Gio

Of course, I’ve no way of knowing whether you’re reading this before or after Christmas.

But whether you’ve already opened your presents or they’re still resting there temptingly under the tree, I bet you’ll agree with me.

When it comes to Christmas gifts, the smaller ones are always the best (unless, that is, a hot boy is presenting you with his dick to kiss under the mistletoe).

OK, a really big present may look pretty spectacular when it’s all wrapped up in the festive red and gold wrapping paper.

You even start to wonder whether a hitherto unsuspected millionaire admirer might have splashed out on a Mercedes for you.

But that sort of gift usually turns out to be a case of quantity rather than quality.

While, on the other hand, the nondescript looking package that you’d assumed must be a book (probably yet another copy of Feng Shui for Homo Homes) or a cheap box of chocolates (made in Brooklyn, not Belgium) often turns out to be the present of the year.

So when I arrived home after work last Christmas Eve to find that my boyfriend Gio had left the largest package I’d ever seen in my sitting room - it just wouldn’t come even close to fitting under the tree - I had no particular hopes of finding anything special inside.

Not, of course, that I wasn’t grateful. Anything from Gio would have been welcome. He was just the best thing that had happened to me in a long time and that wasn’t only because of his good looks.

Quite simply, Gio was a very sweet guy.

Whatever he looked like, you’d still have fallen utterly in love after just an evening in his company.

And he loved me too.

Sadly, he couldn’t spend Christmas Eve with me, though he planned to join me in the small hours of Christmas Day.

He worked as a waiter for a caterer who specialised in the gay dinner party circuit. The guy was a shrewd businessman with a keen appreciation of how handsome waiting staff were a major asset to his business.

I suspected that he also had a keen appreciation of handsome waiters, period. But Gio assured me that he hadn’t had perform any favours to get the job and that he’d successfully fought off the boss’s clumsy advances in the kitchen ever since.

So, with just a bottle of my best wine and a Bing Crosby Christmas album to keep me company (I’m dreaming of a white Christmas - but not in the sense that you mean, Bing), I sat back and tried to work out what my unexpected and downright mysterious gift might actually be.

Maybe it was the fact that I’d had a hard day at work, trying to clear up outstanding stuff before the Christmas break - or maybe it was just the wine - but the next thing I recall is being woken up as the clock was striking midnight.

But that wasn’t the only sound, because as the final note of the chimes died away I could make out an odd rustling noise.

“Now”, he said. “I have your present.”

And, without any more ado at all, Gio began treating me to his Christmas present striptease.

God, he knew the effect on me whenever I saw that completely smooth, hairless torso of his. Yet I could see that he’d decided this wasn’t going to be a quick episode.

By this stage Bing Crosby was crooning on about chestnuts roasting on an open fire - which, I guess, was quite appropriate as my own nuts were pretty hot too.

My live Christmas sex show lasted another half-hour or so, I guess. By the end of that time Gio and I were both absolutely exhausted - if you take my meaning….

Finally, stretched out full length on the floor, he propped himself up on his elbows and looked at me with a smile.

“And now”, he said, “I’m going to fix you a very special Christmas Day breakfast.”

My smile was, if anything, even broader.

“There’s no need”, I said.

“I can see my breakfast already here in front of me.

“And I can see too”, I added, smacking my lips with anticipation as I did so, “that it comes with a pretty tasty looking sauce.”