‘Tell me your fantasies Violet?’
I thought for a while. I thought about a fantasy I used to have when I was younger. Being kidnapped, held for ransom, falling semi in love with my hostage taker, a dramatic rescue by a dark and handsome stranger, riding off on horseback, clothes shredded, dishevelled, a mess but oh god he saved me and kissed me and I looked so skinny and sexy on that horse.
Don’t judge me, it was a fantasy.
Those are the kind of things that women fantasise about. Having wild sex with a stranger, being dominated, ravaged, men on horseback, horses…
So when he asked me, it was easy
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘I have this amazing fantasy, this dream, this…’
Because I didn’t see ransom notes or horses riding off into the sunset. I didn’t see a muscular man with long hair and a perfect six pack.
I saw me, wearing an oversized sweater in a cosy cabin on the beach, a roaring fire, dogs at my feet, a typewriter, tons of paper, red wine, cigarettes and someone, old and lovely, delivering my food.
The only part of this dream that will never happen is the cigarette bit.
I hate smoking.
Ah, I’m just going to carry on fantasising…