All I Want for Christmas Mae Nixon
Frank Kapra had a lot to answer for. There was Jimmy Stewart, in his handsome wholesome prime, pumping out seasonal goodwill from every TV set in the nation while I was standing at the top of a rickety step-ladder, wiping the dust off DVD boxes.
No handsome hubby and cute kiddies waiting at home to trim the Christmas tree and no thoughtful and tastefully expensive gift waiting underneath it for me. Just the cats for company and a couple of old films to watch on DVD.
I should have known that volunteering to clean up after the shop closed on Christmas Eve would depress me. It had been a slow day and a long one – only sad lonely people wanted to rent films at Christmastime. I could spot them the minute they came into the shop – even before sometimes. The women were usually neat and organised. They talked too much and too loudly, like they weren’t used to the sound of their own voices. They rented musicals and sloppy romances, having no doubt popped into the chemist’s next door to buy a box of tissues especially for the occasion. They’d hand over the exact money in small change, which they dug out of their wallets a coin at a time, all the while smiling and anxious to please.
The men always seemed to need a good haircut and they wore unfashionable shirts, badly in need of ironing. They chose action movies with muscular heroes and violent endings. Sometimes they’d slip in something from our ‘adult selection’ and bring them to the counter red-faced and sheepish, hoping I wouldn’t comment. I never did, I felt far too much empathy for that. I expect they also found a use for some tissues at the end of their evening’s viewing.
When I closed the shop at eight, there hadn’t been a customer for an hour and a half. I locked the door, got out the step-ladder and cleaning stuff and went to work, having first put Kapra’s It’s a Wonderful Life in the shop’s player.
In the street outside, the night people slowly began to appear. Young lads loitering outside the offie, not really old enough to drink but laughing loudly and quaffing their illicit lager ostentatiously out of cans. In the doorway of the department store across the way, two down-and-outs hunched sullenly inside their cardboard boxes, hoping not to be moved on.
I worked methodically, emptying and cleaning each shelf in turn and putting the DVDs back in the right order. The Kapra movie was obviously a bad choice. The only Christmas spirit in me it appealed to was the kind the lager louts outside the off-licence were enjoying. When it came to the part when Clarence the trainee angel lets James Stewart see what the world would be like if he had never been born, I came down that ladder so fast I almost got my feet tangled in the rungs. I leant over the counter and thumped the eject button on the player as hard as I could. The disk plopped out and I resisted the urge to fling it through the plate glass of the shop’s front window.
That was typical of me. I’d been resisting temptation all my life. The temptation to say what I thought, share what I felt, have fun, have sex, be happy. It struck me that what I’d been resisting was the temptation to live and I picked up the disk and hurled it straight at the window like a gleaming silver frisbee.
It hit the window with a surprisingly loud metallic tinging noise, which made the lads outside the off-licence laugh and instantly sent my face as red as Santa’s hat. To make matters worse, it ricocheted off the glass and disappeared into a tiny gap between two display cases.
I got on my hands and knees to retrieve it but I couldn’t reach it. Still red-faced and now angrier than ever, I tried to squeeze a finger in behind the disk so that I could pull it out. But it was no good; my finger wasn’t long enough.
I was pissed off now and tired and hungry. The cats should have been fed two hours ago. But I said I’d clean up the shop and I was far too polite and eager to please to go back on my word. And now I’d somehow managed to get one of our valuable pieces of stock (and a classic of the modern cinema to boot) stuck between two display cases and I had to get it out. So, swearing quietly to myself and generally venting my anger in the most explicit terms against first my employer, then James Stewart, then Frank Kapra and finally Christianity for inventing Christmas, I went back to the counter to find a pen.
After pushing the pen down behind the far edge of the disk, I eventually managed to slide enough of it out of its hiding place to take hold of it and pull it out. It was pretty dusty and knocked about, probably unwatchable, but what did I care? Anyone who wanted to watch that sugar-coated unrealistic kitsch ought to have their head examined anyway.
I was just about to get up off my hands and knees when I noticed that a video-cassette, still in its box, was wedged much further back in the space between the two cases. I wiggled my biro into the gap and slowly and painstakingly edged it towards me. It was hard work because it’d been there a long time and it was wedged tight.
‘Come on, you bastard,’ I said aloud, grunting with the effort of trying to ease the trapped tape out of its hidey-hole. ‘Don’t fuck me about – come out of there!’ I swore a lot when I was alone, though you’d never have thought it to look at me. But a girl had to have some vices and that was mine.
I was hot and dusty, I had broken a nail and there was a hole in my tights. I was about as angry as it was possible to be and the only thing I had to vent my rage on was this little plastic box. I managed to manoeuvre it so that about an inch was sticking out between the two cases. I was squatting down, gripping the slippery plastic box tight in both hands, struggling to keep a grip. I leant backwards and used all my strength to get it free. I felt like King Arthur trying to pull Excalibur out of the stone.
I grunted, gritting my teeth and straining with the exertion and the bloody thing didn’t budge. I decided to give it one last effort before calling it a day. If it wouldn’t come out, it could stay there. After all, it could have been there for years and hardly anyone rented videos these days, it was all DVDs.
Gripping the free corner of the box with all my strength, I pulled hard using my body weight as a lever. ‘Come out now!’ I shouted.
Without warning, the box came loose and slid out from between the cases and, because I wasn’t expecting it, I tumbled backwards and landed flat on the floor, my legs in the air and my skirt around my waist. I heard laughter and hooting from over the road. The dossers and drinkers were certainly getting a free cabaret tonight. I resolved to leave by the rear entrance to avoid any further embarrassment.
Brushing away the thick layer of dust and cobwebs from the box, I uncovered a gaudy photograph of a partially clad young woman with improbable breasts and buttocks so pert she could have balanced a tea tray on them. The title Succubus Sluts proclaimed itself proudly from the spine of the box. ‘A fuck flick,’ I said aloud, though the shop’s manager preferred to call that sort of thing ‘our adult selection’.
I’d had enough for the night. Every item of stock and surface was dust free and gleaming; I’d recatalogued the cartoon section and balanced the till. Time to go home and spend the next few days without having to worry about the shop. Just three days alone with the TV, the cats and as much Christmas chocolate as I could eat. Bliss.
I got my coat, scarf and gloves and picked up my shopping bag from behind the counter. On the spur of the moment, I stuffed Succubus Sluts into my bag. After all, it was Christmas and, if I couldn’t let myself go then, when could I?
As I let myself into my house, my two cats ran up the hall to greet me. ‘Cupboard love,’ I mumbled as they rubbed their sleek bodies against my legs, snaking in and out of my feet as I approached the kitchen. Having fed them, I started the bath running and headed for my bedroom where I undressed. Before long, I was languishing in a steaming hot bath, a glass of Australian champagne in hand, soft music on the CD player and relaxing, fragrant oils in the water.
I sighed. I felt cosy, languid and comfortable. Fuck it, I felt sexy. I considered having a nice slippery warm wank in the tub. I had learnt the pleasures of solitary sex early in life. People said it wasn’t as good as the real thing and I took their word for it, but it was always available and it was a lot less complicated. I didn’t have to wash anyone’s dirty socks, for a start, and I never cheated on myself or had too much to drink. And I never ever turned over and fell asleep before I’d come.
I slid a wet hand between my thighs, then I remembered Succubus Sluts still in my shopping bag and decided that a little external stimulation might heighten the experience. So I dried off, applied body lotion, wrapped myself in a cosy towelling robe and settled down in front of the TV – chocolates, wine and remote control all to hand.
As I pressed the button to start the tape, the bells of the parish church started to chime midnight. The church bells sounded eerie and echoing in the otherwise silent night air.
‘Merry Christmas, Carole,’ I said, bringing my wineglass to my lips.
The tape began to play and the TV fluttered to life. Static buzzed across the screen and, when the picture began to clear, I gasped and dropped my wineglass, the spilt liquid leaving a dark spreading stain on the carpet.
‘Oh, shit,’ I whispered, my voice trembling with fear. I must have been putting away the Aussie champers much quicker than I’d realised. Either that or I’d borrowed one too many horror movies from the shop. I should have known that bringing work home would lead to no good.
My body was suffused with adrenaline, my heart beat loudly, I was panting. I rose to my feet and shuffled about aimlessly, my eyes riveted on the TV screen – the screen on which I could see a smaller, yet identical, version of myself performing the same actions.
‘Too much wine,’ I said, making a mental note to give up drink and make an appointment to have my eyes tested as soon as the holiday was over. I shuddered in surprise as my TV version uttered the same words. I sat down in panic, rummaged around under the sofa cushions for the remote control and pointed it at the TV, my extended arm trembling as the woman on the screen mirrored my actions. I pressed the off button and the image was replaced by the familiar grey-green eye of the blank screen. Tentatively, I turned the TV back on and the picture that flickered to life was my own face, the eyes eloquent with panic, confusion and indecision. My legs gave way.
I didn’t understand what was happening and I didn’t want to. I must be losing my mind – nothing else made sense. I slumped on to the sofa and stared at my own bewildered eyes on the screen, contemplating the prospect of spending the next thirty years as a crazy old maid. It would probably only be a matter of time before I started peeing in my pants.
A shadow appeared behind my image on TV. Grey and formless at first, it slowly became more defined until after a few seconds a tall shapely incredibly beautiful woman wearing a sort of toga was standing behind my mirror image. I got goose-pimples. The hair on the back of my neck stood up.
Fuck it. I was so scared I wouldn’t have been surprised if the hair on my head stood up. I wasn’t alone and I realised gradually and unwillingly that if there was someone in the room with my TV reflection there was almost certainly someone in this room with me.
I held my breath and steeled myself to turn around and check, but before I could summon up the courage she spoke. The sound of her voice intruding on the silent room was so shocking and unexpected that I leapt to my feet ready to flee. Only there was nowhere to run. Suddenly, the prospect of peeing in my pants didn’t seem quite so improbable.
‘Stay calm, honey, I’m not here to hurt you. Quite the reverse, in fact.’ She put out a hand and stroked my hair.
It was a soothing gesture, a reassuring one and I felt the heat of her palm, the gentleness of her touch, as I watched her make the identical movements on TV. There was something about her voice, soft and deep and bubbling like running water over pebbles in a brook, that calmed me. I felt my breathing slow down, my heartbeat return to normal and the tightness in my chest relax. She walked round the couch, sat down and switched off the TV.
Only she didn’t use the remote control. She just snapped her fingers and the picture disappeared. I ought to have been scared, but I wasn’t. I was just curious, my earlier fears having melted away miraculously when she touched me.
‘Who are you?’ I asked.
‘You can call me Joy,’ she murmured, stroking the short blonde hairs on my arm. It felt good and I looked down at her warm and gentle fingers caressing me.
‘But what –?’ I began to ask, but stopped when I realised that, although I had a million questions, I didn’t know how to ask any of them. I wasn’t sure I wanted the answers anyway. Either I was crazy or she was a spook of some kind and it was a toss-up which solution I liked least.
There was a beautiful – dare I say sexy – and obviously friendly woman sitting beside me on the couch. She was touching me and making me feel better than I ever had but I didn’t know who she was, where she came from or how she got there. I did know, however, that I liked the way she was fondling me. She was now trailing her fingers up my forearm, on the inside of my elbow. The sensation was so pleasant and comfortable that I noticed, to my embarrassment, that I was beginning to get wet.
‘Do you know what an incubus is Carole? Or a succubus?’ she asked me, her soft voice seducing me.
‘Sure,’ I replied, glad she had asked me something I could answer. ‘I’ve always been interested in mythology. Incubi are male spirits who visit women in the night and have sex with them. Succubi do the same with men.’
‘Right,’ she whispered.
By this time, she was right alongside me, her mouth up close to my ear, her fingers caressing my neck, my cheek, my lips. I could feel that familiar moisture between my legs; I could smell her sweet breath and the perfume rising from her skin. God, I was horny.
‘I am a succubus, Carole, and I’ve come to give you the best sex you have ever had,’ she said quietly, looking directly at me.
I swallowed hard, trying to take in the fact that I had a beautiful sexy spirit sitting alongside me who by now had my robe open and was caressing my thigh. The sensation of flesh on flesh made me tingle.
‘The only sex I have ever had,’ I mumbled, embarrassed by having to explain my pathetic condition to a sexually supercharged supernatural being.
‘I know that,’ she reassured me. ‘Only a virgin can create the spell, by watching the video and drinking wine at midnight on Christmas Eve to the sound of church bells. You did that and here I am, large as life and twice as horny. Aren’t you lucky?’
By now, she had her hand between my legs, cupping my slit; her mouth was right next to mine and before I had time to answer she kissed me on the lips. It was deep and hot and wet, I could feel her tongue, exploring my mouth. She nibbled my lips and caressed the back of my neck with her free hand. All the time I could feel the heat of her palm up against my pussy, which by now was so wet I felt like I was sitting in a puddle.
Joy rose and took my hand; she led me to my bedroom, pausing only to pick up my empty wineglass and the bottle of fizz. I trailed along beside her, obedient and willing. Once inside my room, she quickly slid my robe off my shoulders and let it fall to the floor. With one movement, she loosened the shoulder of her toga and she too was naked. I’d never seen anything so beautiful. She was tall, maybe six feet, and her blonde hair tumbled in curls down to her waist. Her skin was the colour of clotted cream; her body was curvy, womanly, ripe and inviting. Big round breasts with brownish nipples which, like my own, were erect. A soft full belly beneath which nestled golden curly hair.
In none of my wildest fantasies had I ever considered getting down and dirty with a member of my own sex. But here I was, staring at the body of the most perfect creature I had ever set eyes on and I wanted her. I held out my arms and called her name and she walked over to me slowly, sinuously, all that delicious creamy flesh undulating as she moved.
Next thing I knew, I was lying on my bed with Joy’s delightful, soft and perfect body on top of mine. My heart was thumping in my chest so loud I could hear it. My head was spinning. Her mouth was near mine, her breath gently touching my skin. Her hands were on my shoulders. She kissed me softly, tenderly, lightly on the mouth, then behind my left ear. My body was rigid, tense with anticipation. I could feel the heat from her, feel her heart beating against mine, its rhythm an echo of my own excitement.
‘Shouldn’t I get an incubus, because I’m a woman?’ I asked. My voice sounded soft and throaty.
‘This particular spell invokes a succubus, sorry if you’re disappointed. But, if you ask me, I’m a lot hotter than any incubus you are ever likely to meet. Do you mind?’
I looked down at her body, trying to make up my mind. I’d spent the past 25 years waiting to have sex. By some unrepeatable chance, I had managed to invoke the sexiest being that ever walked the earth and she was ready, willing and able to give me the time of my life. Could I pass up the opportunity just because we both happened to be women?
‘Do I have a choice?’ I leant forwards and inhaled, drinking in the honeyed heady scent of her skin.
‘Actually you do. If you really want a male spirit I can change for you.’ Joy sounded a little sulky and disappointed. ‘But I can’t see what all the fuss is about. Pleasure is still pleasure, does it really matter how your body is arranged?’ She ran the tip of her finger along the front of my torso from my belly button up to my throat, leaving a trail of shivery sparks in its wake.
‘But it will still be you? You’ll just have a male body?’
Joy nodded. ‘That’s right, only the anatomy changes.’
My eyes made a slow inventory of her body. From the soft golden curve of her shoulders across to the twin hollows where her collarbones met, from the heavy globes of her breasts with their chocolatey dark nipples down to the froth of golden hair at her crotch. When I looked back up at her face, she was smiling.
‘You’re beautiful but, if you don’t mind, I think I’d prefer you to be male.’
Joy laughed, a rich trill of musical notes that hardened my nipples and made my crotch tingle. She clicked her fingers and the sound of her laughter slowly began to deepen. I watched as her hair shortened and her face changed shape. Her jaw remodelled itself before my eyes, becoming more square and masculine. I could see dark beard stubble forming and a shallow dimple gradually appeared in the centre of her – his – chin.
Her breasts shrank and reshaped themselves into manly pectoral muscles covered in a mat of fine golden hairs. Her hips narrowed, her thighs lengthened and her feet grew before my eyes. Feminine curves were replaced with hard muscle. Joy even smelt different, her honeyed citrus perfume seemed to transform into something musky and masculine.
Only the sparkly blue eyes remained the same, gazing at me with an unmistakable expression of lust. I looked down at Joy’s crotch and now there was a long thick cock, already half hard, standing out from the curly blond hairs.
‘I hope you like it.’ Joy spoke with a deeper version of her old voice. ‘I made it extra fat, just for you.’ He wriggled his hips and his cock bobbed and wobbled.
‘I love it. You’re really handsome. What should I call you now? Joy doesn’t seem to fit any more.’
Joy laughed and a slow shiver of excitement slid along my spine. ‘Joy is what I bring. It’s a title rather than a name. You can call me whatever you like.’
I ran the flat of my hand down the front of his body, over his rippling six-pack and the hard plane of his belly. He gasped.
‘In that case I think I’ll call you Joe.’
Joe put his mouth near my ear and whispered so softly that I sensed it rather than heard the words. ‘Are you ready, Carole? Are you ready to take the risk, to taste passion, to give yourself up to it, to live?’
I nodded my head in silent agreement, momentarily struck dumb by the strength of my emotions.
‘Say it,’ he whispered, nuzzling my ear. ‘Say it out loud.’
‘I want you, Joe,’ I managed to gasp, as the sensation of his tongue and teeth on my neck took me to a new plane of pleasure. ‘God, how I want you!’
He smiled, holding my head in his hands and looking into my eyes so deeply I swore he was staring into my soul. Wet tongues intertwined, flesh slid against flesh, fingers caressed, stroked, pinched and probed. He stroked my nipples, his mouth still on my neck. I groaned under him, my body trembling and sensitive.
His mouth was on my collarbone, then a little lower, getting closer and closer to the hard, hot buttons I so wanted him to suck. His warm wet tongue dipped down my cleavage, trailed over the swell of my left breast and flicked over my tight swollen nipple. He took it in his mouth. It felt like nothing on earth, more intense than anything I had ever imagined.
Joe glanced up at me, a look of amusement in his deep-blue eyes, and then went back to working on my nipple. He sucked, nibbled, tongued it, creating incredible sensations that radiated through my by now writhing body. My other nipple was receiving the same treatment from his fingers and the tremors of delight that ran through me caused me to moan out loud. My hot hungry pussy was producing so much juice that we were in danger of drowning.
I couldn’t keep my hands off his body. I stroked his shoulders, his face and the nape of his neck. I laced my fingers through his silky perfumed hair. He felt so warm against me, his skin so soft. By now, I was on the edge. I was breathing hard in short little gasps, my face and chest were burning and I knew they must be flushed and red.
Sensing my growing excitement, he lowered a hand between my parted thighs and dipped a finger into my wet slippery pussy. I gasped in delight, throwing my head back and arching my back. He began to rub his fingertips lightly across the hardening bud of my clit.
It didn’t take long. My thighs started to quiver and I felt the first contractions begin deep inside my cunt. My clit tightened and retreated under his fingers as the first throb of orgasm began to grip me. Body shuddering, legs wide open, fingers tangled in his wild soft hair, I gave myself up to the overpowering sensation of the best orgasm I had ever experienced, and the first I ever got from someone else. It felt good.
Before I could recover, he moved, sliding down my body, repositioning himself, getting himself comfortable, and suddenly he was between my legs, the wet tip of his cock pressed up against my hole. He slid it up and down, parting my lips and sliding it across the hard button of my clit.
I looked up into his eyes as he tensed his hips and pushed slowly forwards. I sighed as his meat began to slide inside me. Nerve endings buzzed and tingled with pleasure and excitement. I felt my muscles stretching to accommodate him and the delicious feeling of him slowly slipping inside.
I gave myself up to the sensations he was creating. I opened my legs wider, and I reached behind him to cup his hard buttocks. I pushed my groin up towards him, my breathing quickening now, sweat glistening on my aroused body. Damp hair clung to the nape of my neck, my brow.
I tightened my grip on his buttocks, digging in my fingers and moving my pelvis to a rhythm of my own, grinding myself against him. He moved inside me – arousing, exciting, tantalising me. I was moving wantonly now, lost in the sensations of my own body. I was grinding myself against him, panting and moaning, my breathing ragged and fast. My sensitive crotch rubbed against his wiry hairs on every stroke, exciting my clit and making it tingle.
I gasped as he jabbed his hips hard and deep. Muscles tightened and throbbed, squeezing his thick hot cock. Tension built, aching for release. My whole body was tense, taut, quivering.
I was deaf, I was blind. I felt nothing but the exquisite sensations coursing through my excited body. Every nerve ending was transmitting pleasure and excitement, keeping me on the edge of fulfilment. My clit rubbed against his pubes, providing delicious friction, as a wave of contractions began in my crotch. It spread through me, filling me with heat and pleasure. I shuddered, my movements abandoned. Gasps, moans, cries, wild breathing shattered the silence, piercing the air in the room.
My muscles gripped his cock, and tightened around him. I quivered with pleasure as I reached my peak. He held me tight, pulled me on to his cock, rotating inside me as I shuddered, rocked and throbbed to orgasm.
Joe looked down at me, his eyes blazing with intensity and excitement, his hard body gleaming in the light. He circled his hips, moving his erection inside me, wringing out the last shreds of orgasm. It came in waves, knocking the breath out of me. My body twisted and bucked, as the bed creaked and shook beneath us. I was gasping, almost screaming as pleasure and release washed over me.
When it was finally over, Joe rolled off and lay down alongside me, as satisfied and excited as a puppy after its first walk in the park. Without a word, he gently cradled my head and gave me a deep, passionate, lingering kiss.
‘That was wonderful.’ I smiled at him. ‘Did you come?’
He shook his head.
‘Teach me how to make you come,’ I asked, eager to give him as much pleasure as he had given me.
‘You don’t need teaching, Carole – you’re a natural. Just do what feels good and I guarantee I’ll enjoy it. It’s been centuries since I’ve met a mortal as hot as you.’
Touching a man’s body was a new experience for me. Joe was hard and flat where I was full, round and soft. He had inviting slopes and hollows and smooth skin, all of it the colour of my favourite vanilla ice cream. I climbed on top of him, my long hair falling over his face and mingling with his own golden curls, my pale skin contrasting with his creamy complexion.
He felt warm, soft and comfortable. I kissed his neck, breathing in the strong manly scent. I ran my hands up and down his sides, feeling his flesh tighten and contract into goose-pimples under my fingers.
He was as excited as I was. The air in the room was heavy with the scent of arousal. The only sound was the gentle metallic click of my alarm clock and our own frenzied breathing. I wanted to taste him, to explore him, to possess him as he had already taken me. I found his stiff brown nipples first with my fingers then my mouth. He tasted salty. Moans and gasps erupted from his mouth as I teased his erect buds. He writhed under me.
I lost myself in the sensations of his body. His nipple in my mouth was hard and rubbery; he wriggled as I nibbled it. His chest heaved, breath coming fast and short as his arousal increased. The warmth of his body engulfed me. I slithered downwards, kissing as I went until I found myself kneeling between his beautiful spread thighs. His cock stood up, hard and proud, pointing at the ceiling. I could see the tip of his cock glistening with pre-come.
I fastened my mouth over his erection, wrapped my arms round his spread thighs and started to suck. I was anxious to do it right but I needn’t have worried. The urgent writhing and thrusting movements let me know that my efforts were having the desired effect. I lapped at his helmet, sucked it, even nibbled on it. I slid my tongue up and down the full length of his shaft, pushed it against the single eye. He was wet and slippery, hard and hot.
I pulled him closer as I sensed his responses becoming more frenzied, more urgent. Tongue darting and probing, lips sucking, I tried to give him as much pleasure as he had given me. It was getting harder for me to keep up with his movements as he thrust his whole pelvis into my face and tried to grind it against my mouth. Moans, groans and sighs escaped his throat. His hands snaked down to join mine and clasp them.
I felt his muscles contract in my mouth. I freed a hand and slipped it between my face and his body. Quickly I curled my hand around the base of his cock, just in time to feel the first throbbing earthquake of his orgasm. He began to cry out then, wailing almost, like the kind of sound Muslim women make at funerals. I guessed it felt good. He began shuddering all over, rocking to and fro with the rhythm of my mouth and hand. He twitched in my mouth and began to pump out spunk. I swallowed it eagerly down.
I thought it would never end but, eventually, the cries faded, the throbbing slowed, then stopped and his breathing returned to normal. Joe smiled and raised his head weakly, his beautiful face surrounded by its halo of sweat-soaked curls and smiled down at me.
We spent the night, all of the next day and the other eleven days of Christmas doing what comes naturally and, let me tell you, when an incubus comes, the whole of the neighbourhood knows about it.
That was a year ago and I never did go back to the video shop. I opened my own florists with the money I’d inherited from my mum and dad and the nest egg I’d always been afraid to touch because it was meant for my old age. Well, I don’t intend to get old for a very long time yet and in the meantime I intend to live life to the full.
Joe works with me in the shop during the daytime and we’re doing pretty well. With my artistic flair and his knack for charming the customers, we seem to be making a go of it. ‘Blooms’ the shop is called – it was Joe’s suggestion. He says that’s what happened to me, I’ve bloomed. Maybe he’s right, I certainly know I’m alive these days.
It didn’t take a trainee angel showing me what life would be like if I’d never been born to bring about the transformation. A beautiful sexy spirit did the trick for me, by helping me to unlock the passion, love, power and joy that lives inside us all. Maybe Frank Kapra knew a thing or two after all.