I got an email the other day, and the subject informed me that someone had a crush on me (someone I know – it was very specific about that point) and I could discover which someone this was by following the link.  I considered clicking because the thought of a secret crush is sexy in a way that transcends all carnal satisfaction… the thrill of in-the-mail, pending, ready conquest.

For a moment I pondered who might be my secret “crusher,” wondering, specifically, if it could be you.  After all, despite the fact that our relationship has remained, for its duration, completely platonic and passive, I must admit to a certain attraction to your walk and once, also, to your smile.

But I have to wonder… would you, of your own volition, locate a site called “UltimateLuvKrush28.com,” noting, there, that it was ME you had an Ultimate Luv Krush (28) on, ME… and furthermore, instruct the website to inform me of this fact via my personal email address (which I think I gave to you once) so that I might sign up to ultimateluvkrush28.com and realize, after all this time, that we truly could be more than just friendly work acquaintances?

Maybe I should go down there to the taco stand where you normally buy your dos tacos and avocado salad meal right around now, and we can have a cinematic-string-swelling love scene by the chili sauce bar.  You could tell me how many lunch-hours you’ve been waiting to work up the courage to send that email.  You could tell me about your family, where you grew up.  You can slip me your panties under the table in the break room and tell me what time you’ll be “getting off” tonight.  We can wink, swap innuendo.  Maybe, if the chemistry is right, we could talk about marriage, about a life together.  I’m looking for something serious, after all.

How would it be to wake up every morning with you there, sharing everything, every moment?  Would you want pets, maybe kids?  I mean, if that were the case I’d absolutely love it if you could stay at home and wouldn’t mind if you narrowed down your hobbies, too.  Kids and pets take up so much time, after all.

As for me, I’m pretty easy to take care of.  I like a blowjob when I wake up, a cup of mint tea ready when I get home from work.  You’d better believe I’d take care of you, too.  I have a catalogue from which I’d like you to select fifteen outfits, and three, maybe four pairs of shoes, two high heel and two flat, because practical is sexy.  I’d love it if you liked being sexy.  Sexy holds my interest, and I’d love it if you knew how to hold my interest.

With our kids (two boys for me, one girl for you) I think I would be the tough type, the disciplinarian.  I picture you as being a little frazzled by juvenile misbehavior, but that would be all right.  I’d come home at the end of the day and set everything straight.  And I think you’d know just how to thank me.

Your work in the advertising department has probably been perfect training for help with English homework, and I wouldn’t mind lending a tip or two on math.  We’d get those kids through high school, all right, and off to college.  You look like you’ve got the type of body that you could keep thin, even into your 50s.  I like that in a woman.

And so what if I strayed a little here and there.  Guys do that.  It’s our nature.  There’s no fighting nature.  Anyway, I mean, you’d still be the big bang, the main dish.  You’d keep me coming back to the table for another helping.  I can totally see that being the case.  How do you feel about costumes?  Handcuffs?  Anal?

Just so you know, I’m not very good at dealing with criticism.  It’s not that I don’t appreciate it.  I do… just later.  I get so angry, sometimes, and sometimes I lose it a little.  You know, everyone does, we all lose control once in a while.  Being out of control can be fun, too, I mean, if you do it on purpose, with Wild Turkey, lets say.  Wild Turkey is my favorite, by the way.  I usually take a splash in my morning coffee, and I’d appreciate if you kept that to yourself.  Seriously.  I can’t have anyone knowing this kind of shit.  Don’t tell anyone.  I’m not kidding.  You smile like you think I’m kidding, but rest assured, I’m not.  I’m not.  Say it.  Say that I’m not kidding.  I’m dead fucking serious.  Say it.  I want to hear you say it.  Don’t walk out of here, say it.  Goddammit, I will hear you say it.  I’m no joke.  I’ll not have you make me feel like a joke.  Don’t you dare roll your eyes at me.  No one makes me feel like a joke, not you, not anyone.  Stop that.  Shut up.  Shut the fuck up.  I don’t care, no one make me feel like a joke, not you, not anyone.

Of course I still love you.  I always love you.  I do this because I love you, don’t you get that?  No, no, quit it.  I hate it when you snivel.  The kids?  Don’t be an idiot, they can’t hear any of this… and anyway, they were supposed to be in bed by now, or were you too “busy” to see to that?  Oh, I’m sorry, I forget how difficult it is for you to hear the truth.  Yeah?  Well maybe you should have thought about that before you sent me that email.

Read more about J. Christopher here.

Read more about Andy here.