The Clumsy Santa

Charlie spent a lot of time covertly watching Santa as he gave out gifts to the children. The man was everything Charlie wanted with a cherry on top, even dressed in red velour. He had never seen Santa outside of his cost—uniform. The only features he could see were the twinkly blue eyes and shy smile which greeted him every morning.

Most of Charlie’s dreams centred around Santa putting his junior elf on his knee and purring what a bad, bad boy he’d been, and how he was going to put him on the naughty list. He soon learned to quash those thoughts in public, because all the green tights hid was his shoe-size. Charlie was sure there was a rule for that somewhere, too.

“You’re drooling again.” Katie nudged him in the ribs. She’d become his regular co-elf.

“I’m not drooling,” he murmured.

“Oh please! If your mouth was open any wider, Santa would have somewhere to park his sleigh and all the reindeer.”

Charlie thought of other things Santa could park in his mouth. South of his navel twitched and woke up at the mental image of him on his knees before Santa. He had to get himself under control. “You’re disgusting.”

She laughed at him. “You’re not denying it.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”