Auld Lang Syne... Never Forgotten

Auld Lang Syne...Never Forgotten

Was it a Christmas dream, a sexual fantasy, or the eternal attraction of soulmates?

It was Christmas Eve. Old man McKinsey settled into his favorite reclining chair that faced the living room window. The fireplace warmed the room and nearly the entire, small house.

He warmed himself from the cold that seeped through the cracks in his drafty, old windows, by covering his legs with a throw blanket. Not turning on the TV, content looking out the window, he watched the snow silently falling outside. Something amazing about nature, with no two snowflakes exactly alike, the fresh falling snow was beautiful.

As surprised as he was happy that he found it hiding on the shelf way in the back of his bar, forgetting it was there, he found a bottle of a very old scotch called Auld Lang Syne meaning old long since or old times. Auld Lang Syne was a Scottish song created by Robert Burns in 1788.

Glad that he still possessed the unopened bottle, his Christmas gift to himself to find, Mac remembered saving the bottle of scotch for a special occasion. Yet, not having anything to celebrate in years, today was as much of a special occasion as any. It's almost Christmas. Why not open his bottle of good cheer today?

While hoping that it hadn't gone bad, he opened the unopened bottle, sniffed it, and sipped it from the bottle before pouring himself a drink, neat, with a splash of water, and no ice. It tasted good to him. Sadly alone, he didn't have anyone else to share his scotch or celebrate the occasion of him opening the bottle. He never thought that his life would be as empty as it was. Yet, satisfied living alone, he was happy to live a quiet life without distractions by burdening himself with the feelings of someone else.

He had no family and most of his friends had either moved or had passed away. Like every other morning, especially in this cold and damp weather, the arthritis in his knees and fingers painfully reminded him of his more than seventy-years that he survived on this earth. While wondering how much longer he had to live, he remembered his near fatal mishaps, between car accidents, work accidents, and falls. Lucky to have survived as long as he did, he sometimes questioned why he was still alive.

Suddenly feeling lonely, he wished someone had invited him somewhere. He looked out at all of his neighbors' houses decorated with lights and lawn decorations to celebrate the spirit of Christmas. Not having anyone to celebrate the holidays with, and with him no longer in the holiday mood anyway, he hadn't decorated his house in years.

Compared to all of the other houses on the street, his house looked darkly haunted. He didn't even have a Christmas tree. He had no decorations. With him not sending out any Christmas cards, he hadn't received any season's greetings. The only reminder of the season, barely a decoration, was a very small artificial tree that he had on the small coffee table in front of him.

'Humbug,' he thought while wondering if he had turned into Ebenezer Scrooge from Charles Dickens' novel, a Christmas Carol.

Depressingly alone, there were no brightly wrapped presents piled under his non-existent Christmas tree. Not playing any Christmas music, and too stormy for carolers to be singing outside, he sat in silence, sipping his scotch, and dozing off while thinking of better and happier days gone by. Having snoozed with the scotch in his hand without spilling a drop, he didn't know what time it was when he awakened.

# # #

Then, imagining he was hearing things, as if he was a character in Edgar Allen Poe's poem, The Raven, instead of a rap, rap, rap on his chamber door, a faint, albeit distinct knock on his front door awakened him.

'Knock. Knock. Knock.'

Not knowing if the knock was real, imagined, or the wind, he slowly and carefully got up from his chair, and looked out of the window. Too snowy to see anything, he didn't see anyone.

Glad that he wasn't out there, he noticed that the wind had picked up and was really blowing the snow everywhere. The increasingly heavy snow, beautiful to see, made deep snow drifts along his walkway and by his front door. He returned to his easy chair to finish his scotch. Then, as soon as he sat down, he heard the knock again.

'Knock. Knock. Knock.'

He peered out his living room window from his chair while listening.

'Who in their right mind would be out in this weather at this time of night,' he thought to himself.

While waiting to hear it again, he wondered again if the knock was real or imagined?

'Knock. Knock. Knock.'

There it is again. There was another knock, three knocks, faint but distinctive knocks. He wondered if a shutter had loosened and was knocking against the house. Could it be the wind? Yet, whatever it was, not stopping, the knocking continued.

'Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock.'

McKinsey yawned, rubbed his eyes, and was now wide awake. He put his scotch on the table, leaned forward, nose over toes, and with his hands firmly pressed on his padded armrests, pushed himself up to stand to answer the door. Before opening the door, he grabbed his cane, an imported Shillelagh, Irish walking stick handcrafted from Blackthorn wood.

Always suspicious of strangers, his cane was a good weapon. He looked out of the side window but the window was frosted over with ice and snow. Unable to see anyone, too dark to see, he hadn't turned on the porch light.

He turned on the porch light, looked out again but still didn't see anyone. Carefully and gingerly, he slowly opened the front door. When he did, he was hit by an icy blast of wind and snow. As if a lawn ornament covered in snow, he could barely make out the silhouette of a small figure bundled up with only a light, hooded coat. It was a woman.

'Who is she,' he thought? 'Why is she out in this storm? Was that her knocking on my door? Why did she knock at my door? I don't know her,' he thought.

# # #

"Sir, may I please come in? I'm so cold." Her arms were tightly wrapped around her while she shivered. "I'm freezing. I'm lost," said the little voice that was nearly silenced by the wind.

Unable to get a good look at her, especially with her hood pulled tightly over her head, the shivering voice came from a petite, young woman, who couldn't be much older than twenty-years-old. Not wearing gloves, a hat, or boots, clearly, she wasn't dressed for this freezing cold weather and this sudden winter storm. Again, he wondered why she was out in this storm. Maybe, her car had broken down, and she needed to use his phone to call for a tow.

'Good luck getting a tow truck in this storm,' he thought.

Showing her the generosity of his holiday spirit, he opened his door wider, stood to the side, and smiled at her. Had she been a man, especially a big man, he never would have opened his door. Yet, with her a petite woman, he didn't feel threatened by her surprised presence.

"Oh my god! Yes, of course, you may come into my house. Get in here before you freeze to death," he exclaimed while opening his door wider and taking her arm to help her inside.

He closed the front door behind her while she wiped her shoes on his rug and shook the snow from her coat. He escorted her to the living room. With a wave of his hand, he motioned her to sit on the couch in front of the fireplace. Before sitting down, he placed another log on the fire.

"Would you like anything to eat or drink," he asked, willing to share his scotch with her?

Then, he wondered with the drinking age of twenty-one, maybe she's not old enough to drink. Yet, a good shot of his scotch would help warm her insides. She smiled up at him and surprised him with what she asked.

"Do you have any hot chocolate with cinnamon and marshmallows," she asked in a quiet voice with a lovely smile?

An odd request but with him having what she had asked for, he was able to honor her request. With her hood covering her head, tightly tied, and pulled around her face, he still hadn't clearly seen her face. He quickly made her a big mug of hot chocolate with cinnamon and marshmallows. He brought one out for himself as well. He handed her the mug, placed his mug on his table by his chair, and sat in his chair across from her.

With him so lonely, thankful for the company, he didn't want her to leave. Strangely enough, suddenly feeling connected to her, he felt as if he knew her. Not waiting for her to answer the first question before asking her another question, and another, he asked her a plethora of rapid fire questions?

"What brings you out on a night like this," he asked? "Why aren't you with your family tonight? It's Christmas eve," he said. "You said you were lost. Who are you looking for," he asked? "Where are you from? What's your name?"

Seemingly waiting for him to finish his volley of questions, she smiled while sipping her hot drink. Then, she let out a little laugh. She paused before answering him while looking at him and smiling.

"My family doesn't live around here anymore. With the snow making everything look the same, I got turned around. I was looking for someone. I think he lives somewhere around here, but I don't remember where," she replied while not answering all of his questions.

Still cold, she shivered. He stood, picked up a blanket, walked to her, and put the blanket around her shoulders.

"I'm so cold," she said with another shiver. "May I stay here for a while to warm up? The fire from the fireplace feels so good."

Happy for the company, he smiled at her.

"Of course, you may stay as long as you'd like," he said, surprised that he said that. "Let me grab an extra blanket for you," he said.

He went to get another blanket from the linen closet. Then, he returned and handed her the blanket before heading out to the kitchen.

"I'm making a big batch of hot chocolate," he called from the kitchen. "You may have as much as you want."

He returned with another mug of hot chocolate and took the first mug from her hand and brought it out to the kitchen and rinsed it.

# # #

When she wrapped the second blanket around her, and removed her hood, is when he first saw her face. Surprisingly and astonishingly, she was beautiful. Envious of her young age, making him wish that he was fifty-years younger, she was filled with all of her youthful charms of a woman that he was happy to know.

Sizing her up by taking a quick note of her measurements, he judged that she stood about 5' 4" tall. Hard to tell from her jacket and blanket, she seemed slender. Yet, looking shapely, she seemed to have all her curves in the right places.

Difficult not to notice, she had big, blue eyes, and a nice smile. Her long, golden locks fell out from her hooded jacket, spilled out over half of her pretty face, and down around her shoulders. A dainty and grateful smile of recognition crossed her lips as she beheld the kindness of her new found benefactor.

Yet, unable to place her, there was something so familiar about her. Feeling as if he had met her before, almost feeling as if he should know her, while racking his brain, he assured himself that he had seen her somewhere before. Then, not remembering if when he saw her, unable to remember her, he shook the notion that he knew her out of his head. Of course, he'd never forget such a sweet, young lady like her. She's drop dead gorgeous.

Warming her hands, she cupped the hot chocolate with both hands, drained her cup, and looked up at him with her big, beautiful, blue eyes.

"Please, Sir, can I have some more?"

Suddenly, when she said that and in the way that she looked up at him while holding up her cup, she reminded him of Charles Dickens' novel Oliver Twist when Oliver lifted his empty bowl and asked for more food.

"Please, Sir, can I have some more," he remembered Oliver Twist asking?

Again, nose to toes while pushing himself up with two hands on his padded, chair arms, he stood with great difficulty. His knees didn't like this cold and damp weather. He quickly grabbed his cane.

"Of course," he replied as he went to retrieve the hot carafe of chocolate. "There's plenty more for you."

He refilled her mug and, holding up his own mug, he refilled that, too. He sat in his recliner while staring at her and smiling. Forgetting what it was like, it was nice to have company, especially the company of a beautiful, young woman. His type of women, he had always been attracted to beautiful, petite, and blonde women with blue eyes and big tits. Unfortunately, he couldn't tell her breasts size from her jacket but she looked as if she had decent sized breasts.

# # #

"Thank you for the fire and the extra blanket. I'm getting warmer now, especially with this wonderful hot chocolate," she said with gratitude. "Something I've been craving, no doubt, because of the cold, I haven't had hot chocolate with cinnamon and marshmallows like this since forever."

She smiled up at him.

"Thank you," she said. "You're very sweet."

Something that he hasn't done in a long while, McKinsey let out a big smile. She made him smile. With him always grumpy, he couldn't remember when he smiled. With him living alone, he had no reason to be happy.

"You are more than welcome, miss..." he said, pausing with curiosity. "I don't even know your name," he said. "What's your name? And how old are you? You look so very young," he said.

She smiled.

"My name is Christina but all my friends call me Christie. You may call me Christie, too," she said, extending her hand. "I'm 22-years-old."

Again, not an easy thing for him to do, pushing down with both hands again, while leaning forward nose over toes, McKinsey stood from his recliner, and crossed the small room to shake her dainty hand. Her small, soft hand was still cold but she was warming up. Then, she surprised him by what she said next.

"Sit here on the couch beside me," she said. "You can keep me warm."

Inviting him to sit next to her, she patted the couch cushions next to her. She stood, removed the blanket, and removed her jacket.

"I'm feeling warmer now, but I'd love your company," she said.

She smiled at him while patting the couch cushions again.

# # #

Obediently obeying her, he sat next to her.

"My name is Duncan but everyone calls me Mac," he said, introducing himself with a smile. "Actually, there's no longer anyone to call me Mac. All of my friends are either dead or have moved away," he said with sadness.

Surprised that she asked him to sit next to her, something that he hadn't felt in a long time, he felt excited sitting next to such a young and beautiful woman. Not knowing why or what it was, he didn't know, but there was something special and something familiar about her. Suppressing the thought, as if she was his girlfriend, his wife, or his lover, he had a sudden urge to put his arm around her. As if he wanted to protect her from harm, he wanted to hold her.

Unable to remove his eyes from her, she had an engaging smile. Then, shocking him, as if she was his granddaughter and he was her grandfather, and as if reading his mind, she lifted his arm by his hand, put it around her. Then, leaning towards him and pressing himself against him, she snuggled under his arm, put her arm around his waist, and hugged him. Almost as if someone had removed a huge burden from her shoulders, seemingly comfortably content, she sighed a big breath of relief.

As if she had been lost and had finally returned home, he returned her smile with his smile. Afraid to touch her, as if she was breakable, he finally returned her hug with his hug. Surprising himself, not knowing why he did it, but something told him that hugging her in such a familiar way was the right thing to do.

When Christie looked up into his eyes, shocking him, she suddenly leaned up to him, and kissed him on his lips. He couldn't believe that this young and beautiful woman kissed him. It wasn't just the friendly kiss that one would receive as a thank you, it was a kiss that was full of emotion, warmth, lust, and passion.

Then, she parted his lips with her tongue and French kissed him. Without thinking, unable to remember the last time he kissed a woman, he automatically returned her French kiss with his passionate kiss. If it wasn't enough that she hugged him and kissed him but she French kissed him, too.

Wrapped in each other's arms, an unexpected pleasure, not stopping with just one kiss, they made out like a couple of horny eighteen-year-old teenagers. Having been years since he not only made out with a woman, he felt her through her clothes. His horny hand found its way to her big breasts beneath her unzipped jacket.

He felt her breasts through her sweater, blouse, and bra. Her breasts felt firm, possibly a C cup, and perched themselves high on her chest. He had grown accustomed to feeling the sagging and flabby breasts of elderly women.

Not admonishing him for touching and feeling her in such an inappropriate way, and not slapping his hands away, with her arm around his neck, she continued allowing him to feel her breasts through her blouse and her bra. Not denying him the pleasure of feeling her through her clothes, her posture was open to him to continue to touch and feel her while kissing her. He gently squeezed and massaged her delectable mounds of pure pleasure through her blouse and her bra. Then, making her gasp, he slowly slid his thumbs over her stiffening nipples.

Returning the favor, with him old enough to be her grandfather, surprising him, Christie reached her small hand down and to his lap. She felt, squeezed, and massaged his erecting penis through his trousers. He couldn't remember the last time that a woman felt his cock. His prick swelled and stiffened in the way that it hadn't been hard in years. Glad that he could still get it up, because of her, he had a raging erection.

# # #

They paused in their kisses long enough for her to look up into each other's eyes.

"Yes," she said and was all that she said.

Giving him her permission, he didn't have to be psychic to know her meaning.

After Chrisie told McKinsey yes to continue, they resumed their kissing and fondling. While waiting for her to stop him, he was surprised when she didn't. He helped her remove her sweater. Then, he slowly unbuttoned her blouse. He looked to see what each unbuttoned button revealed before unbuttoning the next button. Then, once her blouse was fully unbuttoned, he opened it, and removed her blouse.

He stared at her sexy, red, lacy, low-cut bra. He stared at the tops of her meaty breasts and her long, sexy line of cleavage. He stared at her areolas and her erect nipples that he could clearly see through her sheer brassiere. Then, he felt her breasts and fingered her nipples through her bra while continuing to kiss her.

As if he was in the backseat of his '65 chevy again with his 18-year-old prom date, proud of himself for still having the touch, he reached around behind her and unhooked her bra with one hand. He removed her bra straps from her shoulders, her arms from her bra straps. Then, as if there was a drumroll of anticipation, he ever so slowly removed her bra.

Something that he hasn't seen in forever, he feasted his old eyes on the most perfect, young breasts that he had ever seen. He touched her naked breasts, felt them, and fondled them while pinching, pulling, turning, and twisting her erect nipples. Then, he leaned forward and devoured her areolas while sucking her nipples, first one and then the other while continuing to finger her nipples.

Christie moaned contentedly and ran her fingers through his silver hair. With one hand on her breast, his other hand went to her mound and began to massage her vulva through her pants. He found her clothing-clad vagina much warmer than the rest of her body. He felt her dampness growing through her pants and panties. She was wet. He couldn't remember the last time he made a woman wet.