“Look ... will you look at me?” He did. “Look, I don’t think you’re a monster because you have these particular fantasies. Sure, they’re ..... unconventional, but they’re just fantasies. I don’t think you should beat yourself up because your fantasies are considered extreme by some people.”“But that’s just it,” he countered, “I’m worried they’re not just fantasies. I know in my head that the idea of it being a fantasy won’t be enough. That, at some point, I’ll want the real thing and I won’t be. Every Friday night, every Saturday night, and one time on a Sunday afternoon, we managed to meet somewhere to jump each other's bones. I ate her out, she gave me head, I fucked her or she fucked me. But there was no feeling of affection there, no inclinations of romantic attachment, no murmurs of love afterward from me. Animal instinct took over as soon as I felt her tits, or she shoved her hand down my jeans, and we just let it happen. The only time any real emotion was shown was one Saturday. More

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