Thursday, 1 March
Dear Kitten,
I know your new name sounds silly, Kitten, especially considering youâre only a notebook, but how can I begin every sex-crazed confession with the words âDear Diaryâ? Even Anais Nin didnât do that. Anyway, once youâve heard what Iâve been up to recently, youâll probably be pushing me to quit the shoe biz and commit to my calling as a writer of smut. But letâs start with the basics. Why âKittenâ? you ask. Well, as soon as I saw your tiger-fur cover, I was smitten, Kitten. You reminded me of those tiger-print stilettos Iâve been saving up for â even with my staff discount itâll be weeks before I can buy them. But if anything would make me feel like a goddess, itâs those.
Anyway, âTigerâ seemed like a bad name for a sex-confession diary â after all, I donât want to share my secrets with some savage animal. So yes, you will be my kittenly confidante, because I may not be able to share my kinky secrets with anyone else. But you â with your furry cover? Iâm up to the task.
So. Secret number one.
Just one year ago, when I first found those pale-blue lacy knickers in Henryâs suit pocket, my heart didnât break even slightly. Thatâs the real tragedy.
See, it felt like I should have been broken by this, him being my husband, but nope, his having a âbit on the sideâ didnât even surprise me. Instead, I stretched those flimsy things out and gazed at them, imagining the curvy body of the woman they belonged to. Skimpy little things that cup the bum cheeks. And between you and me, Kitten, I just had to bury my face in them â to find out how a woman smells. And this one smelled so musky, so deliciously off-bounds, that I felt myself getting damp. Wet. Thatâs right. Burning between the thighs too, like the times when Henry actually bothered to screw me. In fact, I was so turned on that I wanted to meet this lay of Henryâs, this bit on the side, and touch her and taste her, push my tongue inside her, like a tabby with a tub of cream. I wanted to make her simper and tremble and beg me to, well ⦠fuck her! Is that obscene? Gotta get used to saying the word. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Why the heck not? I donât think I care anymore.
Anyhoo, after that came some crying, and a few friends who said, âDebs, heâs eight years younger than you, what did you expect?â
I expect faithfulness, for starters, Iâd say! It isnât like heâd asked me for an open relationship where I could get bouncy with muscular boys for a hundred pounds a pop.
Truth was; the end had come.
So why not go out with a bang?
Well, it was easy enough to park outside his workplace on Friday night and follow him as he pulled away from his so-called âFriday drinks with the crewâ. I tracked him in my Mini. A right little secret agent, I was. And when we arrived at a tiny cottage, with ivy trailing down the walls and porcelain dogs in the window, he parked the car, strode up to the front door and â get this, Kitten! â let himself in with a key.
I was out of that car lickety-split, nose against the front window. But they werenât in the front room and, when I looked through the letterbox, they werenât in the hallway either. Only when I scooted round the back of the house and crouched in front of one of the back windows, my court heels sinking down into a flowerbed, did I see them together. Henry sat calmly on the white leather sofa, his arm along the back, while she stood in front of him dressed in a short beige mackintosh, with a bowler hat and a pair of black stilettos. Her legs and thighs were bare â and, dear God, so tanned and slender! â and beneath her hat she was a stunning bleach-blonde.
I have never seen anyone in all my days that made me burn like she did, and I longed to keep watching, so I sank to my knees, ducking down low to keep myself hidden. And there was Henry, appraising her slowly, his gaze all gleaming and wicked while he beckoned her to come closer. The bastard had never looked at me that way! Heâd been lying to me, all that time, while I was longing for a sex life! All those silky nighties Iâd bought! And all for nothing!
But once she was right in front of him, one foot raised and planted on the couch next to him, all I could do was gape at her slender legs, and the way the mac fell apart at the join, revealing her inner thigh. And when Henry leaned forward and slid a hand up and down her shin, watching the path of his fingers, while he murmured some quiet command, I wished I was in his place. Then, slowly, she undid the buttons on her mac, holding his gaze until it slid to the floor and her bare body stood before me, all supple skin, high breasts and oh-so-hard nipples.