Board Thread:What Would You Do?/@comment-2604:6000:130E:278:C127:9C1B:3C10:D256-20191226175601/@comment-36855838-20191228055214

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Dear Satan,

I have been a very good man this year, and even though I was bad and naughty before, I have a great and desperate fear in my heart.

My beard was red, my hair too, both have grown grey with time.

I do not wish to be young, but to not be alone any longer.

Please, send someone to stay with me in my twilight years, at 45, I am not long for this world, Stan, as I am sure you know.

Most sincerely yours,

Be E S

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Beauregard Estevan Smith sealed the letter, and placed it onto his windowsill with a slice of walnut banana bread.

As he laid down to sleep, a ratatoskr crept up along the treebranch beside the orphanage baker's window, scarfing down the baked dessert and stowing away his letter, her innate sense carrying her footfalls to the most appropriate recipient.

Beauregard awoke to find a gentle pressure on his chest, and a warm breath grazing his cheek.

He was no longer alone in his bed, somebody very warm had joined him this chill winter's morning.

As he opened his eyes, BeES saw naught but black fur and the sleeve of a white nightshirt, his body slowly waking along with his mind.

He felt, soon after, the tender embrace of the padded paws behind his back, the extra pillow propping up his head, and the rough denim trousers of his bedmate.

She stirred, pulling him in tighter, and he felt the mixture of soft fat and hard muscle which filled her arms, legs, and torso.

BeES returned her embrace with equal enthusiasm, if not equal strength, and spoke with the cracked voice of a man who dares not to hope, trusting, still, in his dreams.

"Thank you, Santa."