Status Updates From Want: Sexual Fantasies by A...

He’s my best friend. We hold hands walking down the street, but in bed we face apart. Not from anger, but from tiredness. From contentment. Resignation. I’m resigned to a life of contentment. A happy life. No desires. Just conformity. Maybe being married to your best friend isn’t all that bad.

Would I be bold enough to let her explore my body as I in turn explored hers? Would I be brave enough to share her with my children? I’m not brave enough now. I’m not brave enough to leave my husband. I’ll never leave him.

Now I see her only on Instagram. Or when I look in the bathroom mirror. I see her standing behind me. I see her holding my vibrator and I imagine my husband is dead. And I wonder if I’d be brave enough to let her work her way round my body. If I’d let her long hair tickle my breasts, if her ​petite chest would fit into my voluptuous one. Would I be brave enough to kiss her?

I’m happily married. I think. My husband is a great guy. He’s kind. He’s easy to get on with. We have common interests. He’s a great dad. He respects me. He works hard. He supports me financially. He’s my best friend. And being married to your best friend is the best thing in the world. But sometimes I wonder how my life would be if he died.