Dear Valentine

Dear Valentine,

How could you?

When you suggested we try some role-playing for Valentine’s Day, I thought you’d taken it a little too far. I didn’t think you were into cosplay, and honestly, it’d never really turned me on. And then when you brought home that Roman Emperor costume a few days before the 14th, I began to reconsider. The more I thought about it, well—I just knew I’d get to play your concubine, and you’d make me do very naughty things that your wife would never do.

I agree our affair had gone a little stale; it wasn’t nearly as much fun as when we only had the odd afternoon to sneak into bed. But then your wife kicked you out and you moved in with me. It happened quickly, and the excitement dulled soon afterwards. I often wondered if you’d go back to your wife if—rather, when—we decided to call it quits.

But this—this was something new. When you said you’d had to special-order my costume, I was even more intrigued. Something special, you said. Something I’d remember for the rest of my life.

After you’d left the next morning, I had to take another look. I trailed my fingers over the metal breastplate, and imagined it cool and hard against my skin. Your toga was a deep purple silk, with gold embroidered wreathes dancing at its edges. I took it in my palms and drew it across my face. I inhaled, imagining the ecstasy of our clandestine Roman encounter. And the sword and sheath…it was heavy, like solid gold, in my hand. Carefully, I pulled the sword from its metal sheath and ran my thumb across its blade. I hoped you’d hold it up to my throat and force me to be subservient. I’d never imagined this type of thing…but now I simply couldn’t stop.

For two days, I peppered you with questions and asked how I should prepare. I guess I got a little sulky when you wouldn’t tell me, but I thought my lippy pout might encourage a hint from you...it certainly used to get your attention, in fact, you used to like it. You didn’t bite; instead, you became increasingly irritated with me. But I was determined to make our Valentine’s Day as naughty as possible, and I kept imagining how aroused you’d be once you saw me as your concubine.

On Valentine’s Day morning, my costume still hadn’t arrived. You kissed me and told me not to worry, that it was being delivered to your office that day.

I busied myself around the house all day, chilling champagne, putting fresh sheets on the bed, enjoying a luxurious sweet-smelling bath. I was ready to be conquered.

You walked in with a strange, excited smile. I ran to you and grabbed the gift-wrapped box from under your arm, giggling with nervous anticipation. Impatient now, I undid the ribbon and clawed apart the wrapping. I lifted the box top and pulled the tissue paper aside to discover only a white linen tunic and a rusty-red cloak. A pair of leather, fisherman-type sandals. A large, wooden crucifix on a jute cord. This wasn’t at all what I’d imagined—where were the silks, the slippers…the jewelry?

I know I must have looked disappointed as I tossed my costume to the floor. Well, I was a little irked…this wasn’t sexy at all! How did you expect I’d respond?

Trust me, you said. Put it on. We’re about to pretend today is the first Valentine’s Day ever…it’ll be exhilarating, I guarantee you. Now, I want this to be a surprise, you explained, so I’m going to dress in the bedroom, and you can use the bathroom to get ready.

I grudgingly picked up the tunic, the cloak, the sandals and the crucifix and slowly shuffled to the bath. This wasn’t at all what I expected. But I hoped we could still create a mood and save the evening.

First, I pulled the tunic over my head. It fit well but was rough against my naked chest; optimistically, I convinced myself I wouldn’t be wearing it very long. Surprisingly, the cloak was the right length, and the sandals were my size. Clearly, you’d put significant thought into this. As I slipped the crucifix over my head, I looked at my reflection in the mirror. What a strange juxtaposition this was, my ill-prepared whore’s makeup and these religious togs. I wondered if this was meant to be what St. Valentine actually looked like.

I exited the bathroom, a little unsure of what was to happen next. But when you saw me, you smiled that strange smile again, and drew me closer. Let me look at you, you said. Yes, you’re perfect. It’s perfect.

And you, of course, were magnificent. The metal breastplate, your toga, your belt and gold sheath—it was perfect. But still, I didn’t understand the meaning of our role-play.

I asked you, why St. Valentine? Why wasn’t I your concubine, like I’d imagined?

You held me close, then led me to a kitchen stool. Sit here and I’ll explain, you said, and I did as requested.

Let me tell you the story of St. Valentine, you continued. And you proceeded to explain the relationship between Emperor Caligula and St. Valentine, and how Caligula tortured the saint for his insistence on marrying young Christians in love. In the end, you added, after horrible beatings, Caligula finally decapitated St. Valentine.

I can only imagine the expression on my face upon receiving the history lesson. You didn’t seem surprised at my reaction, though. I sat, puzzled and rather terrified by the tale.

Why would you tell me such a gruesome story? I asked. I think it’s horrible. And besides, this is Valentine’s Day—a day for love and romance! Where’s the romance in this entire…charade?

You stood behind me, and whispered in my ear. Well, you said, that’s the funny thing; it is romantic, strangely enough…see, my wife and I have been seeing each other again…and we’re getting back together.

I suppose I will never forget this moment, I thought. And then I heard the metallic zing of your sword being pulled from its sheath.