Maximum Risk (22 page)

When Mom found out she was sick, I wasn’t going to ask anything of you. I’d stopped believing in you long before that. But there we were last year, Mom and I, in a hospital room just before Christmas, and she wanted both of us to write to you. I didn’t ask you to cure her. All I asked was for you to take away her pain.

I hate you more than I thought I was capable of hating anyone.

It’s Christmas time again. If Mom were here she’d ask me to write to you. So here is your fucking Christmas letter.

Santa, if you are indeed real, I’m not looking for love anymore. You’ve thoroughly killed my belief in happily ever after. I do, however, have a Christmas wish.

To help me get my mind off how much this time of year sucks, I’m asking for a good old-fashioned, down-and-dirty fucking. I want a man who knows his way around a woman’s body. Give him a long tongue and a nice big cock, and make him strong enough to be able to fuck me against a wall.

He should not only know where a G-spot is, but what to do with it once he finds it. Someone who doesn’t finish until I do. I don’t give a shit who the man is or if I ever see him again. I want to come so many times I can’t remember my name. That’s what I want under my tree this year.

This is the last time I’ll write to you.

Hating you in a most unladylike fashion,

Untouchable Kate

P.S. Fuck you