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What I got for Christmas
Now I’ve got to brag a little. Seems every day this month you’ve asked me what I want. Men are easy; so I say you. You. I just want you. But you already have me, you answer. The hell I do, says I. You think I got you? I married you and I still don’t got you. How have I got you? And you say: You got me by the color of your smell. You got me by the scruff of your walk, the hook of your smile and the grit of your growl. Baby, you got me the way a man gots a woman. And then you say all buttery-smooth: You got me by the crook of your cock. You know it’s true. Just the right deep, just the right wide, just the right shove and divide. Now when a woman talks like that, it could be Christmas in July. Am I that shallow? Am I that vain? Oh hell yes. And I ask, all candy-cane sweet: What do you want for Christmas? And, baby, you know the answer – a massage? – dinner out? – a yoga mat? – Lentil Soup? Baby, you can have all those things. Now tell me what you really want – a Onesie? – flannel sheets? – the spa? – the gym? – undying love? Now you’re just toying with me. But what did I find this morning? You, waking me with a kiss. You, on all fours. You, turning so I could see that pretty red bow stuck to your spine, just where it turns into a valley – the valley of sweet nothings – the little bud and below that the petal, the flower and, oh sweet Jesus, that extravagant blossoming. You, with that smile, you with your knees just a little wider, you with your cheek to the sheets and your elbows up. Just you, Baby, you all but say. You got what I want and no other man – just the right deep, just the right wide, just the right – yes! – Baby. Shove! Shove it in! And you ask what I got to brag about? I got her good; and she got me.