My life laid bare

2006-08-26T19:04:00.000Z

I went out for dinner with Jayce last night. Was pretty un-eventful in that we didn’t have sex and that there wasn’t even much talking between us. He seemed preoccupied and didn’t appear to be listening to a word I said.

The evening ended so early that I still had plenty of time to catch my train and meet a few friends in a bar near my house before going home.

Still no word from BT, but I have another date tonight.

S is a work colleague of my best friend and we have dated in the past, but things have always fizzled out due to his chronic lateness.

The plan is to spend a few hours with my best friend (hereafter known as BF) shopping for new underwear and discussing tactics, before meeting S at the station and taking him home for a home cooked meal and a DVD.

Wish me luck!

2006-08-23T11:48:00.000Z

My mum rang me today to tell me that my 21 year old sister had run away from home, taking with her a bag of clothes and a frozen pizza.

“Mum, she’s 21. It’s hardly running away from home when you have been legally allowed to leave for years.”

“I know.” My mum sobbed. “But she doesn’t even like pepperoni!”

2006-08-22T17:24:00.000Z

Due to technical difficulties, I have been a bit slow on updates this week.

I try to keep blogging at work to a minimum for obvious reasons, so haven’t been able to include any updates.

Plus, I have been quite busy with Jayce arriving back in the UK at last ;)

I met Jayce at his office straight from work on the Friday of his return.

Usually, his PA shows me in, but this time Jayce was waiting for me with a bottle of champagne having sent her home early.

I don’t why, but I felt quite shy seeing him again after a two week gap and had expected things to feel different somehow, but the awkward feelings dissolved after a few glasses of champagne.

“I missed you, you know… That’s why I got you this..”

He said, taking a large, beautifully gift wrapped box from his desk draw.

I carefully undid the ribbons and opened the box to find the most beautiful, delicate silk underwear I have ever seen.

For a moment I was speechless.

“It’s beautiful!” I gasped, not quite knowing what else to say.

“You can show me how much you like it later. I’ve booked us a table for dinner, then a hotel for tonight. I don’t have anywhere to rush off too, so we could spend the whole night together. That is... Unless you have somewhere you have to be?”

We hurriedly drank the last of the champagne as Jayce called downstairs for a cab.

As I gathered my things, a few thoughts ran through my head.

How was Jayce able to find underwear in a DD in Japan - country of notoriously small breasted women? (Maybe bringing me back sushi would have screamed fake business trip?).

Why on his first night back, was he not obliged to return home and spend the night with his wife?

But, it wasn’t my place to ask these questions. I should know by now what I am getting myself into.

But all the same, it made the champagne taste a bit sour.

2006-08-22T06:39:00.000Z

The next day, we woke up, ordered breakfast in bed, read the papers, and then got cabs back home to our respective lives.

It was nice. For a moment I had a taste of what having Jayce to myself full time would be like.

Truth be told, he did annoy me a little. It turns out that he is a very selfish sleeper, the kind that sleeps starfished across the bed and takes the entire duvet in the night. Plus he snores.

I arrived home feeling rather empty. Whilst he would be arriving home to a hero’s welcome, all I had waiting for me was Figaro, my cat. And even he wouldn’t care if I fell off the planet as long as his bowl stayed topped up.

When I got home, I had just enough time to tidy the house and pop to M&S to get some food and wine for dinner before I had to start getting ready for my date with BT.

I had invited him over for dinner and a DVD, which I hoped still meant what it had meant in my day. Especially as I had spent three times as much on underwear and new bed sheets as I had on the food.

BT was late; throwing off my timing completely which meant that not only was the food cold, I had drunk an entire bottle of wine to myself.

It also gave us just enough time to dash to Blockbuster and grab the first thing off the shelf (Hostel – for the love of god, save your money people).

We got back in and I re-heated the food and offered him a glass of wine which he declined, saying he was only going to drink soft drinks tonight.

We watched the DVD and spent most of the night talking and laughing. When I looked at the clock I was shocked to see that it was already 4.am.

“You better go” I said. “It’s getting late.”

“I could stay the night?” he suggested.

I pretended to think over the idea whilst secretly dancing inside. I located an old pair of shorts my brother had left behind years ago for him to sleep in, and frantically txt my best friend when he went to the bathroom to get changed.

“Ur not goin 2 get any. Give up now” She txt back.

Ignoring her, I slipped into a silk cami and shorts set, and draped myself seductively (so I hoped) on the bed.

BT came back from the bathroom and seemed oblivious that I had even got changed. He suggested we put on another DVD.

At 6am, we still hadn’t kissed and I had just about given up hope of anything happening, especially as he kept nodding off.

I turned off the TV (the lights having been turned off ages ago of the pretext that it’s better to watch horror films in the dark), and was just starting to drift off to sleep, when he kissed me!

We kissed (very chastely I am disappointed to add), for a while before I really had to go to sleep. I didn’t see the point in staying awake past 7am for first base only,

The next morning I made breakfast, we drank tea in bed and talked and laughed some more until he left at about 3pm.

I had just closed the front door and gone upstairs to make the bed, when I got a txt from him:

“I had a really good time last night & hope we can do it again soon. When r u free nxt?”

I replied telling him that I was free the following weekend, but he didn’t txt back.

Three days later, and he still hasn’t txt back! Where did I go wrong?!

2006-08-18T12:40:00.000Z

I was woken up this morning at around 5am by my mobile phone ringing. Normally I can't be bothered with anyone who calls at such an unsociable hour but it had been two weeks and I was hopeful..

"Hey baby it's me. I'm in a cab coming back from Heathrow, whatyadoing?"

"Sleeping" I replied rather grouchily. What else did he expect me to be doing at 5am (was this another test to see if I was engaged in sexual aerobics in his absence?).

"I see I've called you at a bad time. I was just wondering if you are free tonight for dinner?"

I mumbled a reply before hanging up and falling back to sleep.

When my alarm woke me up again at 7.30 I wasn't sure if I had dreamt the whole thing and had to check my call list to see if I had been dreaming.

I went on another date with BT last night but have nothing of any interest to report. it seems that dating a nice guy is actually a bit boring as there is never any juicy gossip to report back. We went to a bar and drank Mojito's all night.

Jayce coming back has left me with a dilemma. Do I tell him about BT? And more importantly, do I tell BT about him?

2006-08-15T15:42:00.001Z

Went to the toilet only to find that I had come on my period a week early.

Walking out, I glanced at myself in the mirror, taking in the sequinned, pink, kitten t-shirt I was wearing.

Why does menstruating always give me applaing fashion sense?

2006-08-15T15:42:00.000Z

Jayce finally txt me on Friday:

“Hey you. I’m bored out of my mind at my hotel. Just came back from (celeb who I shan’t name’s) party. What are you up too? Why don’t you ever call me? xxx”

I replied:

“I don’t call you because I don’t want to disturb you if you are busy. What sort of party ends at 9.30pm? (I used Google to work out the time difference) No wonder you are bored. X”

With nothing else to do that night, I ended up going to a lesbian bar in Soho with my friend Emma and drinking over priced pink cocktails called CherryBombs.

Worryingly enough, I didn’t get chatted up once. I didn’t even warrant a second glance from anyone! Tried to console myself that it was because they all assumed that Emma and I were a couple, but she dashed my hopes by pointing out that the real reason was most probably because I was so obviously a sexual tourist and not a genuine dyke.

“What makes you say that?” I asked her pouting, “I could be a genuine lesbian!”

“For a start, you’re wearing a t-shirt that says ‘Dip me in honey and throw me to the lesbians’. Plus your nails are too long. That’s the lesbian equivalent of fucking a razor blade”.

On Saturday night I went to a family friend’s surprise 18th birthday party. I had only been planning on staying for a couple of drinks to be social but ended up trollied on celebratory champagne, dancing on a table, and snogging a rather sexy 19 year old kickboxer down the end of the garden.

I think younger men are definitely the way forward. They are far easier to impress than older guys. You pretty much just have to tell them your age and they are ejaculating in their pants humming ‘Mrs Robinson’.

But then again, maybe I am letting my standards drop a little. My main reason for getting off with him was because instead of leaning in to kiss me like regular guys (giving me a chance to duck and run), he lifted me up mid-sentence (I was giving him a lecture about the benefits of further education and why to say no to drugs I believe), and pinned me against the fence whilst kissing me.

I was so shocked and impressed that he could actual life my huge bulk, that I was putty in his hands!

From what I could tell from our drunken fumble, he has a body to die for and amazing upper body strength that could lead to some amazing encounters another time.

I would have pretty much given in right then if the birthday girl’s mum hadn’t called us all in to cut the cake. We sidled into out places, as my sister did her best to pull twigs out of my hair.

Felt a bit guilty later on that night when I got home to four missed calls from Jayce and a txt from BT saying he was hoping to see me at (family friends) birthday party but he was too tired after a hard day’s pie making.

2006-08-09T20:32:00.000Z

BT and I had a near perfect second date. We went to the cinema to see ‘The Break-Up’ (how ironic!). He paid and I bought the popcorn.

Afterwards we went for pizza and spent all night laughing, eating and holding hands over the table.

It was the sort of date you wish you had as a teenager, where instead all your trips to the cinema resulted in you desperately fighting off some spotty oiks advances in the dark, going halves on a happy meal, and a soggy kiss goodnight where he simultaneously tries to ram his tongue down your throat and his hand up your top.

We shared a chaste kiss goodbye when he dropped me off home and a quick check in the hallway mirror after he left revealed that I did not have food in my teeth, was not trailing toilet roll on my shoe, nor was my skirt tucked into my pants. My hair was near perfect, my mascara un-smudged, and I had for once, not spilt any food down my front.

I am sure this means I have secured a third date!

Still no word from Jayce, nothing unusual there per say. It’s like a cat and mouse waiting game, I know if I were to txt him he would txt back or even call within the minute. But instead, I wait, because when he does finally contact me,

I can pretend that he cares.

2006-08-09T19:52:00.000Z

I was sitting on the train today happily passing the time blowing bubbles with my Hubba-Bubba bubblegum, when suddenly, a well dress commuter sitting opposite me and said:

“You know, you are a very attractive girl, but blowing bubbles with bubblegum spoils the look”.

I told him that I could say the same about his comedy socks with his expensive shoes and suit, to which he laughed.

It got me thinking, what gave him the right to tell me not to blow bubbles with my gum as it spoilt his view?!

Does this mean that I now have license to ask commuters to change their appearance on the grounds of eye pollution?

“Excuse me madam, I could not help but notice that you haven’t brushed your hair today. It is spoiling my over all enjoyment of your features. Do you mine if I give it a quick comb?”

If this were allowed, fashion crimes would be a thing of the past.

Just think of all those times when you have wanted to wipe the smeary garish make-up of a twelve year olds face, or ripped off a businessman’s Mickey Mouse tie.

You could even go as far as to suggest that whiffy passengers use a squirt of deodorant or told them about their bad breath/spinach in their teeth.

2006-08-07T17:09:00.000Z

I’ve not heard a word from Jayce since he left for “Japan”.

Been resisting the urge to walk past his office and peep through a window but think I can only hold back for so long.

I have another date with BT tomorrow which should take my mind of things for a couple of hours.

I thought being the other woman was the easy job?

2006-08-07T17:06:00.000Z

Now I know I am getting old.

I went shopping in TopShop, Oxford Circus this weekend and was horrified at how young and underfed the models in the display pictures looked.

Rather than inspiring me to buy their clothes in a pique of desperation to achieve that look, I instead headed straight out the door, as who would want to look like a Pre-pubescent Russian crack addict?

It seems that breasts and backsides are now out of fashion, which is unfortunate as the last I checked, 50% of the population came equipped with each.

I was thus forced to spend my hard earned cash on shoes and underwear (at Office and Myla respectively) as neither of these required the use of communal fitting rooms.

I have a love/hate relationship with underwear shopping. Whilst I LOVE to buy new underwear (marginally cheaper than having a crack addiction), I hate all the fuss that goes with it.

For example, there are so many new bras on the market that I never know which I need. Do I want to be pushed up, plunging or lightly padded? What underwear do I want to complete the set? The French knickers won’t look good under anything I own (think VPL) and I drawn the line at having a piece of dental floss pulled up my crack all day.

Plus, I can’t seem to resist the lure of ₤1 Primark pants. It seems that whenever I have compiled a suitably sensational underwear collection, I then go and ruin it by bulk-buying underwear adorned with frolicking kittens, ‘cute’ sayings, or anything that might be considered ‘ironic’ or retro.

In fact, every time I have gotten unexpectedly lucky, I have been wearing said kitten pants, which actually has given me a new found respect for the men in my (sex) life as it cannot be easy to perform when confronted with the sexual equivalent of a stop sign.

There has even been one occasion where sex was withheld due to the nature of my pants. I had been to the Take That concert the night before and was wearing a pair of knickers with the saying “It only takes a minute’ emblazoned across the front. Jayce forced me to change into something sexier as not to offend the ‘Gods of good taste’.

Not only this, but underwear costs a fortune nowadays! The cost of a good bra starts at around ₤20 then you have to get all the matching bits and pieces (times two, as you can never find the matching briefs when you are in a rush).

Embarking on a new relationship also forces these costs to spiral. Heaven forbid Jayce see me in the same underwear set twice! Plus, the idea of someone else seeing your smalls forces you to be ruthless and throw out everything slightly graying, sagging or with poking out underwire. This left me with about three pairs of (non-kitten covered) pants and two bras.

But.. I’ll let you in on a little secret. Primark has actually started to produce some rather nice Agent Provocateur inspired underwear sets. Just make sure you cut out the Primark label (or change it to Primarni with a laundry marker).

Blogs?

2006-08-03T19:27:00.000Z

Does anyone know any links to any good blogs? I am looking for something interesting to read.

2006-08-03T16:58:00.000Z

Jayce phoned me again today to tell me that he was going on a last minute business trip to Japan tomorrow and would be away for up to two weeks.

“I really want to see you again before I go so I can say goodbye properly” he told me.

I am refusing to go and see him as I don’t want to look like I am at his beck and call. I think in this situation it is best to remind him now and again that he is just one part of my life, and not my whole world.

The thing is with Jayce and his business trips, is that I am never quite sure if he is telling the truth. As I know very little of the industry he works in, I am not sure how likely it is that he would be sent to Japan ‘last minute’.

I know that he is an adept liar and regularly lies to at least one other woman on a regular basis. How am I to know that he tells me the truth the whole time?

He has before asked me to join him on these trips and so far, I have always refused. Even though ours is not what you would call a ‘real’ relationship, I still feel that six months is way too early to be considering spending so much time together.

I mean, surely when he realizes that I have to poo and that my pits aren’t naturally silky smooth, the magic will be gone.

I often wonder how his wife feels about his business trips, if she imagines that they are just a cover for a week or two of elicit sun and sex? I am as much in the dark as she is, as I said before, I have never been.

The thought of competing with his other girlfriends is very different to the idea of competing with his wife. I mean, I do not see myself as competition with her; we inhabit very different worlds and I imagine the man we share to be very different in each scenario.

But another girlfriend, that’s different. If he feels the need to see other women aside from myself, it means that despite the drama and excitement, I am not giving him 100% what he wants.

If there is another girlfriend, would she be thinner than me? Would she be taller? A brunette? Better in bed?

I don’t kid myself that he doesn’t have sex with his wife. Why wouldn’t he? It’s there on a plate! But I imagine that the sex they have is slow, lazy, familiar sex, the kind where you have known one and other for years and have slipped into a comfortable sexual routine. Whilst we have real passion as we have to treat each time like it is our last as we never know when all this will end. There is not enough time to get comfortable or lazy.

Whenever I have jokingly raised the subject (such as when he has cancelled on me at short notice and I have asked if he has had a better offer), he has always laughed and assured me that he is not like that.

“I am an honest person” he said without a trace of irony. “I would tell you if there was anything you needed to know”.

2006-08-02T22:37:00.000Z

Went to a house party of a well known ex-boy bander last night.

He played all his old ‘hit’ songs and sang them in my face, loudly, eyes wide open in rapture, looking directly into mine to make sure I was listening. All the while I sat on his sofa clutching a glass of warm white wine from a box, willing a vortex to open beneath me and suck me in.

He then snorted a line of coke from (who I can only imagine was a) prostitutes stomach.

Needless to say, I left early.

2006-08-02T21:48:00.000Z

I am a little surprised at myself for not posting a drunken update of my delightful date with my BT (Boy Toy – I am such a wit!).

The night started off fantastically, though he a tad younger than me (I didn’t inquire exactly how young he is in fear that the answer may have caused me to have a panic attack at the thought of the age gap. Unfortunately, even in the age of supposed gender equality, eyebrows do tend to be raised when an older woman dates a younger man.), he drives and came to pick me up. A novelty I relished after having had to travel an hour by tube to meet Jayce at his office each time we have been on a date.

Whilst I know very little about cars, his was shiny, clean and smelt of jasmine courtesy of one of those funny little Christmas tree shaped air fresheners.

I must admit, I was a little worried by what he would be wearing as all I can remember of him from our schools days is acne, a pudding bowl haircut and a tatty old Schott bomber jacket in a rather garish red. So I was pleasantly surprise to see him wearing jeans, a long sleeved t-shirt (fitted yet not so tight as to scream ‘Right Said Fred’), and baby blue suede Timberland boots. Had he been wearing loafers I might have refused to get in the car.

We went for a few drinks at a wine bar then onto a family run Vietnamese restaurant nearby. I was even more impressed when he revealed that he had made the choice after hearing that I had spent six months traveling around Asia the year before.

We talked about school; who’s pregnant, who’s in jail, which teachers have ‘come out’ (apparently our two female PE teachers have each left their spouses to start a new life together in New Zealand! Who would have thought it?), and just generally what we have been doing since we graduated.

Whilst I have been through university, traveled and started to carve out a career for myself in the cut throat world of media, BT left school at 16 and started working in the local pie factory, where he still works to this day.

We laughed and talked so much that we only realized it was time to leave when we saw the waiters starting to put the chairs up on the tables and begin to sweep the floor.

After paying the bill (he paid), we walked to his car where he put his arm around me ‘in case I was cold’.

Not only did he drop me off home, he actually went to the trouble of parking the car and walking me to my door where we kissed goodnight!

I let myself in and as I was making a cup of tea, received a txt from him saying what a nice night he had and that he hoped he would see me again soon.

Excited, I rang my best friend to regale her with the night’s happenings and to dissect every inch of the evening.

‘Darling’ she exclaimed. ‘I can’t believe you would kiss someone who works in a pie factory!’

2006-07-31T21:10:00.000Z

Today was my last day at my temping job. In many ways I am glad I left but I also made some good friends being there for three months and I hope that some of the girls will keep in touch.

One of the reasons why I am glad to be leaving is because the situation was getting a little sticky with a male colleague there.

We went out a few times for dinner and drinks and got on really well. Had the situation been different maybe things could have even progressed between us.

Of course I was honest with him from the start and told him all about my relationship with Jayce, and like most men I have dated these past six months, he didn’t mind, mainly because like every other guy, he assumed that in the end I would choose him.

On our last date he took me to a nice Chinese place where we drank copious amounts of wine. Emboldened by the alcohol, he brought up the subject of my other relationship.

“I don’t see how you can date a married man” he said. “Why are you prepared to settle for being second best? Don’t you think you are being selfish? Don’t you ever think about his wife?”

I answered the questions as best I could.

“Firstly, I don’t consider myself to be second best. I get the very best of him. I get the fun and none of the responsibility.

Secondly. Maybe I am being selfish for not giving her a second thought, but I don’t believe for one second that if it wasn’t me he wouldn’t be with someone else. Jayce is the kind of guy who likes excitement and the thrill of the chase. Because of who he is and what he does, he can pretty much have a different girl every day of the week if he so wanted. There is no way that his wife does not realise this.

Thirdly. No, I don’t think of his wife beyond the odd occasion when I wonder what she looks like and if she’s better in bed than I am. I am not the one who’s married, and therefore, don’t consider her to be my problem.”

At this point he grabbed my both my hands over the table looked into my eyes and said:

“I can see that you have been hurt in the past and that you are afraid of getting hurt again. I think that this is your way of not getting too involved, that’s why you picked an unavailable man. I just want you to know that it doesn’t have to be this way. We could have something special”.

Mid way through his speech I had wrenched one of my hands away and had taken a big slug of wine from my glass. Unfortunately, as he got to the last line, I looked up and made eye contact. The earnest look on his face was too much for me, and I burst into strangled laughter, snorting wine across the table.

Wiping his eye, he glared at me, and then asked the waiter for the bill.

On Friday, I walked past him at the water cooler and heard him singing a little song under his breath.

Catching my name, I asked him what he was singing.

“Oh just a little song I’ve been working on:

‘Prick tease, prick tease, Jezabel’s a prick tease’

I made it up myself”

I actually have another date tomorrow night and am a bit nervous. The guy who I am meant to be seeing is a two years younger than me and was my best friend’s little brother’s best friend at school.

I bumped into him in a bar a week or so ago after not having seen him for six years, and boy has he grown!! He confessed to having had a crush on me at school all those years ago and asked me if I had felt the same. I smiled and nodded, not wanting to admit that the only feeling I had for the weedy, spotty youth who back then tried to set my hair on fire on the school bus, were of pity and revulsion.

But more of that tomorrow when no doubt, I shall post a drunken blog entry after my date..

2006-07-29T19:43:00.000Z

Jayce rang today, and whispered that he couldn’t talk for long as he was at the supermarket after being blackmailed into helping with the household chores as penance for last night.

I cannot imagine a scenario where he would look more out of place than at the supermarket, in amongst every day items such as frozen peas and loo roll.

One of the many benefits of our relationship is how far from the mundane we are. Our affair is conducted on planes where bikini lines are always neatly trimmed, stockings and suspenders are everyday attire, and champagne and oysters are daily fare.

It is no easy task keeping up this façade.

If you think about this logically, for all the investments I make into this relationship I get very little return. Unlike a wife or a girlfriend, I cannot let the mask slip for a second.

I spend a fortune on underwear and outfits each month, and even more on beauty products and services. Nails must be neatly manicured, ditto pedicure.

I shave, wax, pluck every exorbitant hair, and re-do my roots every three weeks.

I straighten my hair and curl my lashes.

I conceal, enhance, shadow and shade every contour of my face and sometimes even draw on a beauty mark for added effect.

Underwear must always match, if worn at all. Stockings and suspenders rather than tights.

Shoes must be ludicrously high and look as though they could have been borrowed from a lapdancer.

Then you have to choose between showing legs or cleavage. Both and his PA will think you’re a slut (which you are of course. You’re just the girl he shags in his office before going home to his wife. His PA knows this already of course).

Jayce told me that he managed to convince her that he was talking big to some clients rather than talking dirty to ‘some girl’.

Later on in the day a single red rose was delivered to my door, without a note.

Adultery - Carol Ann Duffy

2006-07-28T21:44:00.000Z

Adultery

Wear dark glasses in the rain.
Regard what was unhurt
as though through a bruise.
Guilt. A sick, green tint.

New gloves, money tucked in the palms,
the handshake crackles. Hands
can do many things. Phone.
Open the wine. Wash themselves. Now

you are naked under your clothes all day,
slim with deceit. Only the once
brings you alone to your knees,
miming, more, more, older and sadder,

creative. Suck a lie with a hole in it
on the way home from a lethal, thrilling night
up against a wall, faster. Language
unpeels a lost cry. You're a bastard.

Do it do it do it. Sweet darkness
in the afternoon; a voice in your ear
telling you how you are wanted,
which way, now. A telltale clock

wiping the hours from its face, your face
on a white sheet, gasping, radiant, yes.
Pay for it in cash, fiction, cab-fares back
to the life which crumbles like a wedding-cake.

Paranoia for lunch; too much
to drink, as a hand on your thigh
tilts the restaurant. You know all about love,
don't you. Turn on your beautiful eyes

for a stranger who's dynamite in bed, again
and again; a slow replay in the kitchen
where the slicing of innocent onions
scalds you to tears. Then, selfish autobiographical sleep

in a marital bed, the tarnished spoon of your body
stirring betrayal, your heart over-ripe at the core.
You're an expert, darling; your flowers
dumb and explicit on nobody's birthday.

So write the script - illness and debt,
a ring thrown away in a garden
no moon can heal, your own words
commuting to bile in your mouth, terror -

and all for the same thing twice. And all
for the same thing twice. You did it.
What. Didn't you. Fuck. Fuck. No. That was
the wrong verb. This is only an abstract noun.

Friday night

2006-07-28T20:27:00.000Z

So why am I in on a Friday night, typing away at my computer whilst every other girl my age is out celebrating the start of her weekend with her friends?

Because my boyfriend has cut our evening short to go home to his wife. That’s why.

Our date started like every other date we have had before it; we meet at his office around one pm where I am shown in by his PA and wait on the rather comfortable black leather sofas for him to finish up his calls for the day.

We then head for one of the many discreet yet rather nice restaurants around the area, today we chose a little Italian place that we had been to several times before ( I ordered the Tricolore Salad, he the Carbonara which he just pushed distractedly around his plate for an hour) where they know us and give us a fantastic table where we can view the side streets yet can’t be seen by passers by.

We then head to a bar where we drink a few glasses of good white wine and where we both start to relax a little more. The chances of us being seen here are remote and if we are, it is far from unusual for him to take a client or a work colleague out for a drink so we are still safe.

When we are both starting to feel a little tipsy, one or both of us suggests moving the date on a little, so we either hail a cab to the hotel that he normally books for clients (that way any carelessly misplaced receipts or credit card statements can be easily explained) or if it is after hours return to his office (his option of choice, I guess because it saves him the £150+ hotel bill).

Tonight we went to his office.

Like a scene in a bad porn film, he swept the papers off his desk and hitched up my skirt. (I now know better than to wear anything fiddly or time consuming like jeans. Besides, the denim leaves nasty red imprints all over you stomach and arse. Hardly sexy. Plus anything that involves pulling or tugging to get off – no pun intended, just spoils the fantasy.)

I’ll spare you the details.. but pretty soon we were interrupted by the shrill of his mobile phone ringing.

Me: “Just ignore it”

Him: “I was intending too, you didn’t need to say that”

Then his work phone began to ring. A look of panicked swept across his face as he stopped, lent across me and answered his phone.

Pulling my clothes back on in a rather inelegant fashion, I was able to make out the words “So that’s what you do at your office then” being screamed down the phone by a rather angry sounding woman.

Somehow, Jayce had managed to lean on his phone at an intimate moment and had left his wife a voicemail.

Ashen faced, he hung up the phone.

“I guess you know who that was.” He said. “I have to go home now to prove that I am not having sex at my office”.

We walked to the door in silence. He kissed me on the cheek and hailed a cab whilst I walked to the station, my underwear still bunched up around my arse.