How do you plan on doing that?
My Masked Valentine: Oh the ideas are endless when it comes to what I want to do to you …
Maybe we should make a list
My Masked Valentine: Fill it with your fantasies and I’ll cross every one off
Just like that, huh? What if they’re … past your limits?
My Masked Valentine: I promise you they’re not. I don’t have limits when it comes to you.
I twirl my thumbs, my heart beating aggressively in my chest. I’ve never confessed any of my fantasies to anyone, except maybe Ker, but she’s my best friend, so she knows everything about me already.
This man is quite literally stalking me, and I’m nervous to type out a fantasy that I want him to enact. I see the irony—I do.
I don’t know where to begin. No partner has ever asked me this, and while I’ve contemplated things I might want to explore, I’ve never let myself fully wander down that path.
My phone buzzes, another text coming through from my impatient suitor.
My Masked Valentine: Tell me one
Yeah, I’m trying to figure that out.
My sex life prior to this man consisted of two boyfriends. The first relationship was in high school for, like, six months, and the other was for three years in my earlier twenties. But those relationships certainly never explored my sexuality.
The craziest thing I’ve ever done in bed is doggy style. Not for a lack of trying to explore new things, but because my ex didn’t want to.
He always said, “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”
I would describe my sex life before My Masked Valentine entered the picture asefficient—well, for the guys at least. They rarely made me finish, and I was always left wanting more.
After my last boyfriend, the only action I’ve gotten in the last few years involves the toys in my nightstand.
Another text comes through.
My Masked Valentine: Stop overthinking it and just tell me one. The first thing that comes to your mind.
First of all, I can’t justnotoverthink it. Secondly, a lot of things that turn me on come to mind, things I’ve never even admitted to myself. He can’t just expect me to spit it out like nothing.
Taking a shaky breath, I start typing out a message, but I get cold feet and delete it. Over and over and over again until the self-loathing becomes too much to bear.
“I’m going to off myself,” I mutter under my breath in frustration–a phrase I need to stop using–and slap my phone on the bed.
I’m not actually suicidal, nor do I have any plans on ending my life, but at this moment, I think I might just spontaneously combust.
He texts me again. Picking my phone up, I read his message.
My Masked Valentine: Just stop questioning yourself and send the message. I know you have a twisted side, like I do, or we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.
My Masked Valentine: I know you like being surprised. You liked me taking you from behind, edging you, making you beg. You like being mine, in every meaning of the word.
Fuck. This man reads me like a book.
I guess if there’s one thing this odd situation gives me,it’s freedom. He’s not going to judge me for something I say when he’s probably thought or done even worse, given his track record.
His patience runs out, and as I read his next message, my heart plummets to the floor.
My Masked Valentine: Stop fidgeting. Stop slamming your phone on the bed and answer my text, Serena
