You want to know whether or not I fucked My Mr. Grey on his visit down to my end of the country, don’t you?
Don’t worry, I’m not going to beat around the bush. I’ll get to the point: I didn’t do it. I didn’t fuck My Mr. Grey. And although it was the right decision – the moral one – I’m not happy about it at all. Nope. Not at all.
One Ball is a good man. We’ve had our ups and downs, yes, but he’s been a very good boyfriend overall. He’s kind and considerate and generous, and he really is a very good lover. Generous in the sex department, for sure. He deserves more than to be cheated on, especially with some guy from my past that has a habit of fucking up my new relationships. If I can see the pattern continuing to happen and I go ahead and let it, I can’t really come crying to you lot when it all goes wrong, can I?
Plus, I don’t want to be that girl. You know the one: the one who makes the guy fall hopelessly in love with her and then fucks some other guy and breaks his heart spectacularly. So, I wasn’t that girl. Instead, I ignored every text that My Mr. Grey sent to me and concentrated on my actual boyfriend instead. I wanted to jump up and grab the phone every time I heard My Mr. Grey’s message tone go off, but I didn’t. I had serious amounts of self-restraint and I feel like it should be recognised.
It didn’t exactly work in my favour, though. I barely spoke to One Ball because I had work plus social plans with Bestie. We just walked and talked and got stoned, nothing overly exciting, but One Ball chose that exact moment to be a paranoid prick. In the two hours or so I didn’t pick up my phone, I’d accumulated something like eight or nine missed calls from him, and a bunch of text messages. I thought something bad had happened to him, or one of his kids, so I called him back in a panic. It was engaged. Shit.
A few minutes later, my sister called me.
“Where are you?”
“I’m out with Bestie, why? What’s up”
“Your boyfriend has been calling me … “
What. The. Fuck.
I’d been radio silent for TWO HOURS, why the fuck would he have called my SISTER to try and find out where I was. She panicked; he essentially told her that I was missing, for fuck’s sake.
I gave him a proper bollocking on the phone – deservedly – but he wasn’t done being paranoid yet.
“Are you with My Mr. Grey?” he asked. Repeatedly. About a hundred times.
“No, I’m with Bestie, do you want a fucking photo??” I snapped back.
“Why the fuck were you ignoring me?”
“I wasn’t ignoring you. I’m not ignoring you!”
And after a couple of minutes of going around and around in circles, I hung up. I was pissed. Why the fuck would he call my sister? Like, seriously, WHY? I told him what I was doing, and who I was doing it with, and where I was going. What right does he have to not believe me? And no, I didn’t tell him that I wanted to fuck My Mr. Grey, obviously. He just picked up on that by himself. He knows that we are friends but have a bit of a past, that’s all.
But I didn’t fuck My Mr. Grey. That’s the point here: I DIDN’T do it. I behaved. I didn’t cheat. And look at what I had to put up with as a result! Maybe I just shoulda done it?
Two hours. Jeeez.
Anyone would think I’d gone missing for two fucking days.