Ava stretched up to string lights around the top of her flimsy, charley-brown Christmas tree. A man would be helpful at this moment, but that's wasn't in the cards this Christmas. She sighed as she took a step back and to look her little tree up and down -- not bad for having done it alone. As she sunk down into the couch, she felt -- intensely -- her singleness. It's wasn't lack of attractiveness -- she knew she was beautiful. Standing 6'0 tall, built long and lean, and boasting big blue eyes, Ava was confident in her ability to pull in almost whoever she wanted. She'd been accused many times of being too picky and maybe that was it -- she knew what she liked. She had a type. She went for the shaggy, soft-spoken artist type -- photographers and writers. Every guy she had dated in the last few years fit that mold, every guy...except for one. Ava sighed, she remembered him all too well.
They'd met several years back, working together at the same barn. He broke young horses for his living; she rode jumping horses for hers. The attraction was immediate and intense. He was tall -- 6'3 at least and lean but well muscled. Sandy brown hair and bright blue eyes -- much like hers. She grins now to think of him. They had flirted intensely for months while the sexual tension mounted to the point of being unbearable. Finally, he'd come over to her place one night, mildly sheepish and holding a can of Sparks. She grinned -- he was nervous. Him, of all people, so strong and stoic, nervous -- and all because of her. He knew what was in store for them that night every bit as well as she did. She remembered the look on his face as he first laid eyes on her small, pert breasts with their erect little nipples, shrouded slightly by the lengths of her blonde hair; her long, lean, tanned torso, and the valley between her hipbones that he knew led down to that promised land between her legs that he wanted so badly to sink himself into. That night, they had fucked three times and both of them had silently decided to stay there as long as they possibly could.
Now, 4 years later, they lived on different sides of the country, she had a job as a freelance writer, and she wasn't sure what he was doing - but his memory stuck with her and she knew hers stuck with him, as well. She sighed, he wasn't here this Christmas though, was he?
For the next several days, Ava busied herself around the house -- cooked more elaborate dinners than usual in an attempt to quell her holiday-induced loneliness, baked breads and cakes for friends and family, decorated, and made progress on several stories for work. One night, as she sat in her dim living room listening to quiet music, reading, and watching the lights on her Christmas tree flicker, her doorbell rang. She glanced at the clock, uncertain who could be ringing her at this time of night. Outside, the snow fell heavily in big, soft flakes.
She reached her door and stood on her toes to peer through the glass window at the top only to be met with a pair of watery blue eyes peeking from beneath the brim of a snow-dusted brown beanie. Ava immediately recoiled.
No. It couldn't be.
The doorbell rang again and this time, the eyes outside stood on tiptoe to peek in at her. No it couldn't be? Yes. It was. There was no denying it was. But Why? And How? Obviously her visitor was getting impatient -- he knocked, and, drawing in a deep, shaky breath, Ava, stepped forward and opened the door.
Of course he was just as she remembered him. Tall and lean but undeniably strong. He wore a brown beanie, a simple black jacket, jeans, a rodeo buckle and boots. Those damn boots. She always swore it was those things that got her in the first place. Her pussy instinctively ached against her will. He was just so goddamn sexy. She could see in his face his thoughts were much the same. He stood and took her in -- she wore nothing but a pair of tight black leggings that hugged her taut thighs and ample ass and slung low on her hips, exposing the valley between her hip bones that had always made his mouth water. Her chest was on display in a tight gray tee shirt, she wore no bra -- she seldom did -- and he could see her pert little nipples reacting to the cold from outside as they stood erect against the fabric. Her hair was loose and longer than he remembered, and she wore reading glasses. His cock stirred in his pants.
"Christmas Carol?" he asked, smiling, tilting his head slightly.
God she knew that gesture so well.
"Come in," Ava relented, stepping back to allow him access.
Her mind raced, she wondered what he was doing at her house of all places. But then again, it wasn't entirely unusual. He had a way of re-appearing without much notice, he always had. As he stepped into the house, his eyes traveled around her living room, lined with heavy oak bookshelves chocked with hardcovers and paperbacks -- Ava had always been a reader. It was one of the things he loved about her. The room was dim, mellow Indy music floated through the air and several candles flickered on the coffee table. In the corner, a large, spindly Christmas tree blinked softly. He took off his coat and beanie, and laid them across the back of a nearby chair.
"Nice place," he said, "I've never been in here."
"I know," Ava said, "How'd you find me? Why are you here? Don't you live on the East Coast now?"
"Yeah, but I'm thinking about moving back. Came for a Christmas visit, thought I'd come say hi, maybe resort to singing carols or begging for alms if you were unwilling to open your door."
He smiled at her again, cocked his head, ran his eyes up and down her body, lingering at her chest and again at the valley of her hips. His cock stirred again. He remembered so well the feeling of that body.
"You look good. Really good," he said with a sly smile.
"Thanks," Ava smiled "You haven't changed much, have you?"
