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Treat yourself this Friday and take me on a picnic under a tree in the dazzling sunshine:)
Piers
lets out a loud groan and his body shudders with satisfaction, then he collapses
onto his back and promptly falls asleep, leaving me hanging in the throws of
passion.
I
bolt upright and stare in disbelief. You’ve got to be kidding me!
The
selfish bastard!
I
stomp out of the bedroom into the en suite, take his aftershave and douse his
socks in it. He doesn’t even stir.
Serves
him right. In the morning, the stench will be thick, sickening. I never liked
that scent.
Politics
is a dirty game!
I
run myself a bath, feeling used. By the time I get back into bed I am stone-cold
sober, unsatisfied, and grumpy.
For
half an hour I try and sleep but his alcohol-laden breathing plus the
intensifying snoring starts to annoys me. I scuttle off downstairs and make a
hot chocolate, then build myself a fluffy bed with every cushion, pillow and
throw I can find. I want to sleep to stop my mind from being angry but it’s a
losing battle. In the end I decide to put on an old film instead: The
Comedians. I watch
Elizabeth Taylor be the object of man’s desire and wish I could learn how to do
that. I would love to have a man lap at my feet instead of criticising my
footwear. The film occupies my mind and before long I’m dribbling liquid chocolate, my cup falling sideways in my hand, spilling everywhere. But I just
turn over, I’m so tired.
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