The Appeal

Jeanette sat down at her desk after fetching a pen and box of old stationary. She could not remember how long it had been since she had written a letter by hand. Her hand trembled anxiously when she touched the ballpoint to the page, but two deep breaths steadied her penmanship.

Dear Sir,

Over fifty years have passed since I have written. But, the past ten years have torn at my heart. In fact, I believe that I was robbed of the enjoyment of a significant portion of my greatest sexual prime due being incarcerated within grief's prison for over a decade. No, it is not my grief that I am talking about. Everyone I love has been affected by grieving; my husband, Todd, most of all. That is what happens when a young life is taken; although, death always comes too soon.

I could have followed my friends and family members out of grief's prison. Years ago, they accepted parole one-by-one when the return of happiness unbolted their cell doors. I chose to remain behind in my cell next to Todd's even though my acceptance of our loss had dissolved all the imaginary iron bars.

Todd refuses to believe that his confinement has been self-imposed all these years even though I've tried to explain it differently. There are times when reason just cannot convince the mind to release the grip of painful emotions. I have tried to live in peace with this.

But, this is not the place to go into such details, because I suspect you know all of this. It is just that Todd and I are both getting older, and I do not want to allow grief to rob us of any more passion. I know I cannot have my son back, but what about my husband?

I just cannot believe that I must live in a platonic relationship with the man whose simple smile or kiss on my cheek has caused my body to quiver, belly to spasm, and nether regions to throb for over forty years.

Now, Todd just rolls over and bids me goodnight. Sadly, I have run out of ideas for rekindling that fire within his loins. I have been very patient and loyal to him in spite of my desperation. Okay, I do stray in my mind. I imagine all kinds of delicious affairs, but I have never acted on any fantasy. And that is nothing new; this happens in one way or another to everyone. Yet, again, I must not digress.

As you are aware, I am still an attractive woman in spite of my sixty-two years. My greatest defense against aging is my mind. I keep my mind young by imagining myself as a young vixen in spite of the wrinkles at the edges of my eyes and skin losing it tautness around my neck.

Your helper must have observed from my sexy short dress worn over a low-cut plunge bra that my full chest and voluptuous cleavage still attract wandering eyes. The mid-hip length shows that my shapely legs carry me with lively steps that create a natural sway of my hips.

I can still capture the gaze of any man with my sensuous smile and coquettish demeanor that suggests, "I can see you, and you are quite saucy even though I am not available." I see my recipients' shoulders straighten up, and their gaits become a bit more assured and purposeful. I believe that strokes their egos. And, the change in their posturing assures me that "I still have it." Yes, it is a two-way street.

But, I must keep myself from becoming tangential. Yes, I must stay focused and remain on topic, because my mind has already trotted off with some imagined stately gentleman who turns around and sprints after me. He walks beside me divulging all the delights that his masterful skills are going to offer me. Oh, how I stray!

What I am trying to explain is that Todd is the man who I desire. It is my husband that I want back, but I have no idea how to reignite his passion. I need help. I know my appeal is out of the ordinary, but I just have to believe that you are the one who can assist me.

You are the recipient of my plea for one main reason, or maybe there are many reasons. I could have written God, Jesus, Mother Mary or some pious saint. But, there is a problem as far as I see it. I cannot find anything written in the scriptures suggesting that any of "Them" had enjoyed a passionate sexual relationship. I could digress deeply here, and it takes all my focus to stay on track.

Maybe I am incorrect to place God in this group, because certain scriptures were created by the pens of a select group of men under the scrutiny of one king who must have wanted to ban sensuality.

I have to marvel at the ancient sculptures of gods and goddesses entwined in sensuous embraces. No words—just pictures that do not require any interpretation. But, oh, how my mind wanders here and there.

Yet, you are a saint. I used to write to you, and you always fulfilled my wishes when I was a child. Plus, you have been married for eons, so you must know what it takes to remain passionate for one's true love and the deep longing for the sexual reunion that can restore a couple to the depths of their souls.

So, Santa Claus, here is my question. If something tragic happened within your world, and you mourned so deeply that you could not be guided back into your senses, what might bring you back? What might arouse passion within your mind and set fire to your loins in a way that brings back that twinkle in your eyes for Mrs. Santa and your jovial laugh after taking delight in her treasures?

I must believe that you, too, must have experienced some kind of tragedy eons ago, overcame it, and even grew through it to become the everlasting passionate great jovial St. Nicholas. I must believe that you know some secret that keeps your marriage to Mrs. Santa young, and if so, might just be willing to share it.

That is what I desire, my dearest Santa. I want to reignite my marriage with the fires of passion. I know I have been good enough, so I believe you will answer my appeal. I will watch for signs.

With deep gratitude for your assistance,

Jeanette

Jeanette folded the two-page letter and put it into an envelope. She pulled the adhesive strip away from the flap and sealed the letter once again missing that unique taste of glue that had once set memories of mailing a correspondence. Now, she often forgot if she had mailed letters. However, this letter was not going to be mailed.

She went to her closet and then placed her sexiest short low-cut dress and a complementary pair of two-inch heels across the bed. Jeannette pulled a matching set of red-laced string bikini panties and plunge bra from her drawer. She stood in front of the mirror and opened her floor-length silk robe. She began to study herself as the deep burgundy robe fell off her shoulders and onto the floor. Denuded, she nodded her approval.

Jeanette's eyes admired the shapely padded curves outlining her rather short stature of only five feet. Her chest always reminded her of an upside down heart. She smiled at the symmetrical fullness of soft muscles followed by full breasts that lifted gently upwards while resting on her upper ribs. The image along with the soft pink areola tips still caused Todd's eyes to widen.

Although her belly, hips and derriere had plumped into full womanhood, the effect created an hourglass shape rarely extoled by the media. Yet, she had seen the same image in many Renaissance paintings. "Todd exclaims his adoration any time he sees me nude," she thought.

Yet, her smile quickly turned into an expression of resigned sadness when she wondered how long it had been since they had made love. She looked at her watch and knew he would be at the gym for at least another half hour.

Deep in thought, Jeanette seemed to walk in a robotic manner to her side of the bed. She reached into a drawer and dug through warm winter nightclothes cast off several years ago for sexier lingerie. She pulled out a vibrator with a plastic tip that looked like a large finger. She opened the drawer full of matching racy bras and string-bikini panties. She reached to the bottom and pulled out two adjustable clips connected by a large silver chain.

Jeanette then reached into the cabinet that held her old wooden jewelry box and reached behind it for a velvet black sack. She opened the soft encasing to remove a dildo covered with soft latex. It was like a piece of artistic wonder in the way it looked and felt like a stiff cock, including protruding veins and urethra. She removed a small bottle of flavored lubricant from the satchel.

Jeanette flopped across the bed. Then she placed her heels upon the covers and allowed her knees to spread apart. She reverently applied the flavored lubricant to the tip of the erect penis before placing it to her mouth. She gently licked and mouthed the bulb of the device as if savoring the pointed tip of a soft serve cone.

Then, as if in a ritualized trance, she circled the tip with her tongue before taking half its length into her mouth. Her hips began to rock as she held the cock still and moved her head up and down while holding it in her grasp.

Putting the dildo down next to her hip, she began stimulating both nipples with her fingers. Once they were sufficiently erect, she picked up the clips. Jeanette's chest arched upwards as her womb contracted each time she released a clamp and allowed it to clip onto one of her nipples. She felt her readiness as her vagina began to pulsate.

Jeanette flipped the switch on her vibrator. She placed the soft vibrating digit over her clit, and her hips immediately began rocking back and forth. Her hand reached for the life-like erect cock, and she placed the tip against the slit between lips now swollen with desire. The rocking motion of her hips against the pressure of the dildo guided its slow steady entry into her tight sheath. Jeanette's body arched upward in a spasm as the stimulation of her clit set off an orgasm comparable to the hydraulic shock of a depth charge.

"Damn, I peed again," Jeanette complained aloud at the wet ejaculated. She rose quickly in her habitual manner to stow away her sexual toys before Todd could possibly catch her.

Jeanette donned her sensuous panties and bra and then slipped the figure-hugging dress over her head. She still did not need to wear slips or pantyhose. Yet while dressing, her thoughts went to her lonely ritual of masturbation and how it lacked everything except the powerful clitoral orgasm. She knew that such a powerful orgasm had to ability to calm her frustrations so that she did not put too much pressure on Todd. Grief had caused high blood pressure. Both can be hard on a man's ego.

For obvious reasons, Todd had become very self-conscious whenever he was unable to maintain an erection. The commercials for those drugs made it worse. Drug pushers do not know the desires of mature women. Propaganda mixed with ignorance can spell disaster for mature men. "Yes, even for those who have knowledgeable, sexy, patient and loving wives," argued Jeanette to a non-existent debate partner.

She thought about how she missed that feeling of entranced serenity within the lovers' entwined embrace after lovemaking. And then she shook her head. "No," she exclaimed aloud, "I miss everything from beginning to end!"

Startled out of her thoughts, Jeanette was surprised to find herself at the mall so quickly. Her attention was only on one thing, so she ignored every pre-holiday sale sign in the store windows. Soon she spotted her target. She waited in line for her turn, and kept pushing away self-consciousness.

Then, she sauntered slowly up to the white-haired man with spectacles. She stopped in front of him and then turned around full circle to show herself off.

His eyes twinkled in amusement when she held his gaze as if to say, "See?" Then, she sat down on the soft red velvet that covered his knee. She touched her mouth to his ear while pressing her letter into his white-gloved hand.

"It is all in my letter. Please get this to the real Santa who can help me do what I need to do to return my husband's passion," she whispered. And then she rose from his lap and walked away with her head up and hips swaying.

********

That night, two immortals were engaged in conversation in another land. "That's all we know then?" Mrs. Santa half asked and half stated while carefully folding the two pieces of stationary and placing them back into the envelope.

"Yes, that is all," stated Santa. "We cannot trust verbal messages relayed by so many carriers along the way, because the message gets so scramble. However, the final elf said something about needing the 'real Santa' and 'passion.'"

"This letter is all we have except for the comment about the style of her delivery," he continued. "Based on all that, I do believe that Janette's letter is authentic and is written from the depths of her soul. So, what do you think?"

"I have never read a request like this one before!" exclaimed Mrs. Santa. "And I have read every letter that you've received. Today, everyone asks for objects. Things are not difficult to manifest. It has been centuries since anyone has written to you for help, and no one has ever appealed to you to reignite passion. Your sainthood has not been recognized in this manner for centuries. Once, many knew you as the friend and protector of all of those in need," reminisced Mrs. Santa.

"Now, we only receive requests for toys," agreed Santa.

"Oh, and no one has ever acknowledged that you and I have romance and even lustful appetites for one another!" giggled Mrs. Santa as she stood up on her tiptoes and gave Mr. Santa a kiss on his full rosy lips. "Helping maidens to marry has always been one of our favorite missions next to serving children. And, Jeanette is merely asking for a spark to be set within her marriage bed."

"So, I will take that as a 'Yes.' You have always been able to grant the wishes of mortals," sighed Santa. "I do feel bad sometimes that I get all the credit just because I deliver the gifts."

"But that's the way it has been for thousands of years regardless of the characters you and I have played. And, that is the way I like it, because it gives me so much more freedom," flirted Mrs. Santa.

"Oh, how you stir up my imagination!" laughed Santa. "I can't wait to hear about your plan for Jeanette. There are times when she is naughty, so you will have that side of her to shape. Yes, I believe you will mold her into another one of your Lady Libertines, just like yourself."

"But for now, I am tired," confessed Santa as he feigned a yawn and stretched out his arms. "Let's go to bed," he announced with twinkling eyes inviting a frolic. Mrs. Santa giggled and trotted off ahead of him.