The Little Tin Soldier

The cold, damp Channel wind whipped at her coat as she walked up the hill towards her flat. The smell from the chip shop lured her. Even though the food would be cold by the time she got home, Kim really did not want to cook tonight.

"Merry Christmas Miss and enjoy tonight. Oh Miss, remember we will be open tomorrow too."

Kim stopped at the shop door and turned, "Merry Chris..." her voice stopped. Did the little old Pakistani man celebrate Christmas?

His faced beamed. "Thank you, thank you. Remember, my chips are magical. See you tomorrow!"

Embarrassed and somewhat shaken, Kim quickly fled the shop and hurried home. The shop owner's holiday greeting had opened old wounds and reminded her of just how empty her Christmas would be. The neighborhood decorations became a vague impression as the hurt, anger, and frustration built up again within her. Tears blurred her eyes as she fumbled with the apartment front door key. By the time she stood before her own door at the end of the first floor hall, she was sobbing uncontrollably.

A folded yellow piece of paper, pushed into the doorjamb, blocked the keyhole of the door. She grabbed it and crumpled it in her hand as she fumbled with her purse and the bag of chips. Her hand was unsteady and she had difficulty unlocking the door. The lock finally clicked and she pushed open the door. However, instead of finding her flat dark and cold, she found the lights on and the little room warm and inviting. She had not felt up to decorating the apartment for Christmas, but now, holly garland wound its way over the curtain rods, a small Christmas tree sat on the table in front of the window. Its lights flashed brightly and there was the wrapped shape of her favorite liqueur under its branches. Then Kim saw the tall elegantly wrapped present on the floor in front of the table and tree. She was astonished, bewildered, and confused.

She deliberately closed the door and set the lock. Her teary eyes sought the comfort and guidance of the picture by the door. It was a collage of photographs of her fiancŽ. Her beloved Dickie smiled back at her. One picture showed him in his dress uniform and another kneeling by his armored vehicle in the Iraqi desert. In the centre was an elegant note of condolence with the broad signature of Phillip Mountbatten, Colonel in Chief, Queen's Royal Hussars. She fought back the tears, as she thought of gentle young man, killed near Basra almost a year ago. She gently touched the picture. Somehow, Kim felt strangely comforted by the pictures and the note from the Prince. She felt less lonely. Kim glanced again at the decorations, the tree, and the presents. A new strength flowed through her. Kim turned and walked towards the kitchen drying her tears as she went.

Her sobbing stopped by the time she crossed the small bed-sitting room and stood before the kitchen table. Slowly she placed her purse, the chips, and the note on the table and removed her coat, draping it over the back of one of the chairs. The only sounds in the apartment were Kim's breathing and the crackle of the balled note as it opened on the table. Kim reached for the paper and flattened it against the table. She tried to smile, as she read the words written on the paper by the perfect hand of her landlady.

"Kim,

A number of the boys arrived this afternoon with some decorations and presents for you. I let them in. I hope that was all right. I trust you stopped at Harold's on your way home for some chips. I put some coins in the gas meter and left some extra change by the sink. There is a meat pie, and some minced tarts in the oven. I put some more goodies in your fridge. Have a warm Christmas Eve, sweetie.

Marie Smith"

Kim stared at the note for a moment. She whispered "thank you, thank you everyone, but what I really need is Dickie..." Her mind turned to anguished longing. Then the gentle whoosh of the gas oven and the smell of the meat pie brought her back to reality. Kim placed the chips to warm in the oven with the pie, and put on the kettle to make tea. The mundane activities helped subdue her loneliness and grief.

The ballerina danced across the television screen. The Nutcracker was one of her favorite ballets. Kim huddled on the day bed dressed in her terry bathrobe, a simple flannel nightgown, and slippers. Her grandmother's Afghan throw rug covered her feet and legs. The dinner dishes were stacked on the side table. Kim reveled in the liberating radiance created by her second glass of Drambuie. The liqueur had been one of the gifts she found under the tree. Kim smiled. Whether it was the spicy chips or Mrs. Smith's meat pie and tarts, or the liqueur, Kim felt warm and at peace. She experienced contentment for the first time in months.

Shiny blue paper and a large red ribbon wrapped the tall rectangular box, which stood in front of the table. Kim had promised herself that she would save the opening of the last present until Christmas morning. However, it seemed to beckon her and urged her to open it. She fought the desire, but finally gave in.

Kim nearly lost her balance as she bent down to pick up the present. It was surprisingly heavy. Kim could not lift it. Instead, she tried to drag it towards the day bed, but she slipped and fell back onto the bed. As she fell, Kim grasped frantically at the ribbon which secured the wrapping. The bow gave way sending the tall present into a wobbling spin. The cushions comforted her fall. Tchaikovsky's music, the ballerinas, the present, and the room swirled as one and Kim's eyes closed.

In an erotic dreamlike sequence, his lips kissed her forehead, the bridge of her nose, and then found her lips. Strong hands traced along her neck and across her shoulders. She could feel their heat though the robe. Kim's eyes slowly opened. Only the flickering glow of the television screen lit the room. Her loyal Hussar knelt before her. "Sergeant Richard Gillespie, at your service Miss." The words made Kim's heart flutter and her head spin in disbelief.

He stood before her, tall, straight, and powerful. The light from the television reflected from the silver buttons on his tunic. Kim reached for her soldier. He drew her up from the bed and pressed her close to his chest. She watched him reach into his pocket and pull out a fresh strand of mistletoe. "I came prepared," he whispered. His lips found hers and their tongues intertwined. Kim clutched desperately at him. When they broke the kiss he laughed and said, "slow down sweetie, we have all of this Christmas Eve and more." With that, his left hand slipped under the edges of her robe and nightshirt and began to rub the soft skin of her shoulder. At the same time, his right hand tugged gently at the belt of the robe.

Kim felt a warm tingle begin to grow in her lower abdomen. Her breathing quickened. Standing on her tiptoes she reached up, nuzzled his neck with her lips, and bit on his ear lobe. His strong hands now moved under her robe to massage her back and buttocks. His touch tingled. Urgency built within Kim. Her fingers fumbled with his tunic belt and clawed at the buttons. She needed to caress his skin. She tugged at a button and it flew off. Kim panicked. "Oh Dickie, I'm so sorry. I'll get the sewing kit..." Her words and panic were smothered in another deep kiss.

Kim lay on the bed her legs splayed. Her open mouth emitted yet one more silent scream of pleasure. Dickie's tongue and fingers had brought her to another orgasmic high. His tongue danced across her clit. His fingers plunged in and out of her sopping pussy, deliciously exploring the folds and crevices of her vagina. The pace of his fingers slowed. Kim began to regain control of her breathing. She now enjoyed the soft tugs of Dickie's teeth as they pulled at her pubic hair. Her hands found the back of his head and guided him towards her breasts.

Kim's nipples hardened under his kisses. Each time he sucked them, her pussy contracted around his still buried fingers. She enjoyed the feelings. The sensations radiating from her breasts and pussy swallowed her entire consciousness. In her trance, Kim's orgasms now came in waves, matching the tempo of the violins that played in the background.

There was a burning whisper in Kim's ear. "I need you! I need to be inside you, now." The words were delivered with a husky urgency. At the same time, strong hands were turning her over and drawing her into a kneeling position.

Kim felt the head of his cock push against the lips of her pussy. She was sopping wet and his raging shaft slid inside easily. Dickie's hands roughly grasped her hips timing her movements to his thrusts. His thumbs found her anal rosebud, rubbed it, and penetrated. The crescendo of their passion rose with the music. Gasps of excitement and delight filled the room and then all faded into blackness.

Kim fitfully stirred. The words from "We wish you a Merry Christmas" broke through fogginess of her waking mind. "...We won't go until we get some, so bring some right here," the words of the song triggered faint recollections of the night before. The television was still on and showed carolers in Dickens's era costumes strolling down a city street. Kim pushed aside her terry robe and Afghan blanket, which covered her. She sat up in bed only to find herself naked. Where was her nighty, Kim wondered? Then Kim saw it balled up at the base of the tall rectangular package, which still stood, perfectly wrapped, in front of the table. On top of the flannel garment was a strand of mistletoe.

Confusion overcame her. The memories and visions of the previous night flowed through mind. What had really happened? Bolting from the bed, Kim took a step and then felt a sharp pain in her right foot. She stumbled and fell. Beneath her foot was a crested silver button. She gathered it up and reached for her nighty. Then Kim noticed for the first time the card that dangled on the side of the present.

Kim trembled as she read.

Better by far

A Queen's Royal Hussar,

Enjoy a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year

She bit her lip. Shock and astonishment overwhelmed her. Then a coy smile spread across her face. A tingle of excitement passed through her body and she felt warmth grow in the matted dampness between her legs. More of Mrs. Smith's pies and tarts waited in the fridge, coins for the gas meter lay by the sink, and there was over half a bottle of Drambuie remaining on the side table. Kim's left hand rose to her mouth and she involuntarily bit her fingers as she considered the one missing ingredient. Was the chip shop open? "...Merry Christmas Miss... Remember, my chips are magical. See you tomorrow!"

The words of the little Pakistani proprietor sounded in her mind. The possibility of re-creating Christmas Eve and seeing Dickie again intrigued her. She placed the mistletoe on the top of the present, picked up the nightdress, and headed towards the bathroom humming "We wish you a Merry Christmas."