He has five different and well-defined fantasies about her. The first involves tracking her career through sex play with her. He will not go so far as to incorporate The Princess Diaries, which shows her too young to really think about in a sexual way. But Ella Enchanted, while still showing a young Hathaway, has a clear sense of potential for sex play in the obedience that comes out of that film. “Disrobe,” he tells her, and she does. “Kneel,” he tells her, and she does. “Bark,” he tells her, and she does. Things begin from there. Then they switch to a slightly later film, The Devil Wears Prada. He is charmed by her awkwardness and compelled by her assertiveness. He imagines himself having sex with Hathaway while imagining Hathaway getting flogged by her horrible boss. By this time, he usually eases off, trying not to finish too quickly. He lets himself linger on Hathaway dressed in high fashion and being spanked with a riding crop for just a moment, then he transitions to Valentine’s Day, where she whispers filthy scenarios into his ear while straddling him. Usually, this is where his fantasy ends, but if he needs to keep going, the third Batman movie comes in handy. He never gets to Les Miserables, which is fine, period costumes seem too artificial to him. This fantasy is the right pace for when he has company.

The second fantasy is for times when he has a longer period to build up to climax. This involves he and Hathaway waking up, having a late breakfast and lounging around the apartment. She wears a white, man’s shirt, her long legs naked as she reads the paper and enjoys a cup of coffee. They discuss possible trips or tasks for the day. Perhaps Farmer’s market, perhaps a museum. She reads part of an article from the paper to him. She notices him looking at her when she finishes, and she smiles. He recognizes that he’s attracted not just to her beautiful, lithe form, but also to her intelligence and her strength. This is the essence of Anne Hathaway.

She rises and goes to him, sitting on his lap. She puts her arms around his neck and tells him, “Or we could just stay in.” It goes, of course, from there. Though there are a variety of permutations, the one constant is that he eventually licks her from her knee up. They eventually kiss, passionately, ash she alternates between holding him and unbuttoning her shirt. When she finishes with the shirt, she is totally naked, and he kisses her body up and down. Once more, things go from there. He generally indulges in this fantasy on the weekends and when he is alone.

The third fantasy is quite simple. Anne Hathaway has fallen on hard times and has had to become a prostitute. He only indulges in this fantasy when he’s been drinking heavily, and he often falls asleep before ejaculating.

In the fourth fantasy, he and Anne are sitting poolside at a private resort. Each couple has their own, small alcove surrounded by hedges. Waiters come in and out, serving drinks or appetizers. It’s a nice day, sunny, warm. A waiter has just dropped off another set of margaritas, and Hathaway leans over to him. “You know,” she says, “I have this fantasy.” The fantasy is, of course, sex in a public place. He first tells her it’s a bad idea, but she runs her nails up his thigh, under his swim trunks. “Come on,” she whispers. He shakes his head at her, but he smiles. She smiles back, sliding her hand all the way up his trunks. He is quickly passed from hand to mouth. In his fantasy, he is first splitting his attention between her affections and footsteps passing by. But soon, Hathaway has his full attention as she’s gone into a fountain and begun to strip. By now, even in the fantasy, he’s hard and ready. She holds up a single hand, puts out a finger and gestures for him to join her in the fountain. He goes to her. They make love in the fountain, changing positions in the way that he and a lover always do in his fantasies, water pouring down her back or her breasts as he thrusts into her or as she grinds down upon him. Just before he comes (in the fantasy), he notices that a small group of waiters has stopped to watch, just outside of the alcove’s entrance. The desire is clear in their eyes. Instead of telling them to go, he simply thrusts all the harder, making her moan loudly. After they finish (together, of course), she also notices the watching waiters, who then applaud. He and Hathaway laugh and hold each other in the fountain. The water pours down over them as they kiss, and this is when he finishes out of the fantasy. This fantasy is best used at night, before bed, when he needs a full release.

The fifth and final fantasy is perhaps the strangest. In it, Hathaway has become aware of his various fantasies, and she is chastising him. He sits in a chair while she stands over him, yelling. “You think that just because I’m a woman and famous you can make me an object? I’m just a sex kitten with no interiority?” He begins to explain that it is her interiority that makes him choose her. “Shut up,” she tells him. “Don’t be an ass.” He’s heard this before.

He starts to hang his head. He feels a sense of moral vertigo, even as he’s stationary. She reads him the riot act, cursing and yelling. He closes his eyes and listens to his voice. He thinks back over his sexual fantasy history. And he knows that she sees that he’s left the scene. There’s a smack across his face. “Hey,” Hathaway says, “are you listening to me?”

He looks her directly in the eyes. His world begins to slow, to stabilize after being set in terrifying motion. “I love you,” he says. “I love you.”

Hathaway stops. She leans close to him. After they stare at each other, she sits down on his lap, straddling him. “Do you mean it?” she asks.

With all sincerity, he says, “Yes, God yes.”

And the floodgates open. Different positions, different angles in his mind. Music playing, silence, just the sound of their moans. Everything. This is what he dreams of for hours on end. But he knows, as he indulges in these moments. He knows, because he remembers the other daydreams. The idle but persistent fantasies where he was with Natalie Portman, where Portman, tight, firm and gorgeous, would lean in, lick his earlobe and say, “You haven’t been dreaming about Hathaway again, have you?” Portman promised that she could make him forget, but here he is.




As is usually the case, I have only hazy recollections about where this story came from. The clearest thing that I remember is that I got the idea while my family was at an indoor water park. Maybe it was all the women in swimsuits, or maybe I just had Anne Hathaway on my brain for some reason, but she seemed like a good choice, that mid-range of sexy. Not Rihanna/hanging-out-of-her-clothes sexy, but not Merryl Streep/too-dignified-to-fantasize-about either. Hopefully, if she reads this, she won’t hire goons to bludgeon me, but if she gets a restraining order, maybe it’ll garner some attention, and I wasn’t likely to get within 100 yards of her anyway.



Zeke Jarvis is an Associate Professor at Eureka College. His work has appeared in 2 Bridges, Moon City Review and KNOCK, among other places. He has books forthcoming from Robocup Press and Fomite Press

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