Santa Claus is a red-hot Top

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all thro’ the house,
 Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;

 That might be the first lines of one of the oldest and most popular Christmas poems written in the early 19th century, but the night before Christmas as I recollect it is a house full of guys jerking off to get as much milk as possible for Santa Claus. And that old Saint Nick is me with a sleigh full of sex toys, lube and condoms to fill all the stockings hanging by the chimney in Toronto’s Gay Village. I don’t need reindeers to pull my sleigh because I have seven muscular dudes each wearing a different color jockstrap: red, orange, yellow, green, blue and purple, the leading one sporting a rainbow jock.

Before I continue describing my own night before Christmas, I must recognize that the 19th century poem was first published on December 23, 1823 by the Troy Sentinel newspaper in upstate New York. Its author is disputed, with the lyrics being attributed to both Clement Clarke Moore and Henry Livingston Jr. over the years. The words of 'Twas the night before Christmas go on to say:

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
 While visions of sugar plums danc’d in their heads

Fuck! This is completely off the track. The boys were nestled in one huge round bed in the shape of a Christmas wreath, while visions of getting fucked by Santa danced in their heads. These 18-year-old boys know that I like to play rough in my leather gear. My boots have to be shining and the teenagers enjoy jerking off loads of creamy jizz to polish their master’s Harvest boots. Once they’re done, each one sits on my knee, and I stick my finger in the peachy ass. The reaction is instantaneous: “Ho, Santa, I’ve been a naughty boy but not as fucking dirty as you, Sir. Keep pushing, lube me up for your thick and hairy dick. Don’t fill my stocking, fill my ass hole hard and deep!”

The poem calls for eight reindeers, Santa whistling and calling them by their name:

Now! Dasher, now! Dancer, now! Prancer, and Vixen,
 On! Comet, on! Cupid, on! Dunder and Blixem;

 I have seven dudes and I call them to join me for a Christmas eve orgy. Now! Red Dashing Cowboy. Now! Orange Ballet Dancer. Now! Yellow Sweet Prick, and green Tom of Finland. On! Blue slutty Star, on! Purple Cupid Pig and rainbow Thunder. I order them to line up the boys so that I can eat their ass. My tongue is so hungry and cookies will not satisfy me. I want to bury my face in succulent buns, reach sparkling rosebud stars, tongue-twist my way in as Dashing Cowboy licks my balls and Purple Cupid Pig sucks my cock.

Back to ‘Twas the night before Christmas. We have a right jolly old elf, chubby and plump. That is pretty much me. I have Santa’s age and adorn a belly. The song adds:
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
 And fill’d all the stockings; then turn’d with a jerk

I didn’t go straight to work, I went gayly forward. I did fill all the stockings but then lubed my cock to fuck half a dozen hungry asses. Each boy bents down, ready to have Santa pound his rod rough and tough in a begging ripe hole. I love to push my pink mushroom in and out before shoving my eight-inch shaft, holding on to firm thighs or gripping pierced nipples. I also enjoy positioning myself so that I can suck and kiss my bait while fucking him. When I’m ready to unload ropes of Santa juice, I like to aim at my dude’s mouth, and French kiss him of course.

The song ends, as you may know, with Santa rising up the chimney, springing to his sleigh and flying off like the down of a thistle. As Santa drives out of sight, the children hear him exclaim:
Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night. The merry Christmas wish is true, but the good night one is not what I say after having kissed, rimmed, sucked and fucked half a dozen horny guys. I tell them that Santa will be back on New Year’s Eve. “You better be ready for the hottest orgy party!”

If the authorship of ‘Twas the night before Christmas is disputed, I’m not sure I’ve helped to give more weight to Moore or Livingston. I’ve rather proven that Santa Claus knows best what young and older men want for Christmas.