I’ve had Alison sobbing on the phone all morning. Richard’s finished with her. Where did she go wrong? He was her soul mate. Blah blah blah. I didn’t have the heart to tell her the following:

I don’t know how Richard got my number, but he’s been ringing me, leaving crazy messages on the answer phone, ever since we met the other night. I spoke to him at some point, telling him to just leave me alone. He said if I was worried about seeing him behind Alison’s back, I needn’t worry, because that was all over.

I didn’t want to say, “I know that, you stupid bastard. You’ve broken Alison’s heart and now I’m going to have to scrape her off the wall.”

Okay, I admit it. Part of me is attracted to him, but I switched that part of me off, like a light. You don’t do that to friends.

Then, would you believe it, half an hour ago, he turned up at the door of my flat.

I put on the chain and opened the door a crack.

“How the hell did you know where I lived?” I said, as he frothed at the mouth, like a rabid dog.

“I found your address in Alison’s address book. Just let me in,” he said, running his fingers through his hair, his eyes darting about like a maniac. Turned me on, I suppose, the thought that he was so crazy about me that he’d trawl through his mistress’s private things. Just what kind of a sick weirdo does that make me?

“Look, I know you like me. So stop messing about and open the door.”

“Go away,” I said, closing the door in his face, but he kept banging away. For someone who thrives on sexually humiliating women, the boot was clearly on the other foot.

I enjoyed feeling my power over him. Sure, men are usually attracted to me, unless they’re gay, and even from that sector, men have been known to switch sides for a one off fumble. Is it my fault that I was first in the queue when looks were being given out? I’m five four, with peaches and cream skin, a smattering of freckles, grey eyes, long ash blonde hair and a big pouty mouth (a bit like that French film sexpot Emmanuelle Beart’s, or so I’ve been told, anyway) and decent sized tits. I couldn’t blame the poor sod for being turned on by me, now could I?

While he crashed about in the outside hall, I couldn’t deny the fact that I wanted him. He was so out of control, so wild. Alison told me he likes to semi-asphixiate her in bed. As I stood in my hall, while he butted his fist into my door, I wondered how it would feel to have his hands round my neck.

In the end I let him in, he was making such a scene. I didn’t want a neighbour coming out, asking what was going on, now did I?

“Don’t you think it’s time we stopped playing games?” he said, standing so close that I could feel his breath on my neck. It smelt of beer and cigarettes and his eyes were very intense and blue and tortured looking.

“I’m not playing games. The fact is, I’m married,” I said, although that wasn’t the real reason I didn’t want to have sex with him. It was that, even though they were through, I’d still never do that to Alison. Never.

“So am I,” he said, taking a step towards me and stroking my hair. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

And then. This is so embarrassing to recount. He ground his lips onto mine, shoved me against the wall. I felt myself responding, despite myself.

We were both panting and his hard cock was boring its way into my thigh. It was nice and big too. I had to stop myself from reaching down and unzipping his fly and freeing it so that he could fuck me. I wanted him to.

But in the end I pushed him off.

“I’m sorry, I can’t.”

We stood there, panting at each other, his shirt hanging out of his trousers and half unbuttoned. He looked kind of ridiculous. I started to laugh.

He didn’t think it was funny. In fact, he smashed his fist into the wall.

“You psycho!” I hissed, going up and looking at the wall. It was only dented a little.

Finally he left, crushed. Humiliated.

All the violence had left me turned on, my clit throbbing, my nipples sticking out like little revolvers. I finished myself off with my vibrator and waited for he waves of red molten pleasure to pulse out of me, trying not to miss what I’d never had with Richard, a hard, brutal fucking, some strangulation. Aaaah, it would have been quite an experience, but, stop thinking about it.

No regrets. That’s my motto, always has been.

I told myself I’d done the right thing, telling him to piss off.

Yes, I think he got the message.