Twas the night before Christmas …

And all along the highway, not a creature was stirring — except for the tree farmers who were about to abandon their last stash of Christmas trees, the scrawny, crooked, feebly greened dozen or so they had been unable to sell.

The two men were packing up their pick-up as a muffling snowfall came down, large snowflakes that took their time in the air and then lingered on peacoats and eyelashes for long geometric moments.

Just then an SUV, sweating heat, drove into the tiny tree-hemmed alcove, and two other men rolled out, sloppily laughing. Merry gentlemen they, full of high spirits and fun, one of whom was sipping from a flask — the last customers of Christmas eve.

They wanted to see some trees, they said, “lit up ones.” Actually the merry gentlemen had been scoping out the farmers for a couple of weeks, eying them every time they zipped down this empty stretch of highway.

There the two farmers would be with their bright, cold faces, lifting and hauling and doing man things. And the merry gentlemen would pass a look to each other, wondering if, like themselves, the farmers were a) a couple and b) wanted to … par-tay!

The farmers caught on pretty quickly, after the gentlemen kept accidentally on purpose falling against them — my, they were merry — and asking questions about their “trees.” Yes, the gentlemen needed to be told several times, they were all “hardwood.” Soon the flask was being passed from mouth to mouth, and everybody was enjoying the warm cheer of some super smooth brandy at the end of a long, busy season.

Just then get on the love train, love train came on the scratchy radio. The guys thought this was an excellent idea. And being as they were enclosed by trees — not so scrawny, after all — and under hot spotlights, clothes were doffed, positions were assumed and Santa came several times to town.

And nobody saw them but the slow lazy snowflakes drifting down in silence. O, holy night! O, miracle of Christmas!

Our foursome’s love-train daisy-chain has been lovingly recreated at top and can be seen in Gay Dreams II, still available in our Raging Stallion Video Theater. Of course, those creative porn artists have taken some liberties with the story, filming it entirely in an art gallery!

Still if you listen closely, you can hear a faint silvery jingle and a voice rising above the moans: On Dasher, on Dancer. On Prancer and Vixen. On Comet and Cupid. On Donner, on Blitzen.