He came to my hotel at 9. He was impressed by the luxury suite with its huge Christmas tree, copper bath, walk-in minibar. I noticed he soon nibbled on the KitKats and Pringles, like a mouse. He opened a bottle of wine. We had sex until 1am, then went to sleep. He had to be up for work the next day. I loved being with you.
It was a kind of paradise. It does not happen in my world. Nothing makes me feel valued. You doing this? Sorry, no one does this. He said he would text every night over Christmas, given his ex-wife and daughter were staying with him. But we had made firm plans for NYE. Here is my shopping list. At I am shattered and my body is had it [sic]. Need three days rest. Needs three days rest.
I call Nic. How do I unsend it? She tells me to update my software. It takes six minutes!! No, noooooo! He has read it! He replies. I am not well. I send him a photo of the inside of my fridge. Remember Meg Ryan in Sleepless in Seattle? I am she. I hire a private detective agency.
I feel I am now in an episode of Black Doves. He sends a stream of texts. You have always done so much for me. You have been the only kindness in my life. Thank you with all my heart. Oh my god.
A blonde woman rings his doorbell. She waits. He comes down, he greets her, she enters his hallway. I see his body language, the way he takes off his spectacles, his sweater, the angles of him.
