It's 6.30 am and I am wide awake, as I usually am at this time. I have always been a lark, and these days because of my insomnia I wake up earlier than ever. I am sitting up in bed beside my husband, drinking the one coffee that I allow myself before switching to decaffeinated tea for the rest of the day, not that cutting back on the jitter liquid seems to have helped the sleeplessness much, but the regime has become a habit, now. While we drink our coffee, husband and I are scrolling on our smartphones.

Taking care to angle my phone so he can't see the screen, I log in to Lush. No one about as far as I can tell. Not really surprising, as it's still too early for most of my British friends, and will be the middle of the night for the couple of Americans I chat with regularly. Damn, I fancied a flirt with someone. Instead, I start to scroll through the latest stories to see if anything catches my eye to read.

Just then though, a message notification appears. It's from my buddy located a couple of hundred miles away. We often chat - well sext, mostly - first thing in the morning. Like me, he has trouble sleeping and is a bit frustrated in his marriage. We're just a pair of insomniac nymphomaniacs, getting each other horny at dawn. True to form, he's not just up in the sense of being out of bed. The message is an aubergine emoji, the standard euphemism for an erect penis. "Woke up with this," says a second message.

"Tell me something new," I type, adding a tongue-out-winking emoji. He always seems to be horny.

"Could really do with a fuck right now."

"Mmm, maybe I walk into your room." I glance at the dressing gown hanging on the back of my bedroom door, a summer one in thin fabric that conceals, yet reveals, the body beneath it. "I'm wearing a robe, in a satiny material. It's just loosely fastened with a belt tied at the waist. You can see the shape of my nipples through the fabric."

"Love the shape of your tits," he replies. He has seen a picture of them that I sent him, so this is perhaps his considered opinion, not just speculation. "I love how hard your nipples are."

"I walk over and sit on your lap, straddling you. I can feel your hard cock pressing into my leg."

"Are you wearing knickers?"

"No knickers. I'm running my fingers through your chest hair." I know he has chest hair, as he's mentioned it. Yum. I like a bit of fur on a man. "I start grinding myself against you." I move my hips in a tiny circle, imagining the larger motion I would use to stimulate myself and him, in the situation I'm describing.

The little dots indicating that he is typing bounce up and down. While waiting for his reply, I open Wordle on another tab. A little mental stimulation to go with the sexual frisson from his messages. Thinking of my hip rotations, I put in GRIND for the puzzle. All grey, so none of those letters are in the answer.

"I'm loosening your robe, I want those tits in my mouth. I'm sucking and biting your nipples."

"Mmm, that's making me so horny. I'm rubbing myself against your cock. Rubbing you with my thighs and bum against the satin fabric."

"That feels good, slut."

I suppose I am a bit of a slut for sexting someone while my husband is sitting in bed next to me, totally oblivious. But no real harm in it, what he doesn't know won't hurt him, I reassure myself. I put a slut-related word, WHORE, into the puzzle and hit enter. The H comes up green, meaning it is in the right place, and the E is yellow, so it's there but in a different place.

"Are you wet?" he adds.

"Always, for you."

"I really want to fuck that hot, wet pussy," he texts. It's understood between us that he absolutely would be able to, were we to ever meet, and why not, he's cute and apparently relentlessly randy, but we are well aware that what with the physical distance and our respective spouses, it's unlikely to ever happen in reality. Pretending it could and will is all part of the game, though. The thought crosses my mind that two hundred miles isn't actually all that far away, not if we met halfway.

"I've pulled my robe up around my waist now. I'm rubbing my thigh against your cock. Up and down against the shaft. Mmm, you're so hard."

"My fingers are going in your wet pussy. Then in your mouth. Taste yourself."

"If I just shift myself on your lap a bit, maybe something else can go in my pussy."

"I'm just pushing the head in, now, then pulling it out, to tease you. Tell me how much you want it, slut."

"I really want it all in me, ___." I use the name he has told me. I get the impression it is probably his real name, although it doesn't really matter if it isn't.

"Pushing it right into you now," he types.

"I love having you inside me."

"Fucking you slow and deep."

"That feels so good, I love having your hard cock in me. I'm grinding on your lap, you are going to make me cum soon."

I'm not really going to cum. Quite apart from my husband sitting beside me, I generally don't masturbate while sexting as I don't have enough hands to type, hold the phone and rub my clit. For me the enjoyment at the time is usually about knowing I've helped someone else get off, then I get my kicks later on re-reading the chat. I actually did orgasm already this morning, as I woke up horny and had my fingers in my fanny at 5 am before my husband was awake, although at that point I was thinking not of my current sexting buddy, but about another of my Lush friends, who had said something extremely stimulating to me the previous evening, about putting me on a leash. Made me randy as fuck, it did. No wonder I can't sleep, what with all these arousing ideas to think about.

Somewhat distracted by my earlier cum fantasy, I enter LEASH into the Wordle, the thought prompting a fresh gush from my cunt. This time, the E, A and H come up yellow, meaning the answer has those letters, but not in the same positions as in the guess.

"I'm going in harder now. Slamming right into you."

"Mmmm yes, feels so good."

"I'm sucking on your tits. Slapping your arse as I fuck you."

The word tits makes me think of CHEST. It can't be that as it has no A, and S has been eliminated, but...

"Really fucking you hard now. I can feel my balls tensing. I'm going to cum."

"Cum in me," I encourage him. "I want to feel it running out of me."

"Cumming now."

It seems he's not faking, as he sends the photographic evidence of it. Lots of it, and very sticky, by the looks of it.

We exchange a few more messages for form's sake, then he tells me he has to get his kid ready for school. "Catch you later," I text. Nearly time for me to get up as well. I drain the last mouthful of coffee.

Back to the Wordle, not CHEST, but what about - CHEAT. Sure enough, it comes up green. I smile. Not a bad morning's effort so far, Wordle in four tries and helped someone cum, all while having my coffee. I can do the Wordle in three, sometimes, but I was multitasking today, and in any case, a lot of it comes down to luck on the first guess, so I'm not going to be too hard on myself. My smile becomes a salacious smirk, as I think of getting myself off later, whilst fantasising about fucking my insomniac nymphomaniac friend, or about being put on a leash, or perhaps I might bring to mind a very good cyber-caning I got from someone recently. For once I did cum during that particular chat, as he was doing most of the typing.

"What are you smiling about?" my husband asks.

"Oh, nothing, just solved the Wordle," I say. Despite the answer being CHEAT it doesn't prompt me to feel guilty about my other activity. After all, sexting's not cheating, really, is it? Although I am starting to wonder what would happen if I met someone who it would be practical to physically hook up with. I'm so horny from all the electronic eroticism that there's probably going to come a point where masturbation just won't cut it. Ah well, that's a puzzle for another day.