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I cry a lot because I know I’m not really married to Anthony. I constantly find myself fantasizing about being married to Anthony. We’d be in bed, cuddling, holding each other close. We’d be in some countryside cottage somewhere. We’d be naked because we spent last night fugging, but it was purely out of love and passion for one another. I would scratch his back gently and lovingly, pat his soft hair, give him soft loving kisses on his forehead. That’s just one of countless fantasies I keep having about him.
