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I’m a grown woman. I do not believe in the bogeyman.

Okay, I believe in the bogeyman, but he is confined to nightmares.

The bogeyman is not allowed in my closet where I keep my sexy lingerie and aphrodisiac mothballs. Nor under my bed, nor in the real world.

Fine. The bogeyman is allowed under my bed as long as he stays there, but no closer than that. I can’t let him discover my secret agenda.

Though if he does come out from under the bed, he will find some tastefully erotic magazines I stored under there to get him in the mood, in case he happened to stop by.

Okay, so the bogeyman is allowed to come out from under the bed, but he isn’t allowed to make shadow puppets dance across my walls like sexy phantoms—err, I mean scary phantoms. He isn’t allowed to give me strange dreams that will make me feel all unrested in the morning.

The bogeyman will only give me naughty dreams when I have a boyfriend and I have a way to deal with that pent-up sexual energy.

Fine, the bogeyman will give me monster erotica wet dreams whenever he wants.

I will not put on perfume and makeup, wear sexy lingerie and style my hair before I go to bed in the hope of tempting the bogeyman to make my dreams come true.

I will not tempt him to sit on the bed and give away my desire for badboy monsters like him.

Okay, I will suggest the bogeyman sit on the bed, but only to make him more comfortable. And those chocolate scented candles I lit were the equivalent of a nightlight so I didn’t have to sleep in the dark. I don’t have an excuse for the rose petals on the sheets.

I will remember to keep our relationship strictly professional and not deviate from the frightened role, so that I will not scare him away. Like the last bogeyman.

I will not lean in to kiss the bogeyman when he tries to scare me.

Well, maybe just lean in a little, so that my breath brushes his lips and he thinks the kiss is his idea. Normally a bogeyman would never try to touch a human, so I’ve got to work to make this feel natural for him.

I will not accidentally grope his washboard abs as I pretend to push him away. Oh god, he’s slippery and slimy, just like I hoped he would be. My breath catches in my throat.

I will be more subtle than I was with the last bogeyman.

Is that a mouth instead of a belly button? How monster-liciously hot! I trace the outline of his sensual lips with my finger. He bites me and I moan.

I will do my best to make it a terrified moan.

Wait, are those tentacles from the waist down? How did he know? Scratch that, the bogeyman knows everything that might turn a girl on—err, I mean terrify her.

I most certainly will not cry out in pleasure as the bogeyman wraps me in his tentacles and puts those suction cups to good use.

I will do my best to squirm and fight and act frightened. The way he oozes turns me on.

I will not arch my back and grind against him. He smells like Old Spice and gasoline. And desire. Never have I wanted a monster this much before. He’s way hotter than the closet bogeyman.

I might arch my back a little.

I will not ask him to squeeze me tighter or tell him my bra unhooks from the front.

Okay, I will, but I will use the best frightened voice I can muster.

Hey, where is he going?

Stupid flirt. I’m all alone now. It’s like the bogeyman never existed. Only, the feelings are still there.

I’m a grown woman. I don’t believe in bogeymen.

At least not ones who make my monster fantasies come true.

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