'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
You were lighting red candles, in your pink, see-through blouse.
The candles were scented, aphrodisiac tinged,
In hopes of your horny date coming unhinged.
You sprinkled cologne on your silk-sheeted bed,
With visions of kissing and giving him head.
The fireplace lit, the wine lightly chilled,
You ached for the space ‘tween your legs to be filled.
So you lay on the bed for a brief interlude,
Hoping your overdue date would intrude.

Your fingers knew just the right spot to appease,
But stroking yourself was only a tease.
A whole loaf of cock, instead of a crumb,
Pushing inside you would sure make you come.
When, what to your glazed, glassy eyes should appear,
But a man dressed in red, with a smirk and a leer.
One hand held a sack, and the other his dick,
You knew in a flash that it must be St. Nick.
Without even stroking, his cock grew and grew,
And he whistled, then called to you what he would do.