I’d put your present under the tree, only I don’t fit under it. Santa conveniently placed this gift in an infinitely more comfortable, but less traditional spot.  How he knew is anybody’s guess.  Maybe the missus taught him a few tricks that he saves only for the grown-up kids.

Of course I’ve been a good girl; how do you think I’ve been able to keep my wits about me?   It’s not easy, especially when you pass by so near that your scent fills my head and all I can think about is you pressing against me.  It’s not a crime to dream about you slipping down my chimney and rewarding me, is it?  There’s something so terribly erotic about that form of breaking and entering that it leaves me weak.

But then, there isn’t much about you that doesn’t fascinate me.  It’s like waking up on Christmas morning every day.  Each time I unwrap you, there’s something new for me to discover.  But unlike the thoughtlessness of youth, I don’t want to tear into you only to consume the sweet creamy center and discard the cake.  No… I want to savor every bite.

What an incredible feast do I see before me.  Have you been reading my mind again, enticing me to a table groaning with the most delectable flavors imaginable?  If you’re sitting at the head of it, be forewarned that I’ll push aside the entire repast just to taste the sugarplum on your lips.


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