June Night

Presently, I am listening to The Killers on Media Player with headphones as loud as I can. He doesn’t look a thing like Jesus, but he talks like a gentleman, like you imagined, when you were young. When I was young. I don't know if I was ever truly young.

I was grating some cabbage earlier so that I could steam it for dinner (I am trying my damnedest to be Paleo – you have to get real creative when you can’t have pasta and you like Italian). I was grating, and I was thinking about the night that I gave myself to him. This night. I wanted him to take my virginity – meaning that he had to be in the dominant position. I was so subservient. I was in love.

Tonight is important, it’s special, and it should be spent in either quiet reflection or in the throes of passion. It would seem like a betrayal to have make love to someone else on this day. Even though it’s over, this day belongs to us. It’s sacrosanct.

I was thinking that it might be interesting to call him tonight – the person who made this night special all those years ago – but what do we really have to say to one another? Like all my other daydreams, this is one that is more pleasurable when locked safely into the realm of fantasy.

I always said that I would rather be someone’s fantasy than their mediocre reality. The same goes for my own. There’s plenty of things that I think about, dream about, that are far more interesting when they remain within the four walls of my mind. Reality is never as interesting as what my blissfully overactive imagination can construct.

My husband doesn’t understand this. He thinks that fantasies were made to me realized – dreams had only to eventually come true. When he feels that things are getting stale in our relationship, he asks me about my fantasies. I never tell him.

First of all, there are some things that should not be spoken. He doesn’t go with things like I do. If I were to tell him that I wanted to be in the middle of a Vin Diesel and Til Lindemann sandwich, he would probably burn all his Rammstein CDs and put the Kibosh on all Vin Diesel flicks.

Secondly, what kind of man wants to hear, "Well, I fantasize about people I have loved but could not be with. I think about people who are not you. These are not sexual thoughts. These are loving passionate thoughts. I fantasize about being loved by someone other than you."

These things simply don't need to be said.