I was really looking forward to getting fucked last night.

Granted, I would not have been able to get pummelled as hard as I might like (and need, given my current horniness) due to my recent hospital stay, but with some decent sex on the cards, I was pretty excited about finally getting a good shag – even if it was going to have to be slow and gentle.

So I left the house yesterday fully prepared: legs and muff shaved; tiny see-thru thong in place; a flirty low-cut dress to show off my curves. And with a selection of condoms and lube in my purse: the thought of slowly stroking his slick, delectable cock soaking my pants as soon as I had slipped them on.

Almost a year since we last saw each other, I was rather pleased to find that the chemistry was still there; as we sat drinking cocktails our body language matched, just as it did in bed when we had sex. I fondly recalled how well we fitted together back then: we fucked with gusto; he somehow knowing just how I like it from behind; how I enjoy my ankles above my head; how I will come and come from three fingers inside me. I could barely wait till we got back to his hotel and I would get to feel his cock inside me once more.

That was, until the following conversation:

Me: ‘How’s the dating? Seeing any nice women at the moment?’

Him: (blushing) ‘Yeah, kind of.’

Me: ‘Ooh, someone special?’

Him: ‘I guess so.’

Me: ‘Tell me more! Is it serious?’

Him: ‘You could say that.’

Me: ‘Long-term then?’

Him: ‘Yeah, a couple of years now.’

Me: (hesitating) ‘So you were with her when we were fucking last year?’

Him: (slowly) ‘…Yes.’

Me: (stunned): ‘Why didn’t you tell me that then?’

Him: ‘I thought you knew.’

Me: (incredulous) ‘No. I didn’t know. If I had known, I wouldn’t have fucked you.’

Him: ‘Oh. Sorry.’

Me: ‘I can’t believe it. That’s really low, you know that?’

Him: (nodding) ‘Sorry. I really thought you knew; I figured you were OK with it.’

Me: (shaking my head in disbelief) ‘No, I am not OK with it. I’m not that sort of woman.’

And I’m not. Some years ago, I was party to another woman being cheated on: I had an affair with her boyfriend. I swore I would never – to the best of my knowledge – do it again. Not only because it caused me heartbreak, but because I don’t want to be the sort of woman that shits on other women. Call me an old-fashioned feminist (do, please: it’d be a compliment), but I actually feel some solidarity with other women: I want to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with my sisters, not fuck their men behind their backs.

I may have been sitting there with wet pants, absolutely dying to shag him, but faced with (yet another) man who was interested in having secret sex outside of his relationship, there was no choice for me to make: I wasn’t going to fuck him and that was that. I have some principles after all, and whilst horniness has led me to some bad decision-making in the past, it’s not like I can’t later on, just wank to think clearly again: knowingly fucking an attached man (even just in a casual sex situation) is not something I want to do, drunk, horny or whatever.

So we sat there, sipping our cocktails, and I tactlessly told him what I thought of him; how selfish I felt he was, how upset his partner would be, were she to find out about his dalliances. To his credit, he agreed with me; we discussed ways of him approaching her to talk about the situation. Whether he’ll do it or not, I don’t know, but what I do know, is that when I rested my head on my pillow last night (after having a frig, it must be said), I felt at least my conscience was clear. I seem to have moved on from being a sex fiend that can’t control her horniness - alongside my morals, I have some willpower after all – and that, to me, is progress.

But I need to ask myself: why do I seem to have such bad luck with men?