I’m sure many of  my readers are wondering just how a certain first Christmas between a middle-aged, socially retarded ‘mo and his youthful paramour might have gone last evening.

The more astute among you may have imagined said middle-aged, socially retarded ‘mo leaving work early to stop by Borders to pick up a couple of last minute gift cards and running into the previously mentioned youthful paramour who had also ducked out of work early to see what was shakin’ at the local book shack.  If you imagined this, then I am sure your mind also conjured up the image of  these two ‘mo’s making plans to meet up at youthful paramour’s apartment for dinner at 5.  (If this is indeed what you thought probably occurred, give yourself 10 points.)

It’s probably not a huge leap for many of you to deduce that 5 rolled around and found the phallicly addicted duo sitting down to a delicious turkey burger at Ruby Tuesday’s.  (Give yourself 2 bonus points if in your mind the pervy older fag’s burger was sporting extra EXTRA bacon.) 

It’s also not much of a leap from there to connecting the dots to discover that once back in the car creepy daddy-esque fruit asks tragically adorable younger ‘mo if he wants to  come over and watch YOUNG AND THE RESTLESS or just wants to be dropped off at his place to which the younger ‘mo replies, “Just drop me off at my place and I’ll walk over — I need to get something from my apartment” leading the older knob gobbler to offer to wait and drive him over to his swinging Mr. Furley-esque bachelor pad so that he won’t risk falling on the ice and the younger fella accepting and returning five minutes later with a Kohl’s bag he  tries to hide behind his back and the huge grin he has plastered on his face.

No points will be awarded for anyone who pictures the two fruits under a blanket on the sofa, cuddling and watching the denizens of Genoa City screwing each other over before switching over to an hour’s worth of the video aphrodesiac known as Nancy Grace.  I mean, seriously — who doesn’t do that?

If you’ve managed to conjure up all of that, then I really don’t need to tell you that by the end of the Casey Anthony Hour Nancy, The Fella was fairly bursting at the seams for me to open a gift.  My pile was rather large compared to his one gift and oversized stocking — a fact which didn’t seem to bother him one iota.  Nor do I need to tell you that I received a massive hardcover volume collecting one of my favorite comic series, a rockin’ awesome Spiderman figure, the novel I’ve been eyeing every time we are at the bookstore,  a really nice — and incredibly soft! —  shirt I’d felt up several times but never said anything about when we’ve been out shopping, and 3 hard to find volumes of one of my favorite comic series from the late 80’s/early 90’s that I mentioned to him a few times when we first started going out. 

And of course I don’t need to tell you what The Fella received (because I posted about it last week).  But you might be interested to know that I put the i-Pod in the bottom of his stocking and then piled a shitload of candy on top of it and let him think he’d opened his 3 meager gifts (which he was really thrilled with) before telling him to look in the bottom of said stocking at which point he discovered the oh-so-professionally wrapped tiny treasure and proceeded to open it and then sit there slack jawed for a moment before giving me a big hug.

Which led to more cuddling.

Which led to kissing.

Which led to gay boys with exposed naughty bits making love until midnight and then falling asleep in each other’s arms.