Cindy, a precocious eighteen year old in her twelfth grade at high school, smiled sweetly at her mother and assured her that she would not stay out late. Clare, her best friend, also had school in the morning, so they would not leave it too late leaving the city centre. They would watch the movie, grab a McDonald's and catch the bus home before the riff-raff, drinking themselves silly in the bars and clubs, spilled onto the streets and caused their usual mayhem. Christmas had never prevented them from disrupting the annual Christian festival before, and nobody expected them to make an exception this, or any other year. As a precaution, however, the two girls had arranged to travel home together and for Cindy to sleep over at Clare's, as she lived nearest to the town centre.
Kissing her father on his temple and playfully dislodging his spectacles, she asked him what his intended sermon would be about, when he preached to his flock on Christmas morning. The Reverend, never short of inspiration, assured her that he would think of something and, like her mother, told his youngest daughter to enjoy her evening.
Pausing at the front door, Cindy looked back fondly at the scene of domestic bliss. Her mother in the kitchen, surrounded by jars of sweetmeats, pickles, baking flour and a host of other ingredients, busily preparing for the family's traditional Christmas celebration. Her father, standing precariously on a pair of rickety old steps, putting the finishing touches to the tree that he and Cindy had spent the afternoon decorating.
"Oh, do be careful Daddy," Cindy said, concerned for her father's safety.
"I will Kitten," he replied, taking his pipe out of his mouth, "You go and enjoy yourself my darling."
"I will," she assured him. "I love you Daddy."
"I love you too, Kitten," the Reverend replied.
"I love you too, Pussy-cat," her mother called from the kitchen.
Turning the corner at the end of the street, Cindy checked that she had everything needed for her evening; perfume, lipstick, condoms, spare undies, and reached into her purse for her cigarettes and cell-phone. Tossing her hair and blowing smoke out of the corner of her mouth, she tapped her foot in time with the ring tone as she waited, holding the instrument close to her ear, for the sound of her friend's voice.
"Hi Clare, it's me," Cindy said, "Yes, no problem, the silly old fools fell for it again...Yes, see you at school tomorrow...Thanks, I owe you one."
Jumping into the ancient Chevrolet almost as soon as it stopped, she hardly had time to kiss her boyfriend before he floored the accelerator, eager to get to the deserted parking lot, opposite the theme park, that had become their regular haunt for canoodling.
Having been thrown from one side of the car to the other by his erratic driving, the elaborate subterfuge with Clare seemed pointless as Cindy was in no mood for sex, or anything else, when they arrived.
Puffing on a joint held in one hand and swigging from a can of Budweizer held in the other, Cindy sat impassively, drawing pictures in the condensation on the windows, as her boyfriend, his hand on her breast, enjoyed himself. Showing little emotion, she allowed the abuse of her person to continue, but derived no pleasure from something that had already become a dull, uninspiring and adolescently clumsy routine.
Bored, Cindy looked across the road, searching for inspiration and adventure.
"Let's sneak into the theme park," She said, her eyes sparkling and full of mischief, her face alive with excitement.
"No, let's stay here," said her boyfriend, his hand venturing beneath her hem, was adventure enough for him.
Seen through a tiny port hole she had made in the condensation, the park seemed to draw her like a magnet, enticing her, but not altogether against her will, towards the deserted venue of fun. Staring at the neon sign outside one of the buildings, Cindy, as if mesmerised, opened the car door and stepped out into the chill, damp, evening air, her eyes fixed unwaveringly on 'Santa's Grotto'.
"Well, I'll go on my own then," she said and, straightening her underwear with wiggle, walked across the road towards the wire fence surrounding the theme park.
Dressed in a white angora cardigan with three quarter length sleeves, worn over a pale blue gingham dress of modest length, and white ankle length socks with sensible shoes, Cindy looked a picture of innocence and resembled, perhaps, Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz. An image that, whilst pleasing her mother, did not reflect her true, wayward nature and desire for adventure that had earned her a reputation among her contemporaries, of which her mother, if she knew, would be appalled.
Entering through a gap in the wire at the far extremity of the security CCTV's range, Cindy made her way to Santa's Grotto. Pushing open the door and blinking as the florescent lights flickered automatically into life, she pushed her sleeves above her elbows and beheld a wondrous sight of Christmas, complete with imitation snow and every conceivable character of Christmas imaginable. Slowly entering the building, closing the door silently behind her, Cindy tiptoed inside, leaving her foot prints behind in the 'snow'.
Gazing open mouthed, her eyes opened wider as she took in the wondrous images of Christmas; every theme, every character, every myth and every story that she could remember from her childhood was represented amid giant coloured baubles, huge cardboard snowflakes and pointed polystyrene icicles.
A tear dropped onto her cheek as she thought wistfully of the hours she spent, sitting at her grandmother's knee, listening earnestly to the old lady as she recounted fascinating tales of Christmas past. Closing her eyes, Cindy could hear the venerable octogenarian's melodic voice...and the sound of her bronchial cough, as she chain-smoked foul smelling French Gauloises cigarettes.
Wiping the tear on the hem of her dress, and negligently showing her knickers, she looked around for the source of the wolf-whistle that had suddenly pierced the stillness, braking the silence and interrupting her reminiscences.
A small figure, wearing a crumpled top hat, slouched against a tinsel bedecked lamp post and drew lazily on a cheroot, blowing tiny circles of smoke in the air.
"Hi, Babe" the dwarf said, "Fancy a fuck?"
"Shhh," said Cindy, "You are a naughty child and should not use that word."
"I'm not a child," replied the dwarf indignantly, "I'm just little."
Cindy raised her head loftily and looked down at him snootily, "Well," she said, "I don't think little people should have such big ideas."
"I've got a big Willie," he said, as if it were something that she wanted to know.
Cindy, at first a little shocked by his candour, recovered her composure and, laughing cruelly, chided him, "You are too little to have a big Willie."
"Well, you just wait and see," the dwarf responded, and turned his back on her.
His shoulders hunched, his arms moving vigorously, his hands thrust deep inside his little, leather lederhosen, the dwarf furiously fondled himself.
"There! "He announced proudly, turning to face her.
"But it's still little," Cindy sniggered.
"Well, it's hard," The dwarf replied, trying to salvage some dignity.
"Yes," Cindy conceded, "But it's so small."
The dwarf looked down dejectedly at his tiny tool.
"It's big enough," he said petulantly.
"Look," Cindy said, placing her hand next to him, "It's smaller than my little finger." "Only by the tip of your finger nail," complained the dwarf, feeling cheated that, because of her long, manicured nails, she had an unfair advantage!
"OK", said Cindy, intrigued by the thought of having sex with a dwarf, "Let's not waste it."
