Note: This story is a complete work of fiction, and in no way represents the personal experiences of the author. It is primarily a love story for anyone to read, but it is erotic, and if you're offended by incest, gay lovers, mild language, or graphic descriptions of straight sex, I strongly suggest that you don't read this!!! That being said, this is my first story and I hope you all enjoy it.
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Christmas Eve
The sky was glittering. When Glinda looked up she felt a bit dizzy; she wondered if it were really stars she was seeing or if angels had strung up the holiday lights. She shivered with cold. It was so deeply winter that the air actually hurt to inhale, so she kept burying her face further into her red, fuzzy scarf.
Glinda listened absent-mindedly to the sound of carolers passing on the sidewalk next to her, listened to the bells jingling on the sides of the carriage of which she was an unenthusiastic passenger, listened to the horses snort and clop merrily through the snow on the asphalt. After spending her entire life in New York, the charms of the city and old-fashioned carriage rides wouldn't raise her spirits. She shut her eyes and prayed that Christmas would just vanish. It was a similar prayer to the ones she'd murmured every December during her childhood, but maybe after eighteen years the gods would finally hear her and she would wake up long after Christmas had gone.
* * * * *
December 24, 1989
Dear Diary,
Today Daddy died. I was out throwing snowballs with Mallory and Mommy was lying there sleeping. She was in one of her deep sleeps so she didn't hear him fall. I feel sick and very sad. I love Daddy a lot. Maybe God will wake him up tomorrow. It's Christmas and nothing bad can ever happen on Christmas. I wanted to send a letter to Santa asking to give Daddy life instead of presents but I don't think he'll get it in time. I can't sleep tonight, but I'll try. I'm crying too much.
When she was six, the Fairy Girl (as her father affectionately called her) lost her daddy. He fell down two flights of stairs in their home after suffering a mild stroke and broke several ribs. He may have lived, but his wife had passed out drunk at the kitchen table. Fairy Girl found him first when she came inside, covered in a thick winter coat and a light sprinkling of snowflakes.
The thing Glinda remembered most these days wasn't the awkward way he was sprawled out on the floor or the blood on the carpet, but the large, beautiful pine tree in the corner. Daddy bought it at Central Park the day before and had decorated it while she was out. The lights were turned on and the ornaments were colorful and enchanting. All that was missing was the star on top: Glinda put it up every year.
That year felt least like Christmas to Glinda because her mother was crying and her father was gone and there wasn't even a star to top off the tree. Fairy Girl sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the tree, gently touching every glass ball and garland and popcorn kernel as Daddy had left it, waiting all day for one of the holiday miracles she'd always heard about to happen and her father to burst through the front door.
* * * * *
The morning before, bright white light had woken her up, streaming in through her bedroom window. When Glinda forced her eyes open, she saw the first snowfall of the year, fluttering elegantly and wetly outside.
She went to the bathroom to get dressed for work, although she would have done anything to get out of it. She worked at a coffee shop with her best friend Jean; her only real friend. Jean was dragging her to a party at a friend's house tomorrow night. "You need to get out and meet people," she'd told her. "Actually do something for the holidays."
Glinda didn't care. She stared at her reflection, wondering where the lonely child she still felt like had gone. She had short blonde hair that didn't quite reach her shoulders. The platinum streaks she'd bleached in had almost grown out, making her look a bit older and more sophisticated. She had big, bright blue eyes and quite pale skin. She was definitely too short and thin to be a conventional beauty, and she could cup her breasts neatly in the palms of her own small hands, but she thought she looked nice enough.
Daddy had always told her so. He'd call her his beautiful girl, taking her to the theatre on Broadway to see musicals, buying her peanuts during the intermission and fanning her with the playbill when she got too hot.
Glinda listened to the running water in the shower, waiting for the steam to fog up the windows before she'd bother undressing. It was too cold in that house. The tiles beneath her feet froze her toes. She remembered how Daddy used to nibble on them, to dance her around the house, to call her a Fairy Girl.
"Why do you call me that?" she asked him once.
"Call you that? Isn't it true, my girl?" Daddy had joked.
"How -- I'm no fairy." She thought of the illustrations in the books Daddy read to her.
"You're not? I thought I saw wings hiding back there somewhere..." and he would grab her and tickle her until she cried mercy, mercy.
Glinda realized that she was a little old to still miss him. But how could she not? Even though it had been forever, she remembered him perfectly. He was tall and muscular, and he had brown hair that was lightly graying at the temples. He was a beautiful man with beautiful brown doe eyes that crinkled in a smile, with a ringing laugh that warmed her heart. He'd tease her about the princes in Disney movies and fairy stories, promising her that someday she'd have her very own prince.
Glinda was too young to understand, but now she did and it made her angry, resentful. She may be a woman now and not a child but she would much rather have her Daddy back instead of Prince Charming. She sometimes imagined her prince finally rescuing her, but Prince was really her Daddy in disguise.
Glinda took her hot shower, soaping her body vigorously, trying to wash away pain like dirt. After drying in a fuzzy towel, she escaped into the hallway and began dressing herself. She'd only gotten as far as her black cotton panties and bra when she stopped, her nerve endings tingling from the shower and thoughts of Prince waking her up on Christmas morning.
He'd be tall and handsome, with a strong and musky scent. Glinda sighed softly, leaning back against the wall. He'd take her and kiss her and call her his beautiful fairy, and he'd kiss her again only this time less gently and with need. Her fingers slipped inside of her panties and she slid them down over her lightly trimmed bush, nudging them through her swollen pussy lips. She gasped at the first touch to her clitoris -- fantasies like these always aroused her quickly.
"Open up your legs, baby," Prince would say, breathing fast. Glinda stripped quickly for him and he lifted her up (Daddy had been very tall, she remembered, so the best and most comforting thing was for him to reach down and raise her off the ground, holding her neatly so they were eye to eye). Now she felt every detail, the heaving of his chest through the soft cotton shirt he wore, his erect nipples and the growing bulge against her thigh telling her he loved her and would protect her.
Glinda massaged herself with her knuckle, tracing her hot, wet pussy lips and then slid a finger deep inside, flicking her clit with her thumb and imagining Prince's tongue there. Whether his mouth was lavishing her own or her vagina, he was always making noise -- moaning or gasping or simply breathing so she knew he was there and she felt him, voicing his pleasure and causing vibrations to hum and flow over her skin.
Prince grabbed her breasts and tongued the nipples, kissing them. He hugged her close and as soon as he'd unzipped his pants, his cock sprung out at attention. Glinda touched it innocently, angelically, filled with desire. He delicately slid his big hard cock in her. It was the most beautiful thing, and Glinda drove herself against him.
As she pumped with him, she imagined that each thrust brought both of them back to life. Glinda felt the petals spreading open as she fingered herself faster to keep up with the imaginary Prince's speed. Like a fire in her belly, the flames licked her opening. If sex were only magic, it could bring Daddy back to life and make up for his never being there, make up for her whole childhood wasted on a mother who didn't love her and whose eyes were always coated with alcohol and couldn't even see her, let alone raise her. Daddy... Prince came inside of her, the thick streams of cum shooting in her groping pussy, and the fire in Glinda erupted too until she felt her own pulse between her thighs, her whole hand wet. She slid down to the floor, quivering, heart pounding and her orgasm ended as so many of them did: in tears.
* * * * *
Having sex never pleasured Glinda like her own dreams did. She'd tried a few times with guys she wasn't that interested in, usually Jean's blind dates, but she just couldn't come with them. She would thrust and thrust and open her eyes and see not Prince but someone so much less real groaning weakly on top of her. Glinda knew Jean meant well and in some ways was the only one who cared if she was alive -- really living -- or just going through the motions. But she didn't go out on arranged dates anymore. She didn't bother.
All that day at work, making people lattes and scratching her sweating forehead beneath the ridiculous white fur brim of the Santa hat employees had to wear, Glinda kept thinking about a decision she'd made with Daddy when she was still a child. How she so vividly heard her little girl voice in her mind was a mystery to herself, but she clung to the memory like a lifeline:
