MY TWISTED FANTASY

The man across the street is beautiful. I watch him leave his house every morning, off to jog. I watch him come home every evening, after work. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know me. He doesn’t know the pleasure he gives me.

Running hands down my body, I imagine what it would be like to conquer him. To lock him up. To deprive him of everything. No food, no water, no clothes. To tie him to a chair, straddle him, and have my way with him. To keep him helpless. Feeble.

Mine.

Closing my eyes, I can hear his parched throat cry out in pain with every snap of my whip. I can see his dry lips crack and blister with every wail. I can feel the blood from his tortured slashes as it covers my raw hands.

I contort and curl my body in relief. I lay for a moment, blissful and warm. I look out the window and I see him returning from work. This time he’s with a woman.

Next time, he’ll be with me.