Ok. We were on a bar and I was drunk. Not that kind of heavy drunk, but clearly drunk enough to "play the dumb card". He looked gorgeous although he was drunk as well.

We had dinner in a little Italian restaurant. It was all very London, all very us. A table filled with his friends and me. Me as Mr. T's date. All pretty and petite.

"You like dressing up for me", he said.

"Of course I do. I always dress up for you honey."

The conversation went on. His friends watching us slightly annoyed as we ignored the rest of the table.

At 22:15 I found myself alone with him in a dark corner of the restaurant. My kisses all over his neck and my hands opening the first two buttons of his shirt. "You know, without my lovely baby, I would have left my wife for you. I love you. If things were different …"  his words were warm honey and milk. Kind of stuff I've always hated. I mean, who the fuck wants to mix honey with milk. I was unable to process any of it. Out of all the games we play "what if"- game was definitely my territory. I could pick up the words "wife" and "lovely baby". The rest of it was irrelevant. The rest of it is the game of "just enough", a game he sure masters better than I. In that game, he is giving me just enough without giving me everything.

And I wanted to slap his face. I wanted to have a fight with him, I mean a real proper fight.  Old school.  Heavy. Instead, I just settled for that quick slap on his left cheek. A slap followed by two tears making their way down on my left cheek. "Don't play 'what if' with me. It's ugly and unfair. And it's insulting for me, for your baby and for your wife.", I said, with  my words all small and flat.

"What do you recommend doing then", he asked and kissed my two tears away.

"I don't know. I suck at playing these games. I love you but I can't have you. Fine. I can live with that. But I can't live with your warm whispers all over my naked body. Let's face what this is. This is an affair and I have no further rights. I assume you are here to fuck me"

"Oh, I'm here to fuck you now, am I?", he raised his eyebrow, realizing now that I've mentioned the word fuck I must be drunk. 

"Don't play the dumb card because it certainly does not suit you", he added with unbearable sarcasm in his voice.

Another slap. This time slightly sharper and my tears filled with more anger than sadness. "I'm not "playing," and certainly not playing cards of any kind. I hate when he insults my intelligence, and I hate when his words hit harder than mine.

Then there was a silence. We stared at each other not sure whether to love or hate. Without a single word spoken, we decided to go with love. We hugged our goodnights and explained the drunken jolly friends that we needed to take an early night.

Before we left his friend whispered me something I should value. Accept and take in. "Honey, he means well but ends up breaking your heart. You're smarter than that. Go. Explore. Let him be heart-broken over the fact that you actually had the courage to walk away".

And walk away I did. Only that I did that with him. And only to find myself having angry sex, passionate sex, most loving sex, and sex of all kinds, with Mr.T,  in a

suite 104

.

And I climaxed, once, twice and then I lost count. Fuck if he has wife, baby and a world of his own. I had him on that very room on that very day. We were playing make-me-feel-like-a-princess and this time we were both winning. Win-win, oh how I love the games we play.

After sex, bruised, fucked, literally exhausted and ecstatic he still refused to discuss my issue with him and instead made me the focus of his desires. I tried to emphasize the fact that I  was leaving the next morning and he would never see me again.

But we had it his way. We left things unsaid. At this point, he was too sober to explain why he loved me. He just did. Plain and simple.

Next morning he had his closure ready. Apparently, we had nothing to move on to or move from to. And that's all there was. Maybe he knows me too well, and knows this is for the best OR maybe he doesn't have a fucking clue how this princess operates. Take your pick.

I'm too proud to send an email. And he's too Mr. T to do anything to fix that. Tricky, I know.