SOUTH AFRICAN CHRISTMAS STORY
written by CATHAL McCEALLACHAN for Christmas.TyRain.com
October 8, 1999

PART ONE

Leaving Holland in order to escape the hard and tiresome way of life as a Ballet Dancer, I arrived in Kimberley, South Africa in October of 1998, to take up the post as Ballet Teacher at the newly established School of Music. After three months, I knew very few people except my colleagues and here it was, Christmas Eve, and I was alone and feeling extremely sorry for myself.

I was surprised when I first arrived in Kimberley to find a thriving modern city, with magnificent buildings both modern and many dating back to British Colonial times. Kimberley started out as a mining Camp way back in the 1870′s when diamonds were discovered. From those humble beginnings it grew into the City it is today, with beautiful parks and wide streets lined by Lemon and Indian Pride trees. One of the many beautiful preserved buildings is the City Hall in Roman Corinthian architectural style. The Diamond House is an example of the modern building style, 18 floors high in glass and concrete, facing south, which is the wrong way for this part of the world, but which allows the diamonds to be sorted in the soft natural light flowing through the high windows.

It amazes one that this beautiful city of just over 100 years can survive in the harsh and hostile surroundings in which it is situated. Hot and dusty winds sweep and spiral across the semi-desert. Tumbleweed roll in never ending races to their end in barbed wire fences where they are tossed and broken up until they are re-integrated with the red soil of this earth. The animals search for refuge in the shade of the umbrella shaped Thorn Trees which are scattered across this land.

The weather was getting me down – for days it had been 38°C, much higher than the winter temperatures of Europe. It did not feel like Christmas at all. All the Christmas trimmings; The Christmas trees, both real and fake, with artificial snow and Santa Clause in a heavy Red coat and with a white beard looked quite out of place. No snow, only this terrible heat and dust. Could it really be Christmas Eve? I asked myself.

Knowing I had a quiet and lonely evening to look forward to, I stopped at a bread and cake shop, not far from my home. There were all the traditional cakes and breads from Europe and North America, like Shortbread; Christmas Mince Pies; Christmas Pavlova; and Stollen from Germany. The Christmas music that was playing; Dreaming of a White Christmas; Sleigh Ride; Waltz of the Snowflakes and others with their European connections, was actually killing the atmosphere it was supposed to create.

I selected a few things and walked towards the checkout counter. There was a long line of shoppers. Mothers with children chatting excitedly; a Black Mamma with a small child strapped African style on her back, smiling happily as she moved forward. The tall blond girl in designer clothes just ahead of me turned around, smiled and said: “Oh! You’re the new Ballet Teacher. My sister is in your class. Do you like our town? A bit harsh for a European, I guess!” Before I could answer she stepped forward and with a smile said: “Merry Christmas – see you next year. I’m off to London for a wonderful Christmas Party!” Lucky girl I thought! I felt even more depressed.

Behind me stood a distinguished looking Black Gentleman sporting the traditional back to front white collar of a priest. When a packet of bread rolls fell from his basket I picked it up for him – he smiled and with his thumb traced the sign of a cross on my forehead. In his lilting African accent he said: “Bless you my son, and a happy and joyous Christmas to you.” I was deeply touched by this gesture, yet had no words and just smiled back at him.

As I turned around, there was the most gorgeous Greek Hunk of a Man standing behind the cash register. He was not very tall – average I would say – brown as a berry, showing that he had spent quite a few hours poolside. I could see a very hairy chest where the white shirt opened – strong hairy arms, beautiful hands with dark hair on the fingers. Dark brown, almost black eyes. Beautiful smile; very friendly with all the customers. I was really staring at this god, rude as it may be. I was deep in thought; how nice would it be to be in the arms of this Hunk. I looked around me, everyone in the shop seemed to be so happy, and here I was all alone.

As I approached the cash register I looked up, slap bang into those liquid brown eyes of my Greek god. He was smiling at me – I blushed – “Do you like what you see?” he asked in a husky voice. I could but only nod my head. “Do you want a closer look?” he asked with a mischievous look in his eye. It was as if he took my thoughts from my head. “Yes!” I gasped! He pushed a paper and pen across the counter. “Your telephone number – I will call you later. Have to work till nine,” he said softly. I could only nod my head in acceptance.

I paid for my things in a trance, grabbed the parcels and rushed out to my car. I could not believe my luck. I might have a nice Christmas after all. When I arrived home I looked around – the Christmas tree was not too bad. Red and Gold glass Baubles; Gold Bells; Gold and Red Velvet Bows; an Angel; Strings of glass beads; and small white candles: far nicer than electric lights. There was a Big Glass Bowl with white Roses on the coffee table, and a silver candlestick with three white candles. No gifts underneath the Christmas tree. It was too late now to buy something.

I kept myself busy making a few snacks; arranged some of the sweetmeats and cakes on a glass platter and put some wine in the fridge. At the last moment I grabbed a small bottle of Hugo Dark Blue, Eau de Toilette. I had no wrapping paper, so I went into the garden, picked three blooms of Lavender and tied them to the neck of the bottle and placed it under the Christmas tree.

As the clock chimed 8:00pm, I ran upstairs. I turned on the taps, poured some bath oil into the bath – the smell of lavender and roses filled the air – lovely, beautiful, and intoxicating. I took off my clothes and slipped into the lukewarm water. It could have been the warm hands of the Greek god touching my body ever so gently. I could feel his muscular and hairy body pressing against mine – his lips kissing mine – but what if he doesn’t arrive? What if he doesn’t like me? So many what-ifs! But he will come! I can feel it. Christmas is a time to love and to be loved.

As I stepped from the bath I saw the reflection of this ‘handsome’ slim and well-defined body in the mirror. Is it really I? The guy with the soft bronze skin, stretched over well-defined muscles on chest and stomach. Dark hair running from the chest in a thin line across the bellybutton. After that it widens out for the pubic patch – trimmed just to the right length to emphasize the not too small uncircumcised cock, shaven balls hanging a bit low from the heat, and then the sturdy but well shaped hairy legs. The eyes staring back at me were light blue, a bit sad, but with a sparkle of expectation to what this Christmas Eve might bring. The damp hair hung in disarray across the forehead – when dry the lighter streaks will fall, Brad Pittish, across the same face. I woke up from my dreaming and started toweling myself dry. Time is running out – Christmas is at hand – a Greek god to be unwrapped. Because it was so hot I put on my khaki shorts, which showed off my brown and well built legs, brown sandals, and a loose white cotton shirt.

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