Excerpt: Untitled

“Okay. You go first.”

“No, I don’t want to go first. You.”

Turns out, homework is just as hard when you’re an adult as it was when you were a kid. More so, in fact. And this kind of homework? Kind of makes you miss fractions.

Here’s the thing: telling your husband, who you have never actually had sex with, about your deepest, darkest sexual fantasy... it’s awkward. No, awkward doesn’t quite cut it.

Mortifying.

Terrifying.

Humiliating.

Pick one.

“Fine,” I say, “I’ll go first.”

Oh god.

“We’re... on a beach. Lying in the sand. The waves are crashing over our legs. And we’re making love. In the sand. Oh, and it’s sunset.”

Reid raises an eyebrow. “You’re lying.”

“What? I am not!”

“I hope to god you are,” he says wryly, “because that was the lamest fantasy I’ve ever heard.”

I kick him under the blankets. How dare he call it a lame fantasy! It was the best I could come up with under pressure.

“All right, all right,” I say. “But you have to promise to have an open mind and not to think I’m a perverted freak.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Keep calm. Count to five.

“I’m in high school. Wearing my old uniform, the white shirt and the kilt and the knee socks.”

Reid’s eyes widen.

“You’re my teacher, and you ask me to stay behind after class.”

His lips curl into a smile.

“Once we’re alone, you shut and lock the door.”

I cannot believe I’m saying this out loud. I have never told this to anyone, ever. It’s been my dirty little secret for years, since eleventh grade science class. Not that my teacher had been all that attractive. Just, something about the diagram of human anatomy kind of got me going. When I started dating Reid, a ninth grade math teacher, I would fantasize about being alone with him in a classroom for hours.

“Then, you grab me, and turn me around, and... oh god, I can’t do this.”

I bury my burning face in my hands, but Reid tugs them away. “It’s all right,” he coos, “you can tell me. I won’t think you’re a perverted freak, I promise.”

I take a deep breath, but steadfastly avoid looking Reid in the eye. “Okay. All right. You turn me around, and push me over a desk. And even though I’m trying to fight you off, you manage to tie my wrists to one of the legs of the desk with your necktie.”

“And then?”

I risk a glance at Reid, and he’s got this look of pure rapture on his face that surprises me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look at me that way before.

“Then... you push my kilt up,” I say, my voice nearly a whisper, “and pull down your pants. And I keep struggling to get away, but I can’t. I’m trapped, and I’m terrified of what you’re going to do to me. And then you...”

I can’t say the rest. I can’t. I’ve never been able to talk about sex in that kind of detail. My throat seems to close on the words that everyone else throws around so easily.

“Then, you...”

Then, you thrust your cock into my cunt.

Then, you fuck the living daylights out of me.

I can’t say these things! Just thinking them makes me feel guilty.

But Reid, he’s breathing harder than before. His lips are slightly parted, but still crooked with a smile. And underneath the blankets, I feel something nudge my thigh. It takes me a second to realize it’s his penis.

Don’t panic! And don’t move. You don’t want to scare it away. This is kind of like that groundhog popping its head out of the ground in February to tell you whether or not the next six weeks are going to be cold and miserable or warm and sunny. Only, the groundhog has an erection.

“Keep going,” he says, a plea.

The way I see it, I have two choices: I can be my usual prudish self and refuse to say anymore, turn over, and go to sleep. Or, I can face my fears. I can force myself to say cock! And cunt! And fuck! And maybe, just maybe, save my marriage.

Then again, is a marriage that needs to be saved by the words cock, cunt, and fuck really a marriage worth saving?

There’s only one way to find out.

“Then,” I say, “you... force yourself inside me.”

Hey, it’s a start.

“You... fuck me over the desk.”

Wow. It’s actually kind of thrilling, saying that word.

“You’re gripping the back of my neck and pushing my face down as you... fuck me.”

“God damn,” Reid breathes. “I never in a million years would’ve guessed that you had a rape fantasy, Anna.”

For a moment, a vicious pang of doubt eats away at my insides. “This means there’s something wrong with me, right? That this kind of thing turns me on?”

“No, no, god no,” he says, brushing his fingers through my hair. “It’s perfectly natural. And very, very sexy.”

Now, I’m the one smiling. “You really think so?”

“Oh, yeah. Actually, if you want, we could try it, sometime. I mean, when we get everything worked out.”

By everything, he means his penis. The penis that is currently pressing up against me, something we’re both trying to ignore. But it’s like that fabled pink elephant you just can’t ignore. Only, the pink elephant? Has an erection.