Dear Mat,

You asked me to write you my fantasy. Okay, here goes.

It’s our third anniversary. We’re living in a big house overlooking the Pacific Ocean. We can sit on our front porch in the evening and watch the sunset, and the only thing we see is the blue water and the brilliant orange sky and the only thing we can hear are the crash of waves on the rocks. It’s very peaceful. We’re so happy, sitting together, holding hands.

On the little table next to us is a bottle of wine and two glasses. It’s a very nice wine which your parents sent us as an anniversary present. When you open it it pops and some of the wine sudses over. I have to laugh because the foam reminds me of your—what word should I use?—dick? cock? penis? I think cock because of the way it sounds when I say it to myself, the way it catches in my throat just a little bit much the way it catches in my—what word should I use? pussy? vagina? cunt? –I know you love it when I say cunt so I’ll say cunt, but where was I? Oh your cock, when I’ve rubbed it enough so that it gushes and overflows and the creamy stuff runs down over my wrist. “What’s so funny?” you say, and you see that naughty look in my eyes, so you get an idea of where my naughty mind is going. “Ha, ha, wouldn’t you like to know,” I tease you, and I hold out my wine glass so you can pour. You pour us both some wine and then we clink glasses, and you say, “To my darling, I love you so much!” and then we drink. It is really good wine—better than any I’ve ever had. Maybe it’s Champagne or something like that. And then we kiss. And the kiss tastes like the wine, only better, all airy and tingling and perfect.

We kiss for a long time, and the sun is almost down, just the edge of a flaming orange ball dipping into the sea.

Then it’s dark and we’re sitting side by side listening to the waves, and I ask you if you have any secrets to tell me. You tell me three secrets, and each one makes me love you more and more and more.

Then I tell you a secret, but I don’t tell it with words. I tell it with my body and my heart and my soul. I tell it by taking off my clothes and showing myself in the last of the light, and I tell it by taking off your clothes and touching you everywhere and kissing you everywhere and delighting in your body, in your beautiful body. And I tell it by making love to you. You probably want to know the particulars, don’t you? Okay, I’m facing you while you’re sitting on the chair and I straddle your legs and lower myself slowly slowly slowly so my pussy just barely rests upon your dick, and then I trace my fingertips round and round your nipples while I sink slowly slowly slowly down your shaft, filling myself with you, filling my cunt with your cock, and oh it feels so good. And when I’m all the way down, and so wonderfully full of you, I kiss you, and we kiss each other while we fuck, while I ride you up and down, up and down, to the rhythm of the rolling, crashing ocean waves, and I know you want me to go faster, and I want to go faster too, but darling, you can’t speed up the sea, and we both know it will be best if we keep to the rhythm, and sure enough you get so excited that you can’t stand it anymore and you explode inside me. Oh, honey, I love when that happens, and it makes me explode, too. You make me so happy. Darling, I can’t wait to see you again. Anyway that’s what I mean by making love. Only there’s one more secret. One more part to the fantasy. Can you guess what it is? I’m not sure if I should tell you. Maybe you can guess?

Okay, I’ll tell you. Our lovemaking makes me pregnant. We’re going to have a baby!

Did you guess that? Now I’m a little embarrassed. Do you think I got carried away? Do you think I was too sappy? You know what? Sappy rhymes with happy.

Love,

Your Laura

This isn’t the fantasy, though. The fantasy is that my lovely Laura reads this and says to herself, “Mat Twassel, you naughty boy, I’m going to fuck your brains out.”

That’s the end of the fantasy, but the story starts for real when Laura comes home from yoga with a bottle of Champagne and a flush on her cheeks, and that lewd, knowing look in her eyes.