Oh Mary, our first night together will forever be etched on my heart. We were then, you and I, two women short-changed, so far, by life’s dance of love.

This proud country girl, first night out in the city, found in you a breath of sophisticated fresh air. There was, as you said, an appealing innocence about me.

But not so unworldly not to be respected with your confidences. I empathised that your journey in love had seemed rockier than mine.

The attraction was magnetic, our first kiss purer than all my preceding kisses. I drew confidence from the depth of our connection and willingly threw my usual caution to the winds. And was handsomely rewarded by the crashing waves of pleasure your tongue created. First when you lavished succulent attention to my firming nipples. And then, oh my God, when your flat tongue repeatedly rasped through my pussy with, every time, a swirl and flick of my clit.

“Special,” you said.

And, as it was special for me, I could believe that was true for you too. No-one could have succeeded and snatched me your arms. I wanted you and you wanted me, and that summer one glorious romantic, orgasmic day bled into the next, somehow even better, day.

Early on, you fell; a siren’s slutty call. You were contrite and begged, so I forgave; your bedroom background, you claimed, not a tutorial in living in love.

My forgiveness had, you said, de-iced your heart. And now you knew love, you need never have even a smidgen of desire for anyone else.

Replenished trust begat deeper love. And with that deep love came stronger lusts, like nothing I had ever experienced before. Oh, I always knew you liked toys, but giving myself to you, never done casually, was now gifted with a deeper love

So, when you held your body, somehow both soft and firm, above mine, I happily widened my legs. And saw the desire to claim me in your eyes, that window, you said, to the love in your heart.

Our eyes linked by love, the strap-on expertly slipped, stretching my pussy with delicious plunges. My hips rose, pushing the base back against you. Our juices mingled with each other’s thrust, each movement a brick in the wall that was us. Surrounding only us in our special place; love’s labour’s won; the victory so sweet. The love in your thrusts as you mated with me, oh my God, heavenwards I rushed.

Eyes always locked till the last. Until what you called little-death claimed us together in joy. A cliché, I know but one for the loved.

That fateful day, another cliché occurred. I rushed home, my work done a day earlier than planned, thrilled by an unexpected night in your arms. In our apartment, a noise caught my ear. I peered around our bedroom door; what was it I saw?

A pretty young blond had taken my place.

The shock, unreal, cut me in two. Part of me watched, the gaze absolutely not as you implied, the cuckquean’s gaze.

The other part of me seemed actually her. I vicariously felt what I was sure she felt. My body had also reacted like that when you loved me like that.

From my altered perspective, I saw your back, glistening with sweat, in quite a new way. Likewise, your peachy butt as it rose and fell. I watched her legs wrapped tightly around you. Saw your breasts disappear in the crush of her chest. Your rippling back muscles screwed tighter with each strap-on thrust.

And I felt as she did. Her panting was mine, likewise her desire to please. I recognised you were both climbing that peak. And, sure enough, she claimed delicious orgasm; exactly as I had previously claimed it from you, apparently not, as you had promised, exclusively. Then, with a grunt, you came, impaling her cunt.

You claimed I had a window into your soul. Suddenly I knew the word window was your lie. You had held up a mirror, letting me see what you wanted me to see. My vision for you reflected back at me. The mirror shattered when I glanced in the room, the shards of glass lacerated my heart. I saw what you were, not what I wanted you to be.

Then you saw me. Your shocked look told me you knew; my heart was bleeding onto the floor.

The pitter-patter of excuses rained down. The chill between us froze your words; each syllable now an emotional shard, that stung my ears like ice. My umbrella called trust now shredded by seeing that blond shafted by what you called mine.

“If your girl-cock was exclusively for me, then why was it piercing her cunt?” I asked, rhetorically.

And just as I thought you wouldn’t dare, oh my God, you went there.

“It’s only sex, baby. I love you,” your voice coated in Manuka honey.

Your pious platitudes, the clichés from the damned. The bile rose, that sickly acid taste reflected my mood.

And my bitter words flowed, “You said I taught you how to love. You said you gifted me monogamy. You, the vegetarian, said why dine out when you have fillet steak at home. You said you renounced the casual sex of the past... For me, you said.”

Gasping for breath, my heart raced. Then a primeval shriek exited my mouth, “You are a liar, a cheat. Full of shit...”

On hearing those impotent words, my tears flowed, the squall one of absolute grief.

You spun forgiveness’s roulette wheel one last frantic time; choosing challenging words to gamble on, “Annie, you would understand if you were more like me.”

“My fault, don’t you fucking dare!” adding words whose poetic coolness were the first step in bandaging my hurt, “Gaslighting does not the darkness banish.”

“What can I then do?” you desperately asked.

The answer’s so simple; but the labour, I knew, would be beyond Hercules let alone you.

“Unbreak my heart.”