Last year I wrote Santa Clause. Every year I asked for something great. I asked for a car and I got one. I asked for a nice apartment. I got one. I get what I want. I just have to ask nicely. Santa delivered. I think he over delivered this year though. You be the judge of that. Last year I wrote Santa Clause a one-sentence letter:

I want a man that is a Nice, Strong, Intelligent man with Experience.

I asked for Nice. On the first day of 2015, I got one. At first, he was tender, caring, and fun. We explored each other as if we had never explored anyone before. I was in heaven. By the second week, we were strangers. I guess he ran out of Nice juice. We didn’t trust each other or trust ourselves. Poof, he was gone in mind, body, and soul. A bear took him away.

I wanted Strong. Months went by. A Strong military man came into my life. A business plan was what he asked for. For some reason, my brains are what he wanted. I always wanted a man to love me for my mind. I didn’t charge him to start his corporation, open his bank account, or bring him business. Once the business was up and profitable, he disappeared as a Black Ops Soldier would.

I needed Intelligence and Experience. The end of the year fast approached. For months I’ve been courted by an older man. We talked about Leo Tolstoy and Plato. He claimed he went to high school with them. It was a relief to talk to a man and his first sentence didn’t start with, “When I was drunk.” He made me feel that I was intelligent and I was very thankful for that. His experience in writing, poetry, travel, and the arts was a welcome refreshment in my life. My dull and boring life. I learned so much of the literary world. My eyes opened and I’m a much better man. However, he’s married and off the market.

I think I learned my lesson. This year I was more precise in my letter to Santa.

Dear Santa, I want a man that is young. Tall as me if not higher and with the body of a mythological god. With stamina that I can keep up with or train to achieve. Richer than me. Not as much to support me, but enough that we can have an equal fitting financially. A place we can call our own and have breakfast in bed. In Paris.

Yay. I got my wish. It’s barely the New Year and Santa has delivered as promised.

I met Eric. A true Nordic god of 35. He barely spoke English but I loved his accent. He opened doors and was very considerate of my needs. His poetry made me see the stars above Asgard. He made love to me as a god who paced himself would so I wouldn’t pass out first. His strength of a thousand men held me fast above if we were above the plains we made it rain with our sweat and thunder and with our grunts.

The next morning, we had breakfast in bed. I paid him a thousand dollars which made him richer than me. I tipped him with a deep kiss and left the Paris Hotel in Las Vegas.