I was alone on Christmas Eve. Shit. I poured myself another glass of wine, and flopped down on the couch. Flipping through channels on the TV, I settled on a romantic movie that was playing on the women's channel. It made me cry, and I threw the remote on the floor in disgust.
I looked at the clock, again. It was only 7:30. A long, lonely night lay ahead of me. There was a yellow legal pad and marker on the coffee table in front of me. An idea formed in my head and I giggled.
"I must be a little drunk." I said to Bubbles, my pet goldfish. He didn't answer, he just swam in an endless circle, oblivious to my distress. Picking up the pad and pen, I set to work.
"Dear Santa," I wrote at the top. The end of the pen found its way into my mouth and I chewed on it while I thought about what I wanted to say. Then, I continued.
"All I want for Christmas this year is a night of really hot sex with a nice, cute guy. If he had big muscles and long hair, that would be great. Oh, I wouldn't mind if he had a decent sized dick. Not too big, though. Let's say eight inches. And an earring, I like guys with earrings. Maybe a few tattoos. You know the kind of guy I like, sweet, but a little dangerous looking."
Since I was making a list of demands, I figured it wouldn't hurt to be really specific.
"Can he have dark hair, and blue eyes? With long eyelashes and nice full lips. Make him a really good kisser, too. Gentle, but strong. Tall, let's say around 6 feet, with six pack abs and a tight butt. Please make him the kind of guy who can look past the fact that I need to lose twenty pounds. If he shows up with a bottle of champagne and chocolate covered strawberries, that would be fine with me.
I have been a pretty good girl this year. I volunteered at the food pantry a few times, and I helped my next door neighbor shovel her walk yesterday. Well, I did steal a few pens from the office, but that hardly seems a reason to put coal in someone's stocking, right? If you are looking for someone to put on your naughty list, please consider my ex boyfriend, Brad, who cheated on me with my best friend Mindy. Can you believe I caught him fucking her in his car? The rat bastard.
Thanks for listening, Santa. I hope you have a very Merry Christmas, and that Mrs. Claus gives you a really good blowjob when you get back home.
Love always, Grace."
I folded up the paper. A tear rolled off my chin and left a small wet stain on the letter. For extra luck, I gave it a kiss, then found an envelope and stamp. Once I had it ready to go, I pulled on my winter boots and walked to the mailbox that was on the corner. I sighed, then dropped the letter into the slot.
A light snow was falling, covering my neighborhood with a layer of sparkling diamond dust. It did nothing to lighten my dreary mood, however, and I trudged back to my townhouse. I poured myself another glass of wine, and watched a rerun of House. As I fantasized about Hugh Laurie, I must have drifted off to sleep.
I awoke to a soft, jingling sound. I sat up with a start. My ears picked up the sound of a small thud by the fireplace, and then I heard a tiny voice.
"Damn it, people need to watch where they put these fucking extension cords."
"Who's there?" I demanded. I scanned the room for a possible weapon. All I had was a black Sharpie. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
"Grace?" the tiny voice answered. I shrieked behind my hands. "Don't be afraid, I'm from the North Pole."
"What?" I figured I was dreaming. Or drunk. Or both. There was a half glass of wine sitting on the coffee table and I chugged it down. A pair of tiny hands appeared, they were gripping the edge of the coffee table. Then, a tiny face appeared.
"Little help?" Stunned, I reached out my index finger. The little guy hoisted himself up on to the table and waved at me. "H! I'm Trip. Nice to meet you."
I closed my eyes, then opened them. He was still there. "I'm dreaming." I said to him.
"No, you're not. Santa got your letter. You wanted a night of really hot sex with a cute guy, right? Well, here I am!"
"Um, wow, that's great, but, I don't know how to say this, but, you're tiny. I wanted a guy with an eight inch penis, emphasis on the word penis."
He scratched his head, then pulled my letter out of his tiny pocket. His lips moved as he read it over. "Oh. My bad." He put the paper back in his pocket.
"One second."
He very dramatically pushed a red button that was on his belt buckle. The air in front of me wavered and shimmered, and suddenly, there was a normal sized man standing on my coffee table.
I leaned back and stared at him. "Got a button that makes anything else bigger?" I asked.
"Oh, honey, I don't need a magic button for that." he said with a smirk.