My lover’s loyalties lie with his family and I respect that.  I want his marriage to succeed and don’t wish to be the source of their break up.  So when he gave me the heads up yesterday that his wife may be ill on the day we’d arranged to see each other and may have to cancel our date at the last minute, I only experienced mild irritation – I hate having to change my plans.

Still, I refused to react with too much passion and sent him a message hinting that I had other plans in the pipeline. And quite incredibly, my lover made alternative domestic arrangements so as to keep our date. Of course it delighted me, his considerate behaviour and we exchanged a few lubricious messages, culminating with my promising my date that I would meet him inappropriately attired.

When I arrived at the Barbican, my lover was waiting for me at the exit to the tube station.  I was quite charmed by his punctilious attention and warmly kissed him.  We repaired to a nearby pub and in a quiet corner, mostly unobserved by the rest of the clientele he slipped his hand under my skimpy skirt.  Unable to keep my secret, I indiscreetly let slip that I might be missing an essential item of underwear.   He took me to the venue and straight down to the basement toilets where he bent me over the basin and finding that I was sans culotte proceeded to fill me with orgasmic delight.  As we were getting louder in our enthusiasm we were suddenly stopped by the echoing clang of a door outside.   Giggling like a pair of miscreant teenagers we tidied our selves and proceeded upstairs to a talk on Victorian sexuality.

That evening I told him again that I loved him.