we started sleeping together and she’s no closer to telling him “Goodbye” than on the day we met.She complains he’s the most boring man alive.
Apparently, he’s inflexible, uptight and hopeless in bed.His idea of a good night is a cup of cocoa and vanilla sex.She claims she frequently checks her phone or even falls asleep during the act.Things are very different between us.
She calls me her Flying Scotsman because I’m big and powerful and can go all night.She frequently tells him she’s going to a spa with the girls and whisks me off to the best hotels around the country.We tie each other up, we role-play as famous people: I do a brilliant bumbling, randy Boris, while she’s terrifying as Lady Thatcher – all leather paddles and fluffy handcuffs.There are absolutely no limits.
If you imagine it, then we’ve done it. But she never stays the night at my flat because she says it’s too grotty and small. Surely, if she genuinely loved me, she wouldn’t care about things like that?I have to accept that the main thing her husband has over me is money.
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