The atrocious turbulent winds perilously buffeted Santa's sledge as he cruised in hyper speed over thick banks of clouds over the Atlantic. His sledge came in the form of a flying pink Cadillac with a glowing red light blinking on its chrome like a cop car's roaming headlight. This Santa couldn't be bothered about travelling halfway around the world with a set of reindeer creatures. Fuck a red-nosed reindeer, Black Santa snorted before leaving on his mission; gimme a caddy instead.
Santa was on a mission. He had several homes to visit, first across the Northeast Atlantic, then later in the Mid-West. Several wives were on his naughty list that he intended visiting. Their husbands knew he was coming; the wives didn't, and that was how he wanted it to remain until he got there.
He reduced his speed, lowered his altitude down the bank of cumulonimbus clouds and sights, and saw the distant glowing lights of the city he was first visiting. His Christmas caddy cruised twenty feet over the rooftops of the snow-covered streets and compounds, zeroing in on the particular house he was to visit. It was way past midnight. Nobody dared brave the blizzard outside their doorstep. That was good, so he could come and leave without being observed.
Santa parked his sledge in a snow-covered schoolyard two miles from his intended destination, then waded through ten inches of snow towards that direction. The husband's name was Ian; his wife was Sammy. Ian had written Santa months ago, complaining about Sammy not believing in Black Santa. She declared he wasn't real, and if he were, no way would he ever make himself known to her. Ian's wish was for Black Santa to make theirs an exception and reveal to his wife the true meaning of the holiday spirit.
Black Santa stopped to catch his breath when he arrived at the couple's front porch, then banged his fist on their door. The door soon opened to reveal the husband. Ian's eyes grew large with surprise and he had to adjust his glasses on his face to ensure he wasn't delusional.
"Black Santa," he gasped. "My God, you really . . . you really exist!"
"You gonna let me in, white boy," Black Santa growled impatiently. "Or you think I came all this way to freeze here on your porch?"
"Oh, yes . . . I'm sorry. Do come in, please."
Ian opened the door further and waited for Santa to finish stomping snow off his boots on their welcome mat before entering the warmth and comfort of his home.
Black Santa unbuttoned his coat, and Ian assisted him out of it, then took off his boots. He wore a pair of leather suspenders under his Santa outfit. He was built like a linebacker and bore shoulder muscles that resembled cushion pillows. His torso was adorned with exotic tattoos down to his chiselled abdomen. Santa looked like he'd come to handle business and wasn't leaving until the job got settled.
He looked about the living room and then turned to Ian: "Where's she?"
"Upstairs," Ian indicated the stairs leading to his bedroom. "She's busy playing with herself, sir."
"Ain't no need for that, white boy - I'm here to take care of that."
