Before Christina could stop herself, her gaze dipped lower. Holy saints, the outline of his manhood stretched the cloth taut. Shed never seen a man so well endowed. Taking a deep breath, she pressed her hand against her forehead and tried not to swoon while she forced herself to snap her gaze to his face. Theyre braies, not box-ers. She bent down, picked up his blue ones and held them up. Ye ken? Right, bra-ie-s, he said as if it were a new word for him. How do you keep them up?

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Amy Jarecki, The Time Traveler's Christmas.

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