He writes my hair black. He writes me four inches taller than I am. He writes me right handed, funny, and near-sighted. He writes me hot, small-breasted. He writes that we woke, spooning, after exhausting each other to sleep.

He never writes about my insecurities or neuroses, though he does write about those things with his other girls. Always the gentleman, he disguises their identities by writing them like me.