Rock Me Amadeus

When I was in graduate school, my friend the Black Dahlia and I used to hang out in a bar called Mars Bar. Mars bar is the cheapest bar in NYC, not only because the beers are cheap and every third beer is a buy back, but because the bartenders are often so strung out they don’t remember to charge you for half of what you drank. The only drawback is that you often have to place your drink order four or five times in a two minute period. One night I was waiting for Dahlia, who was chronically late, at Mars bar. As I sat there, British guy sidled up to me. He was older, I’d say in his forties, with rough hands. Mars bar is supposed to be an artists bar with a rotating “gallery.” What this translates into is that everybody in Mars bar is an artist but…I’m an artist but I make my money in construction, computer engineering, personal training, etc. So this British guy with a heavy cockney accent starts talking to me. He’s an artist, but makes his money building shelves. We chat for about five minutes when he asks me if I have an email address. All of my email addresses are maintained under pseudonyms so there is no way to trace the email back to my real name unless I give it to you. I asked him why he wanted it. “Well, I would like to send you saucy emails.” I had never received a “saucy” email. I was intrigued and figured I was at absolutely no risk for stalkerdom. I gave it to him and promptly forgot about the whole incident. A week later I received an email from Saucy. He claimed that he had a girlfriend and in no way wanted these fantasies to come true, but he wanted to write me graphic emails. I wrote back that I too had a boyfriend, but I liked the idea of getting sexy emails during the day-the thrill of something forbidden, but without any of the guilt. Besides at the time I was dating Duke Nuke’em whose lack of sex drive was forcing me to eat the wallpaper in frustration. The idea of being someone’s sex fantasy would give my ego the perk it needed. So the terms were set-an exchange of emails only. The next week I received my first email. The basic structure of the fantasy was fairly standard. We meet at a restaurant. I’m wearing a sexy black dress. He doesn’t want to touch me, but he can’t resist. He slides his hand farther and farther up my thigh. He tries to get a reaction from me, but he is only reward with a slight blush. He works his fingers inside my panties and feels how wet I am. He can’t stop himself. He tells me to go to bathroom. He joins me there. And here is where it gets fun. “I pull down your dress to reveal your breasts-like two white rabbits escaping from their warren.” I immediately forwarded the email to Dahlia who forwarded it to her friends. And thus Saucy’s email began a regular circulation making him one of the best known sex writers at the NYU graduate creative writing program. The next email featured me as a kind of Heidi of the Swiss Alps character. He is hiking and comes across a little pub on a mountainside. I’m there dressed in leiderhosen with my hair in long braids. He ravishes me there in the green grass like some ricola ad turned porn film. As time went on the emails began to dwindle. I had left Duke Nuke’em and was with a new boyfriend who actually had a sex drive so I had lost interest. Months later when I had a forgotten about him, I received a new email from Saucy, a mass mail announcing the birth of his first son, Wolfgang, by his lovely new wife.