Gallery Carre
The Fever is Real
Sep 6th, 2006 by Holiday
For two weeks my contact with Dior had been sporadic, limited to merely on-the-run email; nothing like the frequency of our usual daily routine.
Out of boredom I knew my lover’s attention would quickly wander to another man as an innocent diversion, a harmless sexual conquest. This didn’t bother me at all.
Only when Dior made her feelings expressly clear to me about her would-be paramour, fuelled by the pure white heat of her sexual lust, did I realize her infatuation for this new man in her life was different than any other.
“I won’t deny it,” Dior said. “He’s intelligent and witty, and he excites me. I intend to fuck him.”
By him, she meant Matthew Warren – a nominal acquaintance in another major city, the friend of a friend of a friend variety.
Dior allowed many people to read her erotic letter to Matthew, where she invited him to fuck her ass and sexually possess her. This was Dior’s way to lay down the gauntlet for Matthew… “I’m ready. I’m hot. I’m panting with desire. I’m gorgeous and sexy - come fuck me.”
At the same time this was also Dior’s way to cuck me before her friends, by blind-copying them on the missive.
I was both enormously jealous and undeniably aroused by Dior’s audacious behavior. Yet this is the double-edge sword of my inclinations – and the two of us thrive on this dynamic, so we are perfectly suited for each other.