My Imaginary Boyfriend

Theo, Yasmin and Matthew… by Matthew Josephs

…is ammaaaaazzing! Seriously, you would totes LOVE him. His name is Hawke (how cute?!), and he’s from Iceland. Or maybe it’s Greenland… I can’t actually remember. Whichever one means he sort of looks like an Eskimo. His skin is milky white and his long hair is pitch black. And O-M-G his body is like sooo f-ing sexy. He’s super tall—about 6’3’’—and is so grossly thin that he basically looks like an elongated child. I mean, I don’t want to brag but the boy is practically perfect. Oh God, I think I’m in love.

But yeah, like I was saying, Hawke is like a total dreamboat.. He’s a DJ slash photographer (multitalented), and he also works occasionally as a location scout for Law and Order. (My fave crime drama!!!) But the best thing about Hawke is how amazing he is in bed. Seriously, it’s unreal. He just loves going down on me. I mean, so did my ex-boyfriend but it’s still fab to meet a guy with a staunch appreciation for you-know-what. Literally, he spends hours down there. And he’s really spontaneous too, which totes turns me on. Like, just the other day we were shopping in Top Shop (he has a great sense of style—skinny jeans, black leather jacket, Rolling Stones T-shit, etc) and out of nowhere he dragged me behind a rack of crop-tops and just shoved his hand up my skirt. I felt just like Reece Witherspoon in that movie where she gets finger-banged by Freddy Prince Jr or Mark Wahlberg of whoever. Like, seriously, whoa.

But don’t get me wrong—our relationship is based on far more than just sex. Hawke and I connect on a way deeper level than that. For one, we both love chicken. I mean, it’s seriously both of our favorite food and we eat it together like every day. We also both share a deep admiration for the films of Rob Reiner. For real, the man is a genius of unfathomable depths (Hawke’s words, not mine). Just last night we spent hours lying in bed watching Sleepless in Seattle and making-out. Aww, life is just like so super fun, right?

Sigh. Hawke’s perfection makes me wonder why I ever bothered with real boys to begin with, when it’s so clear that the world is far brighter within my own inner theatre of sexual make-believe.



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