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" Sex with Donna was amazing. Luke Wilson would be very pleased. The way she called out &amp;quot;Luuuuuuuuuuuke!&amp;quot; when she had an orgasm (and there were many), or the way she asked me to tell her about having sex with Drew Barrymore while she did unspeakable things to me. &amp;quot;Did she know how to do this?&amp;quot; she said. &amp;quot;How about this?&amp;quot;  It was all too much. I probably should have felt guilty, like I was taking advantage of someone, but I didn&amp;#039;t. In my mind, she was the one who started this whole fantasy in the first place, and as long as she never found out the truth, what was the damage in having her think she had sex with a Hollywood star? It would be something she could brag about to her friends for years.  The trick for me was disappearing from her life, before she, or someone she knew, realized who I really was. Which is why I left the next morning without saying goodbye. I figured once the alcohol wore off and the light set in, the truth would more likely be revealed. I was like a werewolf who preyed at night and woke up naked and exposed the next morning on some city street.  Donna lay on her stomach fast asleep. She was sight to behold. What a body! I stood there marveling at the perfect contours of her back and buttocks for a few seconds in awe. This girl was soooo out of my league. It was good to be Luke Wilson, even if it was only for a night.  I found a pad in her living room and scribbled a note:  &amp;quot;Had a great time. Xoxo Luke.&amp;quot;  Then I put it by the side of her bed, and tiptoed out the door.  The next day it was my turn to babysit Zach. Mom had an appointment in the city with an eye doctor and Brittany had to get her hair done. Although he wanted to go to the park around the corner, I took him to another one across town. I also took pains to avoid walking down the same street as the bar. Queens was a big borough, and I was pretty sure I would avoid bumping into Donna again as long as I was careful.  It wasn&amp;#039;t until I returned home later that day that I realized that wasn&amp;#039;t going to be possible.  Mom came home and interrupted me from a perfectly enjoyable football-watching experience. &amp;quot;Who&amp;#039;s Donna?&amp;quot; she asked.  Just hearing the name caused my heart to leap into my throat. &amp;quot;Never heard of her.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;She called me today. Apparently she found my number on your phone.&amp;quot;  I reached down slowly to my right pocket, only to discover that my blackberry was gone. What an idiot, I&amp;#039;d taken it out of my pocket while we were rolling on her floor, and forgot to pick it up!  &amp;quot;Ohhhh, Donna. Right. She&amp;#039;s an old friend. I must have left my cell phone at her apartment.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;If she&amp;#039;s an old friend, why did she keep calling me Mrs. Wilson?&amp;quot; "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.redbookmag.com/love-sex/mens-perspective/a4310/diary-he-111008/>