H adds emphasis to words when she teases me. She drags them out, makes me wait and think, tortures me with them. Just like the images of her and other men. It’s a hidden talent of hers–something she can’t do in public for the most part–and I love it.

H is on a date with him right now. We talked this weekend, went over possibilities, went over risks and rewards. We teased and turned each other on. We took tumbles on the bed, the couch, even in the kitchen.

It might be quick, but we both agreed she could sleep with him. Not spend the night, but flirt. Flaunt. Fuck. All on the condition that she come back before the night’s over so we can talk. A little like the fairytale Cinderella, except Prince Charming gets lucky and the ball might happen many times in the future.

It’s been a few hours now and it’s all I can think about. She’s texted a few times and I think I know what’s happening. I thought the moment of watching her kiss him was something, but this is in a league of its own. Anxiety, angst, excitement, exhilaration. An intense cocktail of emotion.

- M