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        Dear Fairy GodFucker,

        My friend Molly is the one  who coined the term for what you did for me, and you already know it’s “Fairy GodFucker.”

        I know you know the story of Cinderella, but there are a few pieces I want to draw out in particular.

        The first is that Cinderella wants to go to the ball and meet Prince Charming. That’s her one driving goal– the force that starts the story. Her desire. But there are external factors that keep her from achieving her goal. So the Fairy Godmother comes in and takes care of those things so Cinderella can go to the ball, meet the prince, and go about the next stage of achieving that larger goal of living happily ever after.

        There’s a very masculine and male 21st century embodiment to this archetypal story– and that’s the Fairy GodFucker.

        At this stage in my life, I’m 41, and I’m grieving the end of a 4 year relationship with a man I really hoped, rather desperately,would be my forever partner.

        I really want to be married. I really want to create lasting love with a partner. You said to me, the second night at the bar, something along the lines of this: you are selective, discerning, picky. You flirt with everyone, you enjoy seduction, but you don’t finish every night the way we did– with you coming inside me. “I mean that as a compliment,” you said, and you looked right into my eyes. And you said this– that it was nice to be with an equal. I’ve never had anyone articulate that before, but it’s how I’ve felt for years.

        The other night, my mom said to me that she hopes I find a lovely man to love me, and then she paused, and said, “What I really hope is that maybe he will find you” . . . that maybe I wouldn’t have to work so hard this time around. I’ve always worked so HARD to meet men.


        And this is all to say that I feel like Cinderella– looking for my prince, and I feel constrained by the external conditions– my job and how much I make and my age. All these things make it hard for me to imagine living happily ever after.

        I didn’t feel like the “After Fairy Godmother” Cinderella. I felt like the “Before Fairy Godmother” Cinderella– exhausted from scrubbing the fireplace and wearing rags for clothes and feeling overworked and tired and unattractive.

        And then you came in and for two really magical nights– I felt like a princess. Like when I said I was thirsty and you brought me a glass of water. Such a simple act . . . but you did it with such solicitous care. And when I couldn’t figure out how to use the shower you stopped getting ready to leave for work and helped me– then made sure that the shower curtain was arranged so as not to flood the bathroom floor. When I sat next to you at the bar on the second night, you urged me to order something besides soda water with no ice and lime (I was still recovering from the previous night’s drinking). “A dessert?” you asked, and I was so touched.

        But what feels important for me to say to you is that I heard you when you were clear with me about how you feel right now about commitment, and what I want you to know is that the fairy Godmother  and the Prince are not the same entity. I know you’re not MY Prince Charming . . . although you are a prince, and you are very charming. I love that story of you traveling 296 kilometers through a developing country on 5 rupees for the girl you wanted to be your first girlfriend, “and I didn’t even get a kiss!” you said. “Now I could kiss every woman in this bar and it wouldn’t even cost me 90 cents!”

        So true.

        Even though we had a short-term relationship and in a sense a one night stand . . . it wasn’t a one night stand. At least, it didn’t feel that way to me.

        It was super sexual and hot and fun and exciting and short-lived– which I think makes it sexier and hotter. But it was also loving, which is a hard balance to strike with someone you are going to fuck like an unleashed animal (I believe that is how you described it– that you were unprepared by the animal unleashed in me when we were alone in my hotel room) and then never see again.

        And while I was unaware at the time that I was, in that primal state, saying, “I love you” over and over again– I know I really meant it. I did love you. I couldn’t have fucked you like that if I didn’t.

        So you. You essentially acted like the Fairy Godmother. You came along at just the right time to give me some gifts. Not a literal carriage made out of a pumpkin or glass slippers or a beautiful dress to get to the ball– but our sex took me somewhere I was trying to get by myself and I couldn’t.

        You reminded me that Prince Charming is out there and when I meet him, I’ll feel more like the Cinderella who is ready for the ball. Because of you.

        So I’m not sure how to end this, except to say that I wanted to get some of these details down that I’ve been pleasurably remembering before I forgot. And I will never forget you. The irony, of course, is that there are some parts of our first night I admittedly don’t remember because I was so drunk– but the overall feelings and excitement and moments of pleasure and delight and joy and satisfaction . . . I won’t forget those.

        Maybe our paths will cross again. Maybe they won’t. If they do, I can’t wait to tell you about happily ever after.

        So much love,


        PS– The first night, I told you you were a miracle. The single-serving friend was laughing– not at us, but with us– straining to listen while someone else engaged him in conversation. I meant it. You are a miracle.

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