Is it just me?

I find myself asking this a lot.

I write erotica, I read erotica, and I comment on erotica. And it’s approaching Christmas. (Yes, I’m a pedant. It’s still Advent, of course. Christmas doesn’t start until midnight on Christmas Eve.)

Therefore, this time of year is awash with tales of sexy Santas, naughty elves and randy reindeer.

And … I can’t stand it.

When you think of all the seriously hot sexiness which could be evoked at this time of year – lovers stuck in a blizzard, strangers thrown together at parties or Christmas gatherings, gorgeous ghosts of Christmas past …

And what do we get … sexy Santa.

Now there’s an oxymoron if there ever was one.

Sorry, folks. You may disagree, but to me, Santa is simply not sexy. Just … no. Neither are elves or any other thing which hangs out at the North Pole in sub zero temperatures. (Do you know what temperatures like that do to a man’s pride!?) I don’t care what those pointy waggling ears can do.

I’ve just read a short about Santa being given a present of his own after arriving in a girl’s house on Christmas Eve. It was well written. It had a certain compulsive quality – like watching a car crash; you know you shouldn’t, you know you don’t really want to, but you can’t look away. I found I read the whole thing with an expression of transfixed twisted horror on my face. Why did I read it, you may ask. a) It was very, very short. b) I’d set myself a challenge. c) Morbid curiosity.

But, seriously? If I found a corpulent, old guy with a serious beard issue, wearing a vulgar red suit sitting in my living room in the middle of the night, I wouldn’t automatically kneel before him and sample his yule log. I’d scream blue murder, knee him in his baubles, and phone 999.

Somethings are sacred. And Santa is the domain of innocence and childhood. Why not indulge that innocence for once? I just can’t cross that line. Never again.

The one Christmas story I’ve written, Willing Spirit, Hungry Flesh, does not feature any horny elves or pornographic Père Noëls. It features a cottage, a blizzard, Christmas carols, and the ghost of a World War One army officer. Oh, and turkey, of the cooked variety. Aah. That’s more like it.

But, if you’re reading this and thinking, what’s she on about? If you in fact love the thought of pulling Father Christmas’ cracker, then in the anthology featuring my story you’ll find a vast array of seasonal delights. It’s not called Santa’s Hot Secrets for nothing.

My story, Willing Spirit, Hungry Flesh, also features in the short anthology A Seasonal Victorian Spanking.

Whatever your preferences this season, enjoy, and may whatever rings your bells set them truly ding-a-linging!

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Is it just me?

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