I Saw A Daddy Kissing Santa Claus
For Robert, Santa Claus jingles more than just his bells.
A holiday fairy tale by Matthew Hays
Illustrations by Jordi Santo

Robert’s shame was excruciating. He couldn’t believe it had happened, again. Here he was, being guided by two guards to a security offi ce stuck in the nether regions of the Sunshine Mall. Down a long hallway he arrived at the clean and sterile security offi ce where inside the head of security, a pleasant-enough woman, spoke coolly and calmly about Robert’s situation. “We cherish our customers,” she began. “And we appreciate that you buy things in our shops and, well, I can see that you have been shopping here earlier today…” She paused uncomfortably as she motioned down to Robert’s haul — a Le Chateau bag and a smaller obnoxiously chipper sack from the Candy Corner. “But some parents complained when they noticed you were spending so much time at Santa’s Workshop. You must realize that if any of our customers feel their children are being watched — well, you can understand how that’s a problem for us.” She paused again, this time appearing to want Robert to say something, but he remained silent. “Look, I don’t necessarily think you were out to do anything untoward, but when a grown man spends so much time hanging around Santa’s Workshop, people tend to think there’s something wrong. I’m sorry, but we’re going to have to ask you to refrain from hanging around Santa’s Workshop. And frankly we’d prefer it if you found another mall to shop in.”

And at that, the nightmare meeting came to an abrupt end. She seemed such a nice woman, Robert thought — even the type of person he would befriend if they were co-workers. Couldn’t he have just explained what was really going on? Having shopping mall security insinuate that you might be a pedophile really didn’t fill Robert with Christmas cheer but silence seemed to be the best approach. He couldn’t confess his real feelings. No, they were too complicated to explain. He hadn’t been leering at the children, far from it — Robert had been obsessing over the jolly, tubby, seasonal sexpot in the red suit. Robert was trying and failing to process his sexual fixation with Santa Claus. Robert couldn’t pinpoint when it all began — this strange, Yuletide fever dream that had left him thinking of nothing but being taken by Santa spread eagle over his sled. He’d had regular uniform fetishes before — the sailor three-way authenticated on a cruise ship, the fireman with the big hose who put out the kitchen fi re and then the flames in his pants. Once he even had sex with a McDonald’s manager, politely requesting that he leave his uniform and phone headset on while they dunked each other’s nuggets underneath the drive thru window. But Santa was different. He was a fantasy conquest Robert desired above all else — the ultimate taboo. Simply put, Robert wanted to be snow-plowed by Santa.

After throwing his unnecessarily purchased goods onto his sofa, Robert began leafi ng through the Sears catalogue from early December as visions of Santa’s sugar plums danced in his head. As he flipped the pages, a brightly coloured fl yer fell onto his knees. Not only did it decree there was a special on paper towels, but it proclaimed to Robert that there was a mall he had not yet visited where Santa was promising to hand out goodies to all the little ones while posing for saccharine photos destined for the fridges of suburbia. Robert felt compelled to risk being thrown out of yet another mall. What was it about that silly red suit that made him a slave to any man who would be Santa?

Donning the appropriately cliché dark glasses, Robert positioned himself so he was close enough to see Santa clearly but far enough away so as not to set off any perv alarms. He even made sure to buy a few things because his cover story required he look like he was there to actually shop. He bought a big box of candy canes just like he did at every other mall so as to have a possible conversation piece in case he and Santa happened to cross paths.

As his surveillance dragged on suddenly Robert found his inner creature stirring as he watched Santa gracefully get off his throne. A big sign was put up outside the workshop that read, “Sorry: Santa’s taking a break.” Santa walked away from his peaceful workshop enclave and made a beeline for the chaos of the food court. Robert quickly gathered his wits as best he could as he knew that this was his big chance for a breakthrough moment with Saint Nick. Dashing to the food court as fast he could, Robert reminded himself to be every bit as speedy, agile and invisible to the general public as one of Santa’s trusty reindeer.

Sliding into the packed circus of quick eats Robert arrived just in time to see Santa piling some unidentifiable liquid MSG onto a tray at the all-you-can-eat House of Soy stand. He waited until Santa paid, then followed him casually to a spot at an adjacent table. Robert’s heart beat harder as Santa’s cheerful buttocks descended into the plastic chair. Robert and Santa locked eyes. It was one of those incredible, unfathomable moments that Robert knew he would always cherish, like getting that first pair of skates, a brand-new puppy or a back alley rimjob on Christmas morning. Not only did Santa have bedroom eyes, but upon close examination it was clear his luscious beard was authentic, making suspension of disbelief for this particular fantasy that much more possible. Yes Virginia, there is a Santa Claus and he’s fucking gorgeous.

“Hello,” said Santa with a bellowing baritone and a vaguely sinister smile. Robert blushed before asking if he could join him. “Always room for more company at Santa’s table,” chimed Mr. Claus. Santa was everything Robert had imagined him to be: polite, courteous and, of course, generous. When eventually Santa asked him if he’d been naughty or nice over the past year, Robert sensed a definite pass was being made. He reached over and stuffed one of his business cards into Santa’s pocket. “I’ll let you be the judge of that but you’ll have to let me sit in your lap first,” Robert said while calmly making a smooth exit.

By week’s end, things had progressed significantly. Robert had booked a motel room near the mall where Santa worked and had gotten him to promise not to take off his outfit before heading over after his shift. There was something sleazy about motel rooms, but Robert found that comforting. This room was haunted by the spirits of the previous, more lurid affairs of others. He could smell sex in that room and, combined with the smell of the candy cane he chewed while he waited, it seemed like the perfect perfume for this Yuletide romp.

When Santa entered the room stomping his black plastic boots on the mat, Robert did everything he could to contain himself. The sight of Saint Nick in all his holiday glory was overwhelming; a true Christmas miracle. Santa gruffly asked for a beer and Robert happily obliged. “After all the giving you do every year, it’s the least I can do,” Robert replied as he scurried to retrieve a cold one from the bar fridge. Robert watched with child-like fascination as some of the foam from the beer got stuck in Santa’s beard. Robert found this both charming and erotic, realizing that anything Santa did at this point would surely enthral him. He was itching to be filled with good tidings.

Santa smiled at Robert while trying to make small talk. “My real name is Hank,” he admitted. Suddenly Rudolph’s nose went out. “Actually,” Robert interrupted. “Can I ask that you not tell me any more information about yourself. It’s a nice name your mother gave you but for the sake of my fantasy I’d really appreciate it if you simply refer to yourself as either Santa or Nick. Or you could make up a new name for yourself if you’re in the mood to talk dirty, like for example ‘Gift Whore,’ or something along those lines.” Robert smiled, impressed at his ability to take the reigns of his fantasy and ride things home.

Santa rolled his eyes as if this kind of conversation was a common occurrence. Did Santa visit this kind of bawdy house every year with some naughty Christmas junkie? Robert didn’t care to ponder the question as he milked his cookies and moved to embrace Santa. He couldn’t quite fit his arms around him — but that was okay, he thought to himself, just more Santa to love. That tight red suit was velvety soft to the touch and a tingle went up Robert’s spine as Santa’s prickly beard stroked his neck. Suddenly, he felt Santa’s north pole take a detour down south and he knew he was getting exactly what he wanted for Christmas. Robert was aware that some critics feel Christmas is merely a capitalist exercise — and that was fitting because he knew he was in for one helluva money shot that he hoped would taste like eggnog. “Oh Santa baby,” Robert whispered, “What’s in that great big bag of yours? Please, please show me! I’ve been such a good boy all year.”

Robert finally got his storybook happy ending as their clothes came sliding off. Robert found the sight of Santa wearing nothing but sports socks, hiking boots and his Santa hat the best gift the universe could have ever given him. As they raced their way toward a Christmas climax, Robert thanked his good luck, thrilled to be with a man endowed with such tremendous presents.


Matthew Hays is a Montreal-based journalist whose work appears in The Globe and Mail, The Guardian, The Walrus and The Advocate. His book, The View from Here: Conversations with Gay and Lesbian Filmmakers (Arsenal Pulp Press), is a 2008 Lambda Award winner.