Relating to the love letter I recently wrote:
You all said that I should show Alistair, and of course, since he has now found this blog, he regularly checks in to see if he has been a good boy, or a bad boy.
Savour the twistedness.
He had mentioned very fleetingly that he saw the post, and thought it was very sweet.
But when I ventured over to his on Thursday, he mentioned it again. He had suggested that we smoke a cigarette on the sofa which backs onto the balcony doors. We opened them and leant over the back of the couch. He thanked me again for what I wrote, and told me that it was the nicest thing anybody had ever written for him, and that he had almost cried when he read it.
And after this moment of romance, and telling me that he loved me, he proceeded to lift up my skirt and fuck me over the back of the couch. Mercifully, every time a pedestrian passed by the street below (which is not that far down), he slowed the pace slightly, all the while telling me to be quiet. It is hard to be quiet in a situation like that.