I’ve been keeping it a secret. But, I just can’t keep it to myself any longer.
I’m in love. I’m in love with my imaginary boyfriend and his name is Travis. His name is what I first fell in love with. Everything else I fell in love with came shortly thereafter.
Travis Lee Worter. I call him Trav for short. I often tease him that he needs a “Jr.” or a “II” or a “III” after Worter. When I first teased him, he sorrowfully bowed his head and whispered to me that he no longer has his father.
Just kidding, he says. He jokes around like that. I laugh.
When my imaginary boyfriend, Travis, was in middle school, he tells me, the kids used to call him Avis (with a long “a”) Worts – Avis Worts. He hated that.
He continues to tell me he was an odd-looking, timid, little guy who, oftentimes, if not ignored, was picked on, teased, and sometimes roughed up a bit. He only had one real friend. He was not happy. Once a group of boys picked him up and threw him in a dumpster. One little girl stood back and laughed. She later became his high school sweetheart. That didn’t work out.
Oh, my God, though! He’s so sexy! I don’t see a trace of the ugly and awkwardness he talks about. He is a better man from it, he says. He has this warm smile that makes me melt every time he smiles, laughs or even makes a silly face at me. And when his beautiful blue eyes look into my browns, they make me feel like they’re piercing through my retinas blazing a trail deep down right through to the truth of me. He knows me. He understands me. Knowing this makes my heart pump four times harder so it can afford my body to skip 3 heartbeats. Because it does. Skips the 3 heartbeats, I mean. And I feel it.
So. Travis, my imaginary boyfriend, stands 6’1”, has lovely blue eyes, a fit, lean body with straight posture. He has the cutest little dimples, and when he smiles, his crow’s feet fall in such a way that reveals his perfect mix of boyish and manly. The best, though, is when he bounces himself out of the shower. A few little dark ringlets will spill onto his forehead, glistening as he steps into the natural light. His long lashes capture that same glisten and frame those baby blues to sparkle even brighter. God, I love that! So Handsome!
My imaginary boyfriend is a happy man.
He likes to do things.
He bicycles, runs, sails, camps, backpacks, travels and fishes. In fact, he’s a world class fisherman. He throws the fish back in, though. We often debate the horrors of the hook. He says catch and release, they’ll be fine. I say, “they won’t.” He doesn’t get angry with my take, though. He knows what he knows and is comfortable with it. He lets me believe what I wish. That’s fair.
He’s good at things.
He’s a strong swimmer and a great carpenter. Carpentry is his hobby. He has good hands. Strong hands. He was called a triple threat in college, he tells me. “I know, I know,” I say, “you can sing, dance and act.” For a quick second there I’m suspicious. “Gay?” I think. He guesses what I’m thinking and he assures me he’s not.
He’s very athletic.
We have things in common.
Travis likes to dance. Me too. We both like Gene Kelly.
I love Spanish films. Him too. It’s the coincidence stuff, he says. “OMG! you get that too?!” I say.
Music is his life line. Just like me.
We’re in love.
He rides a motorcycle, and he doesn’t own a red truck. But he drives a black jeep, and that’s only for driving to his place in the woods. In the city it’s a Prius. He can ride a horse too. That’s where Montana comes in.
Travis, my imaginary boyfriend, has a place in Montana. It’s so beautiful – one huge open space, ceilings 3 stories high, and dark wood floors dribbled with rugs. The place is fraught with windows 3 stories high and surrounds just short of three-quarters of the home’s perimeter. The fragrances of nature sneak into every orifice of that home and waft through excessively at unexpected moments. Exactly the home I’ve always dreamt of. There’s a kitchen. A loft. A guest room. An office and two bathrooms. And Wi-fi. Out back sits a cabin awaiting family visitors. Woods surround the home and mountains are everywhere. My imaginary boyfriend even has two mountain bikes waiting for us to ride the trails. Sunday mornings while Trav reads the paper and I read my Flipboard, too many times deer, foxes, baby raccoons and even an elk or two walk up to the house and peer in. Travis tells me one time there was a bear. They stare at Trav like he’s a saint or something. Maybe he feeds them. I don’t ask.
Aside from all that stuff, Trav and I never fight. Like NEVER. He says the exact right thing at the right time. There is nothing ever to get mad at him about. I’ve tried. One time I accused him of telling me just what I wanted to hear and not meaning it. My imaginary boyfriend tells me that is not true. It’s absolutely not true. He loves me just the way I am. I am every bit worthy of him, he tells me. Or is it the other way around?
Finally, sex with Trav is awesome. It’s the perfect combination of lovely and hot. And, that penis of his? Damn! Just think, Perfect! My imaginary boyfriend will do whatever I want. Oftentimes, he’s dominant. Sometimes submissive. Frequently wild. Always loving. We use toys. Have three ways. And have sex in the woods sometimes. Whatever I want, he says. He assures me everything I do to him is just right, sometimes unexpected but surprisingly nice. It’s like I can read his mind, he says. On the side, he even lets me see a guy who comes into town from time to time. He knows I need different. Freedom, I tell him. He says, “Whatever you want. Whatever you need.” I’ll be here for you when you get back.
My imaginary boyfriend – he’s perfect!
Not too many people know about my imaginary boyfriend yet. But just last week I start letting the secret escape. So he meets a couple people and a few, so far, hear of him. And now you guys.
I still need to tell my kids.
Just last week Travis, my imaginary boyfriend, comes with me to meet a couple longtime friends, my husband and wife friends, for dinner down by the airport. The wife friend has just flown in from Spain. I am excited to introduce them. The husband friend said “plus 1” so I tell Trav it’s a go.
We hop in my car ’cause his is in the shop. Travis understands that the teenage-mobile is without air conditioning, and despite it being close to 100 degrees outside, he’s pretty okay with it. He even cracks a couple jokes. He has a quick wit and a pretty awesome sense of humor, I must say. The jokes are pretty funny, actually. I wish I could remember them.
We get there and I’m sweatin’ like a cow. I have napkins under each armpit so I don’t stain my dress and my water bottle is empty. Trav, my imaginary boyfriend, he doesn’t drip a drop of sweat. Not one drop! I make him lift up his arm. Dry! He says he’s never been the kind. The kind to sweat, he means. I’m curious. Does he fart? or poop?
We scout the restaurant for my friends. I spot them toward the back of the restaurant sitting with two others I’ve never met. Except for the fact that I see them on Facebook from time to time. I creep up on the wife friend and give her a back hug, and the husband friend relinquishes his seat to me so that I may sit next to her.
They don’t see Travis at first so I quickly introduce him. “I brought my imaginary boyfriend.” I say to the husband friend, “You said, Plus 1, right?” The husband friend looks way up and says to my imaginary boyfriend, “Man, you’re tall.” But when the husband friend stands up to shake his hand, he realizes Travis isn’t as tall as he imagines. The seat he sits in is just so low. The husband friend then welcomes my Trav into the group by scooching his seat over to make room for Trav in between himself and me. The wife friend just giggles. Travis seems to fit in. He’s a very good listener. He likes my friends very much. I think they like him too.
After dinner, we say our goodbye’s and I want my imaginary boyfriend to drive home.
But he can’t.
Two days later. Trav and I go for a nice walk around the neighborhood. 4 miles roundtrip to be exact. He is great company and we share earphones as we listen to our favorite playlist. It’s a mix of both our favorites of jazz, classical and some adult alternative. We still haven’t picked “our song.” It takes time, he says.
Almost upon the return home, I get a text.
Come on a hike with me
No. I’m just finishing a long walk
Travis, my imaginary boyfriend, convinces me to go on the hike with my friend and pick up my niece too. He says he will stay behind to leave us girls to talk. Don’t worry, he tells me. He’ll be there when I get home.
While on our hike, I finally mention him to the girls. “The perfect man,” I tell them, thinking to myself that he’ll even have dinner, most likely, waiting for me when I get home. We finish the hike, say our goodbyes, and I go home to find out…
He can’t cook.
Ciao for now!