I HAVEN’T DONE ANYTHING WRONG. Absolutely nothing. But yet… I feel guilty. Just a little. This changes everything. It was all good when I couldn’t picture him, when I told myself that he was probably not attractive at all. But now… wow.

I’m completely distracted as I make dinner. Tonight’s meal is simple; macaroni and cheese and turkey sandwiches. I overcook the pasta, and forget to use the bread Emma likes.

I serve the kids their dinners. Theo is all smiles — he’ll eat anything, always hungry. Emma frowns. “You used the brown bread with the seeds in it.”

“Oh crap,” I blurt. “I… I mean, oh darn. I’m sorry. I forgot.”

“Can I just eat the cheese and meat?” she asks.

I shake my head. “Whatever.” I really don’t care at the moment. I take John’s dinner to his office. He’s eating at his desk again. I’m careful not to spill anything as I set the tray down gently on his desk.

“Thank you, sweetie,” he says with a smile. “You’re an angel.”

I shoot him a tight grin, and grab my phone from my purse. I need to get to the bottom of this picture, or it will bother me all night. I look at the time. It’s 5:30 PM. It’s 11:30 PM his time. He might be asleep already, and probably won’t get back to me.

I’m digging a little… I want to know more. I’m getting my Nancy Drew on.

I set the phone down on the kitchen counter, and I start on my own sandwich, although I can’t imagine eating it — the girls and I had a pretty big lunch at our favorite spot.

I hear a ding. I drop my knife, and grab my phone.

It’s him.

Oh damn, if this is all part of the catfishing, this guy is good.

I’m being very nosy, but I don’t care. If he’s playing me, he’ll have to think fast on his feet.

His reply is slow to come. He’s having a hard time making up shit, perhaps. Finally...

Interesting…

So he’s the noncommittal type, and has a dog. Damn, I’m pretty good at this Nancy Drew stuff.

He doesn’t reply. I figure it’s the end of the conversation — he’s probably heading to bed. In an alternate universe, one where I’m single, childless, and living in Copenhagen, it still would never work between us because I’m more of a cat person. I don’t think Elsie would like Floyd.

I smile as I slice my sandwich in two. I’m being ‘very silly’ as Theo would say, and I’m fully aware of it.

Another ding.

I’m on that phone like blue on sky.

Holy mother of Mary…

Another photo.

It’s a photo of him and his dog. The last photo was nothing compared to this one. The man is gorgeous. The word ‘gorgeous’ does not even do him justice. He has striking eyes – they’re blue-green, and framed by perfect dark brows. And he has great hair too; light brown, wavy, and in need of a haircut.

This guy has to be a fake… he looks like a freakin’ model. I shake my head, and do a little more investigating. He has no clue who he’s dealing with.

As I type, I imagine a sloppy morbidly obese man in sweatpants. He’s eating a slice of pizza, and there’s a greasy cheese stain on his grey t-shirt. It sits right on top of his enormous stomach. He has long greasy hair, and is balding on top. He smiles wickedly as he taps away at his phone. Ewwww.

I bet she was.

I’m still not buying it. I save the photos, and do a reverse Google search. If these photos are some random stock pictures he got off the Internet, I’m going to find out.

The results yield nothing… similar images, but not these ones.

What the?

I don’t know what to think. As I bite into my sandwich, I listen to the kids. They always chatter over dinner and have the silliest conversations.

“I could be a cocoon, and you could be a butterfly,” Emma is saying.

Theo shakes his head. He squirts more Ketchup on his macaroni.

“I could wear a sleeping bag, and you could wear the butterfly costume I wore last year for Halloween,” Emma says.

“No way,” Theo argues. “Butterfly costumes are for girls.”

Emma frowns. “No, they’re not. They’re for everybody.”

“And how are you even going to walk if you are in a sleeping bag?”

Emma ponders this for a second.

I smile. I need to forget about this Eli guy, or whatever his name is. This is getting ridiculous. Seriously, what the hell is wrong with me? Am I that bored?

But I should really show the girls the picture — they’d get a real kick out of it. And right after that, I’ll forget all about him.

The kids are at school, and John is busy in his office again.

I slip on the translucent black nightie over my bare breasts, and the matching lace garter. I stretch the knee high stockings over my legs, the pretty ones with the lace trim. Finally, for the ‘pièce de résistance’, I slip on my hooker heels, the ones I can barely walk in. Actually I never wear them — they’re my ‘sex shoes’.

I tousle my long thick hair, and dab on some red lipstick.

I almost topple over as I climb down the stairs to the main floor. The shoes are noisy on the wood flooring as I walk slowly to John’s office. I open the door carefully, and surprise him.

A slow, wicked smile stretches across his face when he sees me. He’s seems pleasantly surprised, definitely happy to see me. He’s absolutely beautiful in this moment. His blue eyes sparkle… and his smile is the exact same one I fell in love with, the one I don’t see nearly enough these days.

“I think it’s time for a break,” he says quietly. “Come here.”

I walk over to him slowly, shy. He doesn’t move an inch — he stays rooted to his swivel chair. He wants me to come to him.

He reaches for me. “You look beautiful,” he says, “so fucking sexy.” He goes right for my bum — my husband is an ass man. He pulls me in to him, and our lips press together. He tastes like coffee, and kissing him feels amazing. It’s been so long since we’ve kissed.

He’s hungry for it. And so am I. I reach for his t-shirt and tear into it to feel the hot skin of his stomach. I love to run my fingers along the light smattering of hair over his navel. He inhales a deep breath when I touch him. “It’s been too long, Gabbie,” he whispers, his breath hot against my ear.

I straddle him as we deepen the kiss, and press my hand against his hardness. He’s wearing lounge pants and I’m just about ready to tear them off.

His voice is rough when he murmurs, “You drive me crazy, Gabbie,” Then, he goes into typical ‘John mode’ — he likes sex a certain way, always has, and I’m certainly not complaining because I like it that way too. He likes to dominate and take charge.

He flips me around. My hands land on the edge of his desk. My ass is right in his face. He doesn’t waste a second. He tears off the garter and the stockings in one fell swoop, down to my ankles. He runs his mouth along my leg and the curve of my rear. I push the papers and laptop to the side and throw myself on the desk, my face pressed against the cool wood.

He pulls at my hair and kisses the back of my neck softly. “I love you,” he says, and then he enters me. I’m ready for him — no more foreplay needed. He starts slowly but I beg him to go harder. I grasp the edge of the desk as he pounds into me. I love every second of it.

He trails his hand around to touch me — my husband is very generous that way — he always makes sure I get off too. I whimper loudly as he takes me closer. There’s no one here but us.

“I’m taking you there, gorgeous,” he whispers between labored breaths.

I close my eyes, and I see Eli. I don’t push the image away. I don’t need to. That’s all it is — an image. Just a photo of a man who doesn’t exist. A photo of a beautiful man, taken who knows where, by who knows whom.

A fantasy.