I mean, who wants to hear that some man you’ve never met, who lives too far away, who’s happily married to a wonderful woman, who’s a loving father of two great children, who studied something as arcane as the history and philosophy of science, who’s from the south, who loves to cook, who loves to flirt, who’s tall, dark haired, healthy, lusty and happy would wake up in the middle of the night in his own warm bed thinking about you — your fantasies, your brains, your work, your joys and sorrows, your coughs and sniffles — and then drifting off again to dream futile dreams of watching your beautiful neck and chest and breasts flush pink from his fingertips and kisses?

Roused from sleep it all seems so simple. In the light of the day, though, I know better and speak not a word of it.