“I’m on my way to visit some old friends but needed to stop. I’m at the motel down the road.”“Nice. I’m on my way home from a conference and thought I’d stop, too. “I’m probably at the same motel you are--hmmm…serendipity,” she said taking another sip from her drink then picked up the olive out of her glass, placed it in her mouth, holding it between her round lips, before swallowing it, looking into my eyes with that slight teasing smile on her lips. “You look interesting,” she said, nodding, “like you think a lot. What do you do?“I’m a writer,” I answered, “novels, poetry, short stories.”“Cool. I like your blue eyes,” she said, pausing, “eyes tell a lot about a guy and I like beards,” she said glancing at my beard then back at my eyes, biting her lower lip.“Thanks,” I said, taking a sip of my drink, our eyes looking at each other as if exploring a new territory.“So, where’s home,” I asked, finishing my Jack Daniels and motioned to the bartender for another one.“New York,” she. Since then, I have been the focal point of all her fantasies. She had written the letter to the magazine after a very erotic dream she had about me. She told me that she could never be with another guy because she found that while they were having sex, she was thinking only of me. Even her relationship with her last boyfriend Phillip ended because of me. When I asked her about the cable guy, she told me she made that up. The truth of the matter was that, on their one-year anniversary, Phillip proposed to her, and she said yes, but that twice that night, while they were making love, she called out my name. The first time, he had ignored it; the second time he asked her about it, and she broke down and told him that she had been watching me masturbate for so long that she had built up a fantasy about fucking me. He kicked her out and they have never spoken since.All of this she told me while we were kissing. Then she brought herself up so that her mouth was next to my ear, and she stuck.
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