We’d do it standing up against his bedroom wall.

We’d have to be quiet because of his housemate sleeping on the other side.

He’d hold my wrists tight with one hand, while the other clamped my mouth shut.

I’d often bite him. He’d send me pics as the bruises changed colour. Purples. Reds. Yellows. He knew they’d brighten up my day.

He’d finish inside me, sit on the edge of his bed and then watch it trickle out, down the inside of my thigh.

I’d secretly hope to get pregnant.


I didn’t get pregnant, I got chlamydia.


I was furious.

Yes, we both had other lovers. But he was my main lover. And I, his.

He was the only one I was sleeping with unprotected. And I was the only one he was sleeping with unprotected.

Well, that’s what I thought. Evidently not.


I punched him in the face so hard I smashed his glasses and had to ice my hand.

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