He was always coming home late from work, always tired, and never in the mood. It’s not like I expected much, but I did expect something you know? I mean I get it; a day of labouring must be so draining, and he probably just wants to come home and put his feet up for a while. That would be totally fine if he would at least acknowledge my existence.

One time, I got myself all dolled up. I went the whole hog for him; hair dyed platinum blond, makeup, perfume, heels, and a new saucy piece of black lace from one of the fancy shops. I even got myself professionally waxed! It sure did hurt, but my goodness I have never looked so fresh down there.

He didn’t notice a thing…

I have always been into sex, and frankly, I don’t really see what the big deal is. Why should we limit our relationships to some arbitrary line in the sand that says, “This is the one person with whom I will share my body with”, and subsequently, “That one person has the only body which I am allowed to embrace.”

Fuck that, and while you’re at it, why not fuck me as well. We both know we will enjoy it…

“Look, I’ll admit it, you were right, and I was wrong. Satisfied?” said Frankie adjusting herself on the couch.

“Not yet,” replied Val, shifting slightly. “I think you owe me the full story. Besides, we made a bet and I know you are not one to skirt payment.” He winked at her, and she rolled her eyes. He glanced at her over the top of his glasses and smiled. Giving her the look that she was all too familiar with by now, the one that said, ‘you are a silly goose and you know it, but nonetheless I accept you...’

I never intended to cheat, yet here we are. Every time we catch up I swear to myself that I will end it. Then of course we fuck, and I vow that it will be the last time. I hold out a day or even a week, but inevitably I find myself reaching for my phone and messaging her. Rinse and repeat.

She has become my mistress, and I am a slave to her every whim…

I wouldn’t consider myself to be a bisexual, despite the fact that I regularly fuck both men and women. The male form just doesn’t turn me on, but neither does the female body either.

No, the real turn on for me is the power play.

I love the game. I love it when they submit to me and grant me total control.

When someone submits, it’s as if heaven has opened up and God is speaking directly in my ear, saying “Jamal, this is a gift for your pleasure, use it wisely”.

And I do…

The fucking arsehole just broke up with me two hours before my shift. And here I was thinking it was all going well. He actually said the words, “It’s not you, it’s me.” Like those sounds actually came out of his stupid mouth.

Arsehole!

Unfortunately, a month later, there was a party. Hosted by the one mutual friend who hadn’t chosen sides, my side that is, and insisted on inviting us both…