Christmas Eve, 2004

Inside my apartment, I slung my shoes and my coat as I entered ... where they landed was their business. Welcoming me home, Buck bounded around me in the blast of cold air that came in with me before I slammed the door shut. I looked down at his happy face and then around at all the gay seasonal decorations in there and suddenly felt so morose. My first Christmas alone.

So what do I do? Of course, only I would decide that the answer was to indulge in my mood. I put on a CD of sentimental Christmas music, turned on the lights of my tree, opened a bottle of champagne, got out the fudge my aunt had sent to me when she found out I wasn't coming home for the holidays ... and plopped down in front of my tree intent on crying this mood out amidst the trappings of my family's gifts to me with only my dog to even care that I was sad and alone. Yes, I know that's my maudlin side ... but I've got it so well perfected.

Then just as I'd taken my first sip of champagne and given Buck this tiny, forbidden nibble of fudge, someone knocked at the door.

I turned and aimed a deadly glare at the scumbag I knew was standing on the other side of that door. Chili fucking Palmer.

Okay, so it wasn't enough that Chili'd left me alone when he'd promised me ... PROMISED me ... that he'd not desert me at the fucking Christmas Eve celebration at the Pub earlier that evening ... Which, of course, he did. Desert me, I mean. So that left me there all by myself to watch all the billing and cooing going on around me while he flirted outrageously with Uma ... which left me to just sit there pretending how gay I was feeling. And in most ways, I was ... and if I was, it was because Chili had made me feel proud of myself for going there that night. But I'd only done it because he'd promised to be by my side so that I wouldn't look like the pathetic loser eating her heart out for a wonderful man who's blissfully unaware of anyone but the woman he loves.

Then I sat there while Chili deserted me and I felt the blues come over me and knew what a selfish thing it would be to be blue when all these other people were merry. And I didn't want to see him ... HIM ... not Chili but my eternal 'him' ... I just didn't want to be there when he showed up with her and ... I'm a nice person but, Jesus, I haven't yet reached that Zen state of acceptance. I knew the moment he walked in with her ... you know, even a nice person can resent being reminded they're unhappy with how things have turned out.

It wasn't tough getting out of there unnoticed ... couples were a bit insular and whatever singles were there, they were well-engaged in their own groupings ... and not every one of the regulars was there anyway, so if I was gone, it wouldn't even be noticed. I cut out through the kitchen, down the alley and to my car. When I got there, I realized that I'd left my purse inside. I could picture right where it was ... on the bar. To get it would have meant slinking back inside and waiting around for my next chance to escape ... and that would mean risking that he'd show up with her on his arm and I'd have to stand there smiling like I was fine.

Which I was.

Or rather, which I HAD been until that damned Chili Palmer deserted me to go put the rush on Uma. 

Instead of going back in there, I just fished under the car's wheel well for the magnetic box that held my spare key. When I got to the apartment building, I knew the super would be in ... it was Christmas Eve; who isn't home with family?

Oh.

Right.

Me!

And why was that? Because that fuck Chili Palmer begged me to stay in town and spend Christmas with him so he wouldn't be alone. Christ. If I'd gone home, I'd have avoided all this wear and tear on my heart.

Okay, so I was determined to make the worst of this but that was what I wanted. I wanted to just be alone. To be left alone. To drown my sorrows in bubbly and cry it out for once and for all.

And NOW that I've decided to wallow in my Blue Christmas, Chili thinks he's going to come over here and try to make me feel ... what ... somehow like he knows the answers when it's so fucking plain he doesn't? And you know that's what he thinks he's going to do, right?

I dropped the fudge ... and I jumped over to the door.

Even as I was whipping it open, one hand on my hip, I was yelping out, "Go away! I don't ever want to see you again! You've screwed up my life and I ..."

God.

It wasn't Chili ... it was 'him.' My eternal him. We just stood there looking at each other. I registered the frigid air that swirled in to lick at my bare legs and shoulders.

"Sorry," I whispered ... finally. "I thought you were ..."

"Somebody else," he said, rather brusquely. "So I gathered."

I swallowed. He looked around, his hands clasped behind his back. I looked down at my bare feet. He shuffled his.

And from nowhere ... I felt this spark of hope inside me. Just the tiniest spark. Like a spark approaching a candle's wick. I looked up at him and he was looking at my legs.

"Why are you here?" I asked him ... and I heard how those words breathed to life the candle's flame inside my heart.

"You forgot this at the Pub," he said, one hand coming from behind his back ... and in it was the one thing that blew out the flame.

"Oh. My purse." I felt empty, deflated. God, one little tiny appearance by him before me and I'd had hope where I had said I'd never allow it again. I'm so eternally pathetic. Here, I thought maybe I was about to get a Christmas miracle but the truth was, he was just doing a chore to be nice to a buddy. "Yeah, I hadn't even really noticed."

"I thought you might have worried about it later ... when you realized you'd left it behind."

"Oh, I'm sure I would have. Thanks for doing this for me. That was nice of you."

He had gloves on. I felt the smoothness of the leather as he handed me my purse. "You were gone by the time ..."

"I know. I left early. I was sorry to not have seen y'all but I ... well, you know, I was just ... tired by tonight ... with the holidays and all."

"Then I should leave so you may rest," he said, already pulling away.

"Well, I wouldn't want to keep you anyway. I'm sure she can't wait for you to get back so you can have your own Christmas celebration." I took one step toward him and gave him a soft buss on the cheek. Smiled into his eyes and genuinely wished him to have a wonderful Christmas with her.

But he kind of blinked and glanced away from me for a beat. "I'm not sure who you think is awaiting my arrival, Ann."

"I thought ..." But this time, his eyes were right on me and they were so dark ... and in pain. "Are you all right?"

"Yes. And you?"

"I'm fine."

He took a step back but he didn't turn to leave. His eyes left mine but he didn't really leave me, did he? Maybe he didn't believe me any more than I believed him. Fine? Neither of us was fine that night. Something was wrong for him; I felt my heart go out to him. I wasn't sure what to say, what to do ... I so hated that he was going to walk away from there out into the cold when he was obviously facing a bleak Christmas Eve alone.

"I left your present at the Pub, under the tree. I hope you got it ... I was afraid I wouldn't see you to give it to you and they were doing present exchanges so it just ..." I hate when I babble. I cleared my throat and started again. "Did you make it to the Pub in time to have some dinner? I know there had to be leftovers ... I mean, I noticed you weren't there when we all ate ... I just ..."

"You just what?" he said softly.

"Are you hungry?" He looked down at me. "Why don't you come inside and I'll fix you something to eat?"

"You said you were tired, Ann. I have food at home."

"That's so not the point. This is Christmas Eve. Everyone should have some kind of special meal or celebration tonight, right?"

"I wouldn't know."

Of course not. I had forgotten he doesn't exactly celebrate this holiday like I do. "Well, I do. Now, come inside. You know where the drinks are so don't stand on formality. Let me go see what I've got around that I can make for you."

And that's why a half-hour later, I was watching him eat scrambled eggs and toast ... well, you know? I just didn't have a lot of things around and even if it wasn't the fanciest holiday meal, at least I had a small dish of fresh cranberries for him so that was something, wasn't it?

We didn't talk a whole lot while he ate. He was rather closed down on me and he never seemed anything less than stiffly formal. That told me all I needed to know. And I figured the best thing I could do for him was to just listen if he wanted to talk or to be comfortable with his silence if he didn't.

When he was finished eating, I poured us each wine and asked him if he'd like to keep me company while I sat and watched some sappy Christmas special on TV. He made some noise about how he should leave as I had obviously not expected someone to just drop in ... but then I mentioned to him that I was worried about him and that I honestly didn't want him to be alone that night.

He has this way of staring at me when I say something he must consider as too personal or too invasive of his privacy ... it's not that he means to be rude in return, but I think he just shuts down and refuses to acknowledge that what I've said has made an impact. And thereby, he doesn't have to answer or to entertain additional probing from me.

This is how he stared at me just then. I'm not trying to come on to you, I assured him. "It's just that I was raised by a family that found it incredibly sad to think of anyone they cared about being alone on this night ... And I can see that something has happened and that you're in pain tonight. You don't ever have to tell me what it is. But if you left now, I'd feel like I'd failed a friend tonight."

"This is just another night to me, Ann. You need not worry about me attaching more to it."

"But it's not just another night to me. Please stay? You can sleep on the couch ... in the morning, maybe things will look different to you about whatever it is that's troubling you. Please?"

His jaw worked as he considered this. Finally, he gave me this slight bow and said he appreciated my concern. That's what friends do for each other, I replied. I felt lighter suddenly. As if we'd broken through.

Inside my living room, I got this case of the giggles when I looked at the bottle of champagne and tin of fudge sitting forgotten before my tree.

"You interrupted me just as I was about to sit and really feel sorry for myself," I told him. "I was going to sit here and open all my gifts while I thought about how much I'd rather be at home where people love me."

"I'm sorry." He said it softly. I looked at him and realized he had that weight of sadness on his shoulders again.

Christ, I thought, here I go. He's the only one of the two of us with a real reason to be having a blue Christmas. "Nah. It's no big deal. I think maybe I just got a bit ... just let things be more important than they are."

His eyes turned to mine and they were dark. "You deserve better than to be treated as he has done to you tonight."

Ah. He registered that I was also alone ... and must have formed the conclusion that Chili had deserted me on a night of real importance to me. I reached out and stroked down his arm. "It's okay. I don't want you to worry about me."

"I do anyway."

"I think that says a lot of good things about you."

He caught my hand just as it slipped off of his arm. "Thank you for asking me to stay. Perhaps it's fitting we are alone together ... after all this time."

"We're not really alone though ... not in that way," I said softly, gently. But I didn't even try to take my hand from his ... I liked how it felt in his hold. "What you have with her ... it's real and whatever's happened between you will not matter in the long run ... I mean, so you had a fight or whatever ... once you both are calm, you'll put everything to rights."

"I am not sure what you mean."

He gave me that stare again. I did this mental wince. "Okay. Let's not talk about all this right now. Let's talk about something happier."

"Is there anything happy to discuss when even you have become distant with me?"

I was looking right at him when he said it. I would have given so much to have been able to think of one happy thing to discuss with him. But in that moment, it all felt so false. He was in pain. What can you say to anyone feeling that way? I certainly wasn't doing a very good job lifting his spirits. And ... how do you not feel like a hypocrite to be in the position I was in?

My eyes dropped from his because I had no answers for him. Happy? Around him? When was the last time I'd been happy around him? When was the last time I hadn't wished he'd noticed me as someone other than the woman he thought I was? All these weeks under Chili's guidance, dressing different, holding myself different ... feeling a power that did me no good when it came to this one man.

I pulled my hand from his and backed away. I felt the tree brush against my leg. It brought me to a stop. I saw his feet step toward me. I felt electricity in the air between us. I was the ultimate hypocrite. Had I really invited him to stay knowing this might happen ... that the old physical feelings we called up in each other were bound to emerge in a night of heavy emotions we were both feeling?

"This dress ... it invites a man to touch ..." he said hoarsely. His warm hands stroked across my bare shoulders. I felt the shiver to my toes. "Can I touch?"

My eyes closed tight. It was on the tip of my tongue to say 'no' but all I could manage was to shake my head.

"We are both alone tonight," he whispered as he moved a step closer to me. His hand stroked down my back, this incredibly gentle touch that invited me to close the distance between us.

Oh, how I did not wish to do this just to be the Band-aid when his heart was bleeding because of another woman. How I did not wish to be used when there was never a hope I'd be anything more to him than what I had been before.

But there is a draw to this man that I could not deny.

He scared me the first time I met him. No, not scared. Intimidated me. And then when we became lovers, I discovered the warmth of him that he was reluctant to show to the world at large. I used to feel unworthy of him; in the past few weeks, I've come to see what a bullshit concern that is.

I felt his hand round my hips and go slowly but deliberately lower ... until his open palm was below the short hem. It felt warm and impossibly sexual as it kneaded my thigh through my hosiery.

Not a word came from me. Instead, I pushed away from him only that brought out his need to take what he wanted. He isn't dumb; he knows me too well; he knew I was fighting the way I wanted him; he knew he could force the issue far enough for me to give in. That's how big his need was.

His arms held me to him until I stopped struggling. His hands ended up on my thighs, working their way up until they edged under my hose. He grabbed in on my butt and simply shoved me up against him ... this rhythmic movement ... simulating what was most basic between us.

Even as I heard the tinkling of ornaments behind me as his movements jostled the tree, all I really concentrated on was how much I had always liked when he demonstrated his masculinity and strength like he was just then.

"I watched you go in the pub with him tonight. You looked so tense. Scared ... do you remember our first time?"

It flashed through me as the huge memory it was ... and I trembled. "I'm not that same scared girl anymore."

"No?" I looked up in his eyes. "Did you know I watched you? Did you know that I was scared to approach you?"

"You're not scared of me."

"And you're not scared of me," he whispered against my hair, even as he lifted me up and carried me to the couch. "I watched you with him ... he doesn't treat you with the care he should. I couldn't go in there and watch you all night. But then I came back ... and you were gone."

"We shouldn't do this," I panted it out to him ... it was just that his touch was so welcome and so wrong. And I wanted to be strong. I didn't want to be that woman I used to be; the one who would have been satisfied with only having this small part of him that didn't love another woman.

"Can you really say that you do not desire me? When I touch you, will I not find you wet for me? When I kiss you, will you not return it with everything inside you? We have always been good together ... You should be with someone who cares about you tonight."

"I should be with someone who loves me and that's not you," I whispered to him. He closed his eyes. I shoved up on his body; he let me go.

And it was only this ... this impossible thought. I deserved more. And so did he. Who were we kidding? Life isn't like this. It's not like he was going to suddenly change into a man who might have found love with me when he never had before and when he wanted a different kind of woman to love than I'd ever be. Life doesn't work that way.

He was hurting and he needed comfort ... and maybe his ego was damaged and he needed to rescue me to restore it. And, face it, doing that through a heated sexual encounter ... it was falling back on old habits. But it was all so confusing because one of us was in love with the other ... and the other had no idea that he was hurting me when all he was doing was being with me as he thought I wanted him.

And then the phone rang.

Whatever had been in the air between us, it was now only awkward. The phone call seemed like the most welcome excuse for me to leave that room and go in the kitchen so we could both regroup.

It was Chili. Checking on me. He asked me if my purse had made it home. When I didn't reply, he said that told him everything.

"He came to the Pub looking for you," he told me softly. "Did he tell you that?"

"Yes."

"He thinks you and I are lovers. That we had a fight. That you needed to not be alone tonight."

"Why would he think that?"

"Why do you think?"

"You did that? For me?"

"And for him. I told you once ... I know these men a lot better than you ever will. Whatever reason you think he's there, he's with you by choice and on purpose ... because he cares that much about you and also because he needs you that much tonight."

"I don't know about that, Chili. Maybe I want more."

"Is he in bed next to you?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I'm not a Band-Aid." I paused. "And he's worth so much more than to be tricked or manipulated."

"Wow. Ann? I'm impressed. Maybe I misjudged him. Maybe he does deserve you."

I smiled at the phone. A compliment from Chili? Priceless. "Merry Christmas, Chili. I hope you're not alone."

When I hung up, I stood there thinking about the man in my living room. He'd gone to the Pub, in pain, suffering a loss. He'd wanted to see me ... me, his friend. Even though he thought I was with Chili, whom he had taken an instant dislike to. I smiled as I got the visual of his face when he'd first laid eyes on Chili when we'd gone into the bar that first night. So why had this man gone to the Pub looking for me?

Because he was in pain. Because he knew I'd care.

And then he'd done the kind of thing that had made me fall in love with him in the first place. He came to my place because he thought I was in pain and that I needed someone to protect me and shelter me that night. Because he cared that much ... even when he was hurting. Or maybe it was a combination of caring about my pain and wanting to be with someone who'd make him feel better when he was in pain.

Had he much experience with letting someone else protect and shelter him when he was in need? I imagined he didn't ... that he always appeared so strong and tough that it'd be hard to see when he was in that kind of need. I tiptoed to the entrance to the living room, feeling this intense desire to take care of him that night.

It was strange, really. I'd reached that Zen acceptance, hadn't I? He was right there and obviously, the love of his life was either gone from him for good or they'd had some temporary break up. Chili would have told me to put on my sexiest lingerie and go after this man with everything I owned to claim him while he was available. Yet, I was happier being his friend that night because I just knew he didn't need me putting him in any kind of awkward place.

Yet there was also something else here at play and I realized it as I gazed at him standing there before my window, looking off into the night. All the lights in the room were off but the ones that twinkled on the tree. My eyes were now open to the fact he was very needy that night and trying to hide it behind a stoic façade and a forced appetite for sexual conquest.

That was the thing about him ... he might not have always been able to speak plainly to me of his emotions, but he expressed himself through touch ... it was also the way to communicate with him. When he made love, if it was just about gaining a physical release, you knew it. If it was about making an emotional statement, you never missed it.

This wasn't about me. This was about him. It was about his emotional needs even if he was going to express it physically. And I was the one he'd come to in this night. I could break him or heal him that night ... the choice was mine alone.

This was not about me being used ... it was about me giving him comfort.

I crossed the distance between us in absolute silence. He was so deeply within his own thoughts that he was startled when he felt my hands slide in over his waist from behind. He stiffened and asked me if it was Chili on the phone. When I said yes, he asked if he needed to leave.

"I don't want you to leave."

His hands came over mine where they stroked along his chest. We stood there like that, my face buried in his back and his head hanging down.

"I have no wish to leave you alone tonight." He said it with an edge to his voice that I did not miss.

"When I was a little girl, my mother had this poem she used to tell us called 'The Christmas Wish.' She used to say there's nothing more important we can do at Christmas than to grant a wish that really matters to the people we hold dearest."

He turned in my hold; his arms came around me. We looked at each other a long time in silence and in peace. Finally, he smiled at me ... years younger; recent cares seeming to recede from him. "Tell me about this poem," he said softly.

"God, I don't even remember much how it goes except it's about wishing for the other person. But it became a tradition in my family ... to grant a wish to someone very dear to you ... something only you would know they may be in need of to make their Christmas special."

"Yes? I am not familiar with that tradition ... but then, there are so many traditions with this holiday, are there not?"

I put a hand on his cheek. "I wonder what your wish would be. Something I could grant."

This look came over his face; as if I'd surprised him. His body seemed to draw mine in closer as he relaxed just a bit in my hold. "I am a simple man; I imagine you would find my wishes far too ordinary," he said, but there was a bravado there ... and it was all wrong for him.

"I will give you anything you want from me tonight. All you have to do is tell me," I told him, softly, boldly.

He took a deep breath; seemed to hover on the brink of a decision ... and then simply said, "You remember how we were together. I want that."

I touched his lips with my fingers. "If that's what you truly wish. But ... This is about more than that. Don't you think?"

"Do you remember?" He moved into me. "Do you remember me? What I can make you feel? Tell me that is not what you desire from me tonight."

I could lose my way. It could happen like this. 

"This isn't about what you can give me," I whispered, urgent in my desire to focus him where he should be in this time: on himself. He captivates me most because he is instinctive in both giving and taking. "You're not hearing me. This is about what you want from me tonight."

I paused as a light changed in his eyes and I knew he was intrigued. Before he could say anything, I touched him ... the touch I knew ... a finger along his jaw ... lips upon his neck ... and a hand drawing his back in closer.

"Comfort? Is that what you want from me tonight?" I whispered right against his ear. "Lust? Passion? Adoration? Subservience? Adventure? You tell me what you want ... it's my gift to you tonight ... this is the night to give gifts for no other reason than to make someone else feel good."

He shifted from foot to foot. Took a deep breath. When I looked into his eyes, he returned my gaze with an intensity I couldn't quite read but knew that whatever he would say, it would be striking. He licked his lips before saying, very deliberately, "Love."

"What?" I whispered it to him, my breath catching.

"Give me love tonight. Your love. Only for me. That is the gift I wish from you."

I think every single living thing stood still just then as the impact crested over me.

Just for this one night.

To be free to show him that I loved him.

Imagine what that would be like? To not have to hide, to not be concerned about complications and impossibilities ... to just love him out in the open, with nothing but the desire that he feel how very much I loved him?

One night of love. This night.

"Nothing would make me happier than to love you tonight," I told him fervently.

And so I took his hand as I led him to my bedroom. Along the way, I had us collect the champagne bucket and glasses. I undressed him with care; poured him a glass of champagne and pushed him over to the bed; sweet-talked him into reclining there among the pillows ... I asked him to indulge me in this wish for setting a more romantic scene for him.

He is a man who spent far too many years in harsh surroundings. He appreciates feminine touches like special lingerie, soft music, mood lighting, indulgent scents ... yet there is also a part of him that is almost intimidated by it because he was unaccustomed to it.  But now, he will revel in it if given half the invitation to do so ... I have never found that part of him as anything but sensual and mysterious. I adore it.

As I walked around the room striking matches and lighting candles with the spark of flame they produced, he settled into a lounging position against my bed's backboard. He never spoke; he just sipped his champagne and observed me.

When I had all the candles lit, I looked back at him. Yellow-orange flickers made him glow with warmth. No matter what else I did for him in my life, I would not let this be a blue Christmas for him.

Give me a second, I asked softly. He nodded at me; almost regal in his repose. His body forbid my eyes to leave for a while; when was the last time I'd allowed myself to really see it through the eyes that saw more than physical? His scars, his imperfections, his strength, his virility ... all there ... but more than that ... this essence of dignity, earthiness, want and need.

Strip for me, he said suddenly, unexpectedly. Telling me of having watched me, dressed as if only for him ... all those times he'd seen me, under Chili's tutelage ... and, Lord, but Chili had been right in some ways ... but did I really only want to arouse this man's baser instinctual desire for a woman dressed so provocatively?

It made me feel ... funny. Like I hadn't earned that. Like the only reason he'd been noticing me was because I'd messed with his head by following all of Chili's instructions just to get this man to pay attention.

It also made me feel ... powerful. Like I deserved to be watched and wanted and desired that way. Like it was the right thing that in this one shimmering night of Christmas dawn that he'd want me to love him ... when if he'd known the truth, that I really did love him and it wasn't only that night, then he would have resented it because all we'd ever agreed to was to be friends.

I left him lounging in my bed, sipping champagne. In my bathroom, I changed into a negligee I'd never worn for any man. But I wore it for him because this was who I was that night.

When I re-entered the room, I paused again in the doorway just to look at him. He sat against my bed's headboard, with one knee drawn up and an arm resting on it. He lifted his other hand to beckon me to him. I crawled from the bottom of the bed toward him. When I reached him, I crawled in over him and whispered against his ear. Telling him all I wanted to do for him that night ... and as his breathing got harsher and his hand reached for the laces that tied this negligee to my body, I told him that I loved him.

He stilled.

Our eyes met.

He told me he loved me.

And I believed him.

In his own way, I think he did. I know that in that night, the way he loved me was absolute and it was perfect. But it's important in life to understand that you don't get everything you want just because you should or could. It's important to concede that sometimes even a love like that is only possible on a night like that. You can't force someone to feel love for you; they either do or they don't.

"You're my wish this Christmas," I told him as I held his face in my hands and then bent to kiss his sweet lips. "And I'm yours."

I knew this man. I just did. I knew the kinds of things he most liked to receive from a woman. I knew the kinds of things he considered extraordinary and giving acts between a man and a woman.

I knew that on nights like this, he liked going slow in the beginning ... a slowly building burn. I knew he liked to be touched, caressed, treasured. I knew he liked the feel of my tongue and mouth upon various areas of his body ... I knew he liked the tug and suckling of my mouth around his sex. I knew he relished the loss of inhibition, to see it slide from me under his insistent if patient advances. I knew he enjoyed it if I asked him to grant me favors, positions, experiences, lessons. I knew it did things for him when I told him was, "Yes, I want that, too ... show me."

I knew he liked being relentlessly masculine with me. I knew he liked me to turn to him with confidence that he would always care for me even as he drove me further than I would have thought possible.

And all of that is what I gave him that night.

And more.

I was more honest with him that night than any but the first time we were together, perhaps. I don't know why that was ... maybe it says too much about me.

It took so long before we really joined physically ... we took not just the luxury of time but we honored the significance of this time between us, as if we were granted this absolution that allowed this between us for that finite space of time. It was together and unspoken that we chose to spend all that time exploring each other, as if remembering the way.

Then this moment came; it seemed a switch was turned and any ethereal illusion was brushed aside in the reality of the basic, uncomplicated 'want' of each other. He grabbed me up hard in his arms and lowered me slowly to the bed while I wrapped myself around him as best I could. We'd denied the joining for long enough that by then, everything had built to this ... except I saw this look on his face and wished ... against all hope ...

"Wait, wait ..." I whispered to him, my hands cupping his face. "I just want to capture this moment in my memory ... of how you look ... of how you have made me feel ..."

He stopped all movement; just looked into my eyes and then wiped my tears as they fell straight into my hair.

"No one else can do this to me," I told him.

He closed his eyes and then slowly lowered his head until his face was buried in my hair. I felt his warm breath against my neck.

I held him in my hand and pressed him inside me, gently, slowly ... reverently. But just the feel of him there ... spreading me, that particular ache to have him fill me ... My legs tightened behind him and drew him further in. He almost shivered when he hilted; he was in me and all around me.

"Only you could have made me feel this way tonight," he said, his voice thick with emotion. And then he murmured words, love ramblings and random snippets of adoration. If only, I remember thinking ... but it would be impossible.

We went so slow. I wanted it slow. I wanted it to last. I wanted the night to just be ours. And it was.

But there is something about the way we react to each other. I suspect he makes every woman feel that same overriding appreciation of the very essence of virility that is him ... I do know one thing though: he is intense.

When we ramped it up, we did it with passion. I would have been content with a fast resolution after such long foreplay. But at some point, he whispered hoarsely to me that he wanted more from me before he would allow himself to come ... just then he pulled out, turned me over and reentered.

We were sweating, sliding against each other's slick bodies. His tongue swept up my spine and when he reached between my shoulder blades, one hand bluntly yanked my damp hair away from my neck. I hung my head down, forehead to the mattress, and let my hair fall over the sides of my face until I was blind. He was buried inside me; my internal muscles spasmed around him; he taunted me to keep coming if I had the strength.

The orgasm faded inside me as he stopped pumping so hard and just seemed to be lingering there inside me. I knew he was waiting on me to catch my breath. I knew he wanted to come but that he wanted to milk me for one last orgasm. My knees shook with fatigue. He grabbed for the pillows I was clutching and shoved them under my belly until I was supported beneath him.

Just as he braced himself to begin pumping into me again, I mumbled to him, "Wait. Don't come yet."

His voice was hoarse. Sex-soaked. Raw. "What are you saying? What more can I give you?"

I reached for him; grasped the root of his manhood gently and heard him whimper slightly. I cleared my throat so I could speak softly but the emotion I was feeling seemed to erupt in my voice. "I want you here," I said, as I pulled him from me and placed him where I wanted him to come into me.

He groaned. Took a beat to collect himself. "Are you sure?"

In answer, I used his tip to massage me there ... as he'd done for me once to ease his passage. He was wet, so wet, from me. Slick, wet, warm, pulsing. I felt him try to draw his body back from me; he shifted above me, now bracing himself only on one arm and slowly drawing the other hand down my side to my hip to ...

I placed him just inside me; he hissed in a breath. "Any further ... I would not stop ..."

"Only you," I panted out to him as my hand slipped to his hip and pulled his groin in toward me, giving him no choice but to enter me more. I whimpered in response but my hand clung to his hip.

His hand slipped down below me, to cup my sex and lift me up on the pillows. He entered a little more. I kept saying these mindless chants of 'yes, yes, yes' as if I was slurring my words from intoxication. Maybe it was intoxication ... of him ...

He stopped after he slowly entered me fully. I shook from the intensity of what I felt in that moment; tears were in my eyes; it just seemed a culmination ... and an ending I could now allow.

"Only me?" he asked me, his voice harsh, possessive. I nodded; it was all I could do. I was overwhelmed to find the strength to be able to admit that to him.

It did something to him; I felt a new awareness emanate from him ... and the part of him that had always been safe for me to trust in such moments took care of me. His movements were smooth, measured ... restrained ... in the face of his need to rut, he chose to make this sweet, powerful, protective. I clung to the hold I had on the sheets; bit my bottom lip in between pants; let myself absorb this act between us until we both came ... only to linger there together for long moments before collapsing, exhausted and wrung out.

How many seconds or minutes passed, I don't know. But I do know I wanted this to end between us with a memory we'd both cherish. I shifted to turn in his hold until I could lay under him, on my back. He shifted in response, as if he would slide off me ... except I held on around his shoulders and hugged him in to me. His arms around my body tightened their hold. I gathered his sated body over mine until his head was on my chest and he thrust a leg over my thighs.

I just held him, stroking his damp hair, feeling his rough breaths, knowing a peace with this. Because it was comfort he had really needed that night after all. This is how I took him into sleep with me.

Perhaps we would have slept all day ... all Christmas Day. But my phone rang; he was curled up around my back, holding on like he does because he gives a woman what she needs in that way. He grudgingly let enough of me slip from his hold so that I could grab the phone off the nightstand.

It was Chili. He chuckled at the froggy voice I greeted him with. I asked him what he wanted; he asked me if I was alone. "Yes. I'm alone. Not that it's your business."

"Don't lie to me." He paused; when I said nothing, he said, "If you're alone, then why is his car in your parking lot? Still?"

I sat up slowly. "Where are you?"

"Where do you think? I'm in your parking lot. Don't worry, I'm not coming up. But there's no sense lying to me. He's there. I was right all along, wasn't I?"

"Okay, he's here. He stayed the night. But he slept on the couch."

Chili snorted in my ear. The man in the bed with me stirred and I wouldn't turn to meet his eyes. "Sure he did."

"I swear."

Chili didn't say anything at first. Then: "You have got to be kidding me."

"It's no big deal."

The man in my bed slid his hands around my waist and pulled me down toward him. I told Chili I had to go.

I tossed the phone on the floor and turned to this man here. He was in morning glory. He asked me if he should go ... if that was Chili and was he coming up there? I said no. He asked me if I was concerned with Chili's reaction since he was probably not going to buy the bit about him staying on my couch. I said no.

He asked me if I wanted him to stay. I said no.

But I wouldn't let go of him, either. He ended up just sliding up inside the slippery path of the night before. I was sore ... but he did it so gently that I thought it might have been the very best I'd felt in any morning in my life with him inside me and his mouth on mine.

I fell asleep after. I didn't wake up until he woke me. He'd showered and dressed ... he was leaving.

It's not that I didn't know it was the right thing for both of us. It's not even that I didn't think I was at peace with this.

"I wish to see you again," he said, after he kissed me awake and I lay there unable to speak while his eyes were a mix of pain and confusion.

"Not like this," I said, softly.

He frowned at me. "Because of him?"

"Because of many things ... because if I wasn't in love, this would be okay. But you're also in love, aren't you? So you must feel as I do, surely?"

"I am in love, yes." He got this shadow across his face ... I hated reminding him but then again, I doubt that pain he had been feeling was ever going to be removed until he resolved things with her, the woman he loved.

"Promise me that you'll try to find the way back to her," I said. He stroked my hair back from my forehead and placed his lips there. "It's important to me. I want you to be happy and you were with her."

"And what of you, Ann? You'll go back to Chili? Even now that ..."

I closed my eyes. I didn't want to lie to him but at the same time, I didn't want any lingering concern on his part that I was thinking this was something it wasn't. It was one night ... one very magical night ... but it was over now. Time to go back to friends. No more love; not that singular love.

Chili, I told him, seems to be my destiny.

After he left me, I took a long bath. I called my family; they were at my uncle's house. They passed the phone around and I got to talk to everyone that way. My mother was last. She asked me how I'd like the presents; she'd made a special effort to box them all up and ship them to me when I said I wasn't coming home this year. I walked into my living room and looked at my tree ... and at all the still-wrapped Christmas gifts under it.

I told her the truth ... that I'd slept in and hadn't opened the gifts yet. She tutted at me. I promised her I'd sit right down and open everything right away.

So I'd opened the box that held a new sweater, the one filled with books, the one with my favorite chocolates, the one with twenty different small boxes inside from my brother who does that to each of us every year and it's always amazing to get to the last box and sit there figuring out his theme that year because it never fails but to make you go 'awwwww,' and so I went 'awwwwww' and missed being home even more. Then I attacked the rest of the boxes ... and realized there were two small ones that had no names on them. I wondered why I hadn't noticed that my mom had sent me things without tags and now I'd not know who to send a thank you note to after I opened them.

Except that inside the boxes were presents I knew had not come from my family. One held an amethyst and peridot bracelet I'd last seen among Chili's options at the jewelry store. One held the most delicate silver filigree bell ornament with a crystal clapper.

I knew who'd given them to me and how like him to be so arrogant as to know I'd know so why bother putting his name on a gift tag, right? But ... I saw his face swim before me and realized something about Chili. And what it meant that he'd called me that morning from my parking lot. Poor Chili.

Alone on Christmas Day after all. I pictured him that morning, driving over there to my place, thinking he'd come keep me company ... probably expecting to be with me when I opened these gifts he must have snuck under my tree. Instead, he sees I'm otherwise engaged. And, really, if I thought about it, the only reason I'd had a Christmas Eve that chased away my blues and left me with a golden warm Christmas Day was because of Chili. He's the one who got me where I'd been and even him abandoning me the night before had been for the good, if I thought about it.

So I called him to invite him for an early dinner. I reminded him that I hadn't yet given him his gift. He said he'd been eyeing that box for over a week and wondered what was in it. And ... he said ... he couldn't wait to give me my gift.

But I already opened them, I thought ... before realizing what that really meant. Because if those gifts had not come from Chili ... there was only one man they could have come from: my eternal 'him.'

He would be like that ... man enough to deliberately, carefully choose gifts he most hoped would please and mean something to me but somehow he retained a boyish shyness about giving them to me the night before when maybe he wondered if he was too bold in his hidden messages. This was a holiday he knew meant something to me. He wanted to show me I meant something to him.

Wherever he was, I hoped it was with her. Above all men I know, he deserves gentle and devoted love in his life.

Being friends, it didn't have to be a consolation prize after all. It just was a thing apart. I felt like that guy from It's A Wonderful Life when he realizes his Christmas lesson. I stared out my window into a snowy day and wondered if this meant that Chili was my guardian angel.

Please, no bells, I whispered inside my brain.