons her own shirt, letting it fall to the floor; swiftly followed by her trousers. My true love stands before me, resplendent in a deep red two-piece lingerie set I had not previously seen. The colour complemented her skin well, highlighting the curves she insists on hiding beneath unshapely clothes.
“Get on the bed then” she says.
She joins me, massage oil in hand, recovered from where I had previously dropped it.
She unscrews the cap, and pours a little into her hand, warming it up before placing her hands back on my chest. She leans into me slightly, rubbing the oil into my chest. Our faces just inches away. I watch as she sways gently as her hands work over my chest, up to my shoulders. Our eyes lock again, her touch momentarily halting.
She breaks contact, and picks up my hands, passing the massage oil into my palm.
As I pour some out, she removed her bra, her breasts wobbling and drawing my attention as she does. I reach forward and rub the oil into the top of her chest; across her neck, her shoulders, gentle rubbing, massaging, letting the warmth of my hands radiate into her skin. I go slowly – waiting for the right time to take her breasts into my hands.
I rub the oil between her boobs, down to her stomach, skirting her curves in a teasing manner. With all the experience between us, I can never tell who wants it most – but once thing I have learnt is that the wait is the best bit.
I bite the bullet and take her left breast in my hands, cupping and squeezing gently, I move over to her right breast and repeat. Satisfied that I can feel her nipples becoming erect, I move on. Cuddling up to her, I cradle her to lay down on the bed.
Our bodies now entwined, we kiss again. I feel her tongue flick across mine, I respond by trying to catch it with my lips. She repeats, her tongue teasing mine, I catch it and we smooch.
I run my hand through her hair as we kiss, and I feel hers on the small of my back – pulling my torso into her. She loves to feel my excitement poking at her. We kiss more, the passion as high now as on our honeymoon. I slide my hand between us, pulling at her crimson underwear. I slide a finger between the cool silken gusset and her warm skin.
My touch is met by moisture, I feel a surge of blood to my cock, and I tug more at her underwear, indicating I want her to raise her hips so I can slip it off. Instead she pushes my hand away.
“You need to go and cook the dinner.”
On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me two turtle doves and a partridge in a pear tree