Sexy Briefs: Stocking Stuffers

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"Hope you like it," Ophelia said, crossed-legged on their scratchy bulls eye rug, a wide, sweet smile on her face. She was good at a lot of things, finding a parking space on even the most insanely crowded street, making a rum cake that would make the Pope cry, giggling at cartoons, but she wasn't that good at hiding her excitement-not when the perfect spot opened up right in front of her, not when she made a rum cake that actually made her cry, not on Saturday morning just before the PowerPuff Girls, and definitely not on Christmas morning.

"Well, I hope you like mine, too" Henri said, perched on the edge of her favorite chair, a simple blue rocker, fingers knitted together in elegant contemplation. She was good at a lot of things, singing an aria from La Boheme, expounding on Aboriginal culture, debugging Windows — but even she wasn't that good at hiding excitement — not when she hit that note just right, not when she suddenly understood what the Dreamtime was really about, or when she got the damned thing to boot, and definitely not on Christmas morning.

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