It is now the 2nd November. but the shops are already bedecked with all the toys, food and decorations for Christmas. Perhaps time to put pen to paper for the Christmas story. As always, I am not fussed about the story being a formal entry to the contest, but I hope readers will enjoy the story, and it may act as a prompt for other people to join in and make an entry.
A Crumb-free Christmas
Part One - Charlotte’s Story
Charlotte, the accountant had had a busy year. In January the urge to transform herself from Charles to Charlotte became a necessity, rather than an urge. Visits to various specialists who prodded and poked, and discussed her ‘problems’ in great detail had resulted in handfuls of pills, and some breast implants.
The change was noticed by the office staff in July, and she had been applauded by her work colleagues, and was helped by her female co-workers when all the appurtenances of being a woman didn’t quite work out. Several female friends had helped her blow her modest savings on a new wardrobe of autumn and winter clothes. Charlotte didn’t know how she would be able to afford a spring wardrobe, but she already knew where all the charity shops were who might be able to help.
Now it was the week before Christmas. The office was bedecked with holly, mistletoe and greetings cards. Her ‘new’ status was really no longer noticed by her work colleagues. She was Charlotte as if she had always been Charlotte, but none of the male staff gave her a kiss under the mistletoe. She noticed that and it did hurt a bit.
The office would be closed for ten days over the Christmas period. No one wanted their tax affairs sorted or their books completed for the year, before the new year had started.
“Are you going home for Christmas?” several colleagues asked sincerely.
“Probably”, was the non-committal answer that she normally gave.
In fact Charlotte had not told her parents until the change in her shape and hair made the reveal inevitable. The phone call to her parents was difficult to say the least. The speaker phone was on and whilst her mother was reluctant, her father was absolutely furious and said he was revolted. Charles either had to come to his senses or ‘he’ would never be accepted at his parents home again.
Two weeks later Charlotte had her hair done, and had her nails and cosmetics done professionally before getting on the train to see if meeting her parents face-to-face would be any better. Perhaps seeing her happy for the first time in years would make them realise just how important the transformation was for her.
She walked confidently from the station in a tailored tan skirt suit, with a pale pink blouse and matching necklace, ear rings and bracelet.
She never got past the front door. Her father spotted he coming up the short path from the road and opened the door to her only to call her an abomination, a curse, and an insult to him and his male forebears back to biblical times.
“If you come back here again as anything other than Charles I shall beat some sense into you. My belt was used on you as a child and I will use it on you as an adult if I need to. Now go away and never come back.”
Of course, Charlotte sobbed all the way back to the station.
People on the train looked on sympathetically as she sobbed for much of the journey back to London.
Her tears were over by the time she got onto the Underground for the final part of the journey, but the expensive make-up was all smeared, and she had had to remove it in the Ladies restroom at the mainline station.
Now three months further on, there had been no contact with her parents. If she rang, the phone went straight to voicemail. Eventually her phone number was blocked.
She texted her mother and had one curt reply that her father would beat her mother if she knew that she and Charlotte had been in contact. There was no further contact, and she had no siblings.
So it was that the office party was over, the streamers and artificial Christmas tree with its baubles was put away by the cleaners. All the staff had flooded out into the night intent on sharing a groaning table of Christmas fare with family and friends. Charlotte waved wistfully to the last of them and caught the Underground to her home station, then walked the few hundred yards to the apartment block where she lived.
She had already made the preparations for the holiday season. These consisted of a tiny dressed artificial tree. It was only a foot tall and the base had slots for two AA batteries that made the small number of LEDs glow with at least a modicum of festive cheer.
The tiny chicken, little more than a pullet, lay in its foil tray and in another foil tray of prepared mixed vegetables there were two small parsnips, three Brussel sprouts and two partly roast potatoes. The sachet of bread sauce was to be microwaved at the last minute!
A Christmas pudding for one, was in its foil bowl the size of a teacup, together with the ubiquitous sachet of long-life brandy cream.
The individual portion of Stilton cheese wrapped in festive foil, three Cream Crackers in a cellophane wrapper and a tiny bottle of tawny port completed her meal.
It is difficult to judge how it was that supermarkets provided a full Christmas dinner for one person. It was really an insult to the whole idea of Christmas, but who can blame them for answering a need. One is lead to believe that so many people live alone, and maybe this is the best that such people can expect.
It wasn’t the best that Charlotte could expect. She desperately wanted a loving home and family. She wanted to share the womanhood that was blossoming from within her. Yet here she was. Isolated, lonely and tearful looking at a cardboard tube that had once held the foil dishes. ‘Christmas dinner for One’ it said, and every word felt like a dagger that pierced her heart.
“Where is the person who will love me?” She said aloud.
The walls of the small apartment did not answer.
She turned the radio on and the Christmas Carols provided wall-to-wall reinforcement of her status as a person alone.
The TV was no better. Lots of programs intended to occupy small children while their parents wrapped presents as if from Father Christmas. Subsequently there was a diet of Christmas films that had been repeated so often over the years. Watching ‘The Holiday’ or ‘The Snowman’ was almost a ritual in some households, but they just emphasised Charlotte’s status.
In the end she watched a RomCom from one of the streaming services. It wasn’t a blockbuster, but it occupied the time until it would be bedtime.
A movement caught Charlotte’s eye as she watched the mediocre movie. A small thin brown mouse walked purposefully over to Charlotte’s discarded meal. It remained on a plate on the floor beside her chair, and began to eat a little of what she had left. When her cheeks were full, she walked off in the opposite direction and disappeared under a chest of drawers.
Some minutes later she re-emerged, and there were damp patches on her abdomen and chest so it was clearly a ‘she’ and this particular ‘she’ was feeding babies.
“It is too late for me to get any live mouse traps or poison now, so we are going to have to get along until the hardware shops open again.”
After three trips across the floor, the mouse walked over to the plate and had some food for herself then sat on her haunches and proceeded to give herself a wash.
“I think you know that you are safe until next week. Something about the Spirit of Goodwill that penetrates even the mouse and her family’s World.
The mouse stayed close to Charlotte for some minutes and Charlotte found the presence of the little animal, a comfort in her loneliness. When the mouse wandered off back to her babies Charlotte felt her absence acutely.
“I shall leave you a couple of crumbed biscuits for the night. I know that you are probably full of nasty diseases and are not house trained, but we need to live together for a few days at least.”
In the morning, the rain was coming down. It was not ‘the snow lying deep and crisp and even’ of the Christmas Carol. Charlotte thought she might get dressed and go down to the Jewish shop two streets away, They would be open, as they didn’t keep Christmas. The shop would be packed with people trying to get all the things that had been forgotten in the mad rush over the days before. She would buy a small bar of chocolate for herself, and some bird seed for the mouse and her family.
Several people looked out of the hoods of their coats to wish Charlotte a ‘Happy Christmas’ as they all trudged through the rain. As expected, the small shop was crowded, but Charlotte emerged some minutes later with a few more ‘Happy Christmases’. One comment said it all. “Bloody British Weather!”
On her way back though the rain she wondered whether to go to a Christmas morning service at the local parish church, but she hadn’t been for years, and didn’t believe in God or any of that stuff. It seems hypocrisy to go, just because she had nothing better to do and was feeling lonely.
When she got back the mouse was sitting in her normal place, and seemed to be waiting for her food. Charlotte tipped a teaspoon full of seed into a jar lid and the mouse set about the seed with enthusiasm and carted off mouthfuls over the next few minutes. She then, once again ate a little herself and settled down close to Charlotte for a full ten minutes, before going back to her babies.
It was strange how comforting the presence of the small animal became and even the scattering of LEDs on the tiny artificial tree glowed with a message of Hope, or so it seemed.
“I must make sure that you have not chewed up my clothes to make a nest”, she said aloud and shortly afterwards the mouse walked back to her nest at the bottom of a chest of drawers. The nest was clearly made of an old tea towel and some disposable wipes.
“You can have those.” she said with purpose.
Inside the nest, Charlotte counted eight tiny naked pink mice all snuggled together to keep warm. The mother rearranged the bedding then covered them with her body and the display was clearly over.
“I cannot kill eight tiny babies like that, and yet I cannot be overrun with mice. I must get a live trap and then take the babies with me when I release the mother somewhere safe… and yet these are house mice rather than field mice. I cannot just go down to the local Recreation Ground and release them, they will die from the cold and wet.”
A quick browse of the Internet made it clear that the mice needed to be released at least two miles away from Charlotte’s home or they may find their way back. They also needed to be released in a dry place with a little food to keep them going.
The weather was foul and likely to remain so for some days. Charlotte racked her brains about what to do with her small charges, and eventually decided to ring an animal shelter nearby.
It seemed that there was little call for the animal shelter’s services on Christmas day and when a young sounding male voice answered the 24-hour phone service, he seemed to be happy to talk.
“Yes, house mice could be released after treating for various diseases but they often had a display of house mice in the entry lobby to show visiting primary school children how the animals lived. They had had a bit of a disaster of late and the display was currently empty.
The voice at the other end of the phone was called Michael and they chatted for a while.
“If you are at a loose end on Christmas Day, why don’t you bring the mice here and we can start the process of making sure that they have no diseases. We only have a skeleton staff on today, and we could show you round.”
In the end it was decided that a glass bowl with a lid could be fitted out with food and bedding for the short journey to the animal shelter.
Charlotte threw off the clothes she lounged around the apartment and got ready to face the weather with a warm plaid skirt, ribbed tights and a jumper over her shirt.
It was surprisingly easy to catch the little mouse under a jam jar, and then her babies were scooped up by hand and added to the glass bowl before the lid was taped on.
Michael welcomed them in when Charlotte rang the door bell. He took charge of the bowl and returned a minute or two with the empty container in its carrier bag.
He was indeed, young. Perhaps five or more years younger than Charlotte. He was slim and had a mass of tousled blond hair partly trapped under a peaked cap. The green overalls and Wellingtons hid what might have been a well toned body, but Charlotte could not tell.
“Come and have a cup of tea, and I will give you a guided tour of the sanctuary. It isn’t very big, but we get a lot of call to take kittens and puppies after Christmas. People believe that baby rabbits and Guinea Pigs make suitable surprise Christmas presents. They don’t!”
Michael was confident even though he was young. He lived for those sick and dependent animals. Each one they visited was named, and comforted before they moved on. The cages were opened with a reverence for the often compromised life they contained.
After several rooms of animals had been visited under the still glowering skies, Michael offered Charlotte a cup of tea in the staff room. Even here there were small animals being cared for when they couldn’t be left. Tiny bundles of life that retained their connection to the living world by a thread. Annie and Jane were both volunteers who had offered to do the Christmas Day shift, but most of the cleaning and feeding had been done now, and the animals could be left overnight. They were donning winter coats, hats and gloves to brave the winter night and rain as the daylight faded a little after 4pm.
Michael finished making the tea as they two women left.
“Are you happy to hold the fort until Aubrey comes at 9pm?” Annie asked. Aubrey was the night watchman. A volunteer of many years service. Widowed a decade ago and the refuge had filled a void in his life.”
Charlotte sat in the small room on a hard chair with a white Formica table between her and Michael. The table had been scrubbed so many times that the surface was wearing thin and the whole room smelled of antiseptic. The chairs were a bit rickety, but adequate. She felt comfortable in his presence, but didn’t know why? Perhaps it was because of his care for the animals or perhaps because there was some sort of chemistry between them.
“How is it that you have not gone home for Christmas?”
How much should she say?, she wondered.
“My parents and I do not get on.”
“I don’t understand how someone so thoughtful could be alienated from her family?
Something in Charlotte’s psyche clicked and she told him everything.
The ache of uncertainty throughout her childhood. In her teenage years how she began to understand who she ought to have been. The inescapable hurt she had suffered through her parents’ intransigence and refusal to understand, and the schism that had been wrought by her transition. It all came out. The search for a sympathetic doctor to begin the treatment that allowed her to pass as a woman. The shame she still felt for what remained between her legs, which she refused to name.
Michael listened attentively and only when her sobs had made further talking impossible, did he hold her in his arms and just hug her until all the sadness had abated … at least for the time being.
“I am sorry to have burdened you with all my misery.” Charlotte managed to say after some minutes.
“Think nothing of it. I am glad to be a listening ear. Isn’t that one of the reasons that Christmas is so important. It gives us time to recalibrate our thoughts and emotions.
“I just had a thought. I have a very tiny ‘Christmas dinner for One’, in my fridge. It only takes 30 minutes cooking time. Would you like to come and share it? It will not be much, but it is festive I suppose.”
“I have a bag of food that I bought yesterday still in the fridge here. Let me add to your ‘Christmas Dinner for One’ “.
Michael rummaged through a carrier bag in a fridge that that had a label “Human Food Only” in large red letters on the door.
They left the Sanctuary in the care of Aubrey when he arrived and walked arm in arm the several hundred yards to Charlotte’s small apartment.
Michael opened a bottle of red wine that happened to be in his carrier bag, and Charlotte busied herself making the most of the pre-prepared Christmas Dinner. In fact the dinner and the extras that were in Michael’s bag created a meal that left them both satisfied.
“Where do you have to go, to get home, Michael?”
“I cannot get home this late on Christmas Day. I was hoping that I might be able to sleep here.”
“If I was a normal woman I would enjoy that, but I am not, and I only have one bed as you can see.”
“Let me say that I have catholic tastes, and I would enjoy what you have, if you will allow me to enjoy your bed with you.”
“I think I would enjoy that as long you will not be revolted.”
“I have enjoyed sex with men as much as with women. You strike me as a perfect companion as you are.”
“This is new to me so you must tell me what you enjoy. I know it sounds a bit forced to discuss what we like and don’t like, but under the circumstances being pragmatic may be best.”
As Midnight chimed on the town hall clock they moved to the bed and Michael slowly undressed Charlotte, kissing each part as he exposed it. She found that her nipples were wonderfully sensitive and a thrill passed through her as he nibbled her ear lobes.
She reminisced briefly. Years ago the coarse fabric of her Rugby shirt used to make her nipples very sore and she had to wear sticking plasters over each one during Rugby matches to avoid very obvious erect nipples. She remembered being embarrassed when this aroused a prurient interest in the other boys.
When it was her turn, the Sanctuary sweatshirt and Tee-shirt were lifted off and she reciprocated by kissing the lightly muscled chest with its distribution of fine hair.
He lifted himself off the bed to allow her to pull his jeans and briefs down and his erection sprang to attention.
Charlotte nodded when Michael asked if he could remove her jogging bottoms and underwear.
He was very gentle, but her tumescence was very obvious after the garments had been drawn over her feet. The clothes fell, crumpled, where they were. A little clutter of discarded anxieties.
Michael did not wait for long before taking her engorged member in his mouth and wrapping his tongue around the tip.
She curled round and began to reciprocate Michael’s ministrations until first one, then the other came to a resounding climax with an audible sigh.
They snuggled, kissing and fondling together until both were fully aroused once more.
Charlotte reached over to her bedside cabinet find some lubricant and presented herself to Michael.
“I will be gentle.” he said.
It wasn’t long before both were exhausted and collapsed into each other’s arms before dropping off to sleep.
The morning broke with watery sunshine. Both remembered that it was a bank holiday and they could take their time getting up.
It was mid-day before they arose, comfortable in their nakedness. Touching and being touched intimately was now normal, but hunger got the better of them and Michael made the trip to the ever-open Jewish shop to buy food for breakfast and the makings of a meal later.
He stripped off when he returned and the now couple were happiest skin to skin.
“What shall we do today?” Charlotte asked, as they shared the last croissant that had been dunked with due ceremony; then eaten in the nick of time before it disintegrated.
“Are you serious? I just want to spend the day in bed with you.” … and he stretched over and put his hand on a breast and gave the nipple a gentle rub between his fingers.
She sighed. “I wish I could be a real woman for you.”
“I don’t. I think you are just perfect as you are.”
… And she snuggled up to him and they shared the crumbs from the croissants from each other’s lips.
“Now we must give our teeth a clean. I don’t want croissant crumbs getting in awkward places.”
Michael laughed “Point taken!” After that we can enjoy the rest of our Christmas break free of crumbs.
“How long a break do you have?”
A pillow hit him on the chest.
“You will be exhausted before I have to go back to work on January 2nd.”
“You just try me.”
“I intend to.”
In her head she desperately wanted to ask if Michael would or could love her. She desperately wanted to be loved, but the question was left hanging and she lacked the courage to ask. “Too soon” she said to herself. “Wait. You only met him yesterday. You don’t know anything about him. He may already be married or have a criminal record as long as your arm (as the saying goes) or be hugely jealous and beat up his girlfriends?”
“Tell me about yourself, Michael. I don’t know anything about you except that you are devoted to animals at the shelter.”
After a moment to collect his thoughts Michael began. After the best part of an hour listening attentively, Charlotte realised that Michael was just as vulnerable as she was, perhaps more so. Her heart went out to him. They would just have to nurture each other, but yes, there was Hope of Love, that Christmas!
Part 2
Michael’s story
Christmas Day provided a long shifts to cover at work. Work meant looking after animals at the shelter in the town. It was an old factory with a large yard at the rear. The owner gave the charity who ran the shelter the use of the building and yard for a token sum each year.
The Charity ran on a shoestring. Most of the staff were volunteers. Michael as a trained veterinary nurse, and a part-time finance officer were the only paid staff. Even the director was a local businesswoman who gave up some of her free time to carry out such administration as was needed.
The animals came in, and some went out. Those that left were often re-homed, or went back home after their ailments were cured. Many were too injured to recover and it was left to Michael as a person authorised by the veterinarians who visited the Shelter, to administer euthanasia.
Michael typically worked 100 hours a week. It was not unheard of for him to do 120 hours in the days after Christmas when unwanted pets flooded in; or when the Police brought in pathetic animals, dogs for the most part, that had been neglected or abused or both.
There was no room for a social life in such a lifestyle. The excessive workload masked and buffered him against his past. The animals were not censorious and there was a never-ending need for the care he could offer.
In the couple of days after Christmas, Michael often ended up at a bit of a loose end. The flood of unwanted pets hadn’t started, and the lower than normal traffic left fewer animals injured. He didn’t like too much time to dwell on his past, so the call from the woman with a litter of wild mice was a welcome distraction. She had a catch in her voice that Michael had found attractive and he had wondered what she looked like.
The two women volunteers, Annie and Jane looked at the couple as Michael brought Charlotte into the staff room. When they left for their tour of the shelter, the volunteers both raised their eyebrows in that questioning look that says. “There is something afoot.”
Michael did not find his return to a drab bed-sitter to sit out the bad weather, an attractive prospect and being able to show Charlotte round the refuge was a pleasure. She seemed knowledgeable and he hoped that he might be able to encourage her to become a volunteer.
As they toured the building and handled some of the animals, their hands touched briefly on several occasions. Michael felt a tingle that emboldened him a little. When Charlotte suggested sharing their meagre meals his heart gave a flutter and he was delighted to accept.
As they walked through the drizzle of that night Michael thought of an actress that he had once had a crush on. She had the same dark hair that Charlotte had, and the same sexy, slightly gravelly voice. For the moment he could not remember her name, but then it came to him in a moment’s inspiration. Fenella Fielding!
“I wonder what happened to her, he wondered.”
Who do you wonder about, came the reply?”
He hadn’t intended to speak, but the question came to his lips unbidden, as it were.
“Oh, there was an actress many years ago that I rather fancied. She appeared in various low budget films of the sixties, and I believe that she appeared on stage in serious works like those of Ibsen and Chekhov. You remind me of her.”
“I assume that she is a ‘was’, rather than an ‘is’? Who was she?
“I think she may still be alive in her 80s or 90s. Her name is Fenella Fielding.
“Oh I remember her in some of the ‘Carry On Films.’ Her voice was very suggestive. I take it as a compliment that you think I am like her.”
“I think you look like her, but I see in you more as the pragmatic accountant, rather than the intellectual soufflé that she offered to the public. I haven’t thought of her for years. I must look her up to see what happened to her.”
“I have internet access at home, so we can look her up together.”
“Ok, perhaps there will be a sound recording of her so you can see what I mean.”
Michael noted that Charlotte slipped her arm through his, during this encounter.
The foot high dressed Christmas tree was turned upside down to switch on the LED lights and show off the miniature baubles. It gave a warm glow in the small flat and a semblance of Christmas spirit.
Charlotte took Michael’s coat and their lips brushed. He helped her with her coat and their lips brushed once more.
“I could enjoy getting into a habit of kissing” Charlotte said with a giggle, then danced away to busy herself in the kitchen making the best of the sundry items from their two Christmas dinners.”
It was rather later when they sat at Charlotte’s laptop and looked up the details of Fenella Fielding’s life.
“You see how she speaks. You are the same. Her voice is low in a woman’s register and sultry. Often there is sexual innuendo even when she is speaking completely innocuously.”
They listened to an archive recording of Fenella on Desert Island Discs with Roy Plomley and Michael allowed his hand to rest on Charlotte’s inner thigh. She spread her legs ever so slightly to accommodate him.
They both remembered seeing the surreal cartoon, ‘Dougal and the Blue Cat’. Fenella was the voice of the cat. Her delivery was unforgettable, and the cartoon had stood the test of time even though it was fifty years old.
Michael nuzzled Charlotte’s neck and his hands strayed. Both breasts were quickly freed from their bra cups. She kissed him deeply as he rubbed each nipple quite roughly between his thumb and forefinger. A growl emerged from her throat as the nubbins became fully erect.
Knowing that he could not get home that late on Christmas Day, Michael was emboldened enough to suggest staying over, and the consequences of that do not need explaining. He just thought to himself that it was so refreshing to be able to be plain and simple with another person. No shilly-shallying about with risqué suggestions that could be misunderstood, and tentative suggestive touches that could be repelled. Charlotte called a ‘spade a spade’ and they tumbled into bed together knowing that what was inevitable now, was with full consent.
In the morning Michael woke with a warm body next to his own. He knew that he would have to visit the sanctuary for at least a couple of hours during the day but he could afford the time to have a leisurely breakfast with Charlotte.
With no clean clothes, Michael had to dress in his old ones, but the Jewish shop was not far and he could cope until after breakfast before he needed to go home, change and attend the sanctuary.
They ate fresh croissant and pain au chocolat with strawberry jam that oozed out as each bit into their pastries. Charlotte had coffee pods and the back coffee washed the crumbs down well.
“I will be back at about 5pm”, he said, as Michael left the apartment on his way home to a shower and a change of clothes.
“Can I come to the shelter as well?”
“Sure, come any time after 10:30. There are certain to be some new customers on Boxing Day.”
Charlotte danced round the small apartment and dressed ready for some messy, and possibly smelly work. Old jeans and a roomy comfortable jumper, plus a padded gilet that had seen better days. She arrived at 10:30 and the locked door opened to a smiling Michael, who gave her a hug and a kiss.
“Welcome” he said.
“Ready to get a bit grubby. We have a kitten in who has a skin infection. She is in an awful state and is infested with fleas as well. It will take some time to clean her up and apply some salve to the itchy bits.”
The kitten was in a parlous state with a weeping eye that was half closed. Her fur was matted and her skin was very sore from the flea bites.
Michael showed Charlotte how to bathe the animal in treatment lotion and then how to comb out the nits afterwards. It took over an hour before the little animal could be put into a cage for a rest. Her fur was thin over her haunches and Michael thought it would be about a month before she could be spayed and then re-homed.
Even on a national holiday the small team at the sanctuary were kept busy and it was not until early evening that Michael and Charlotte could escape from their very needy patients.
“I will buy you dinner.” said Michael. “It is the least I can do after you spending all day helping here.”
“I know you haven’t got much of a wardrobe available, and we both need a shower. Perhaps it would be better to have a ‘Chinese takeaway’ delivered?”
“I prefer Indian, but a takeaway does sound a good idea.”
“Lets order on the Sanctuary computer, then it will be delivered shortly after we get back to your home.”
Michael and Charlotte found that they both liked Chicken Jalfrezi and Pilau rice. With popadoms crumbled over their platefuls they were soon sated and reached out for the remote for the television. Seeing nothing on the main channels they decided to watch a Christmas Romcom that was being streamed.
In fact they had both dozed off on the sofa long before the story had finished. That didn’t matter, as they had both seen the film before. It was one of those films that reappears every Christmas and always warms the cockles of one's heart!
