Jealousy Shock Therapy

I have always been jealous. I'm not proud of it. It's a tough feeling to feel. One day, I just had enough. And I decided to go experimental with it:

I asked my boyfried to book a hooker, the most beautiful one he could find, just his type. And I know what his type is: Think Kate Middleton, tall and slender, a brunette with hazelnut eyes, short hair (he likes short hair). I wanted to have to watch him making love to another woman. I wanted to suffer through and heal. I needed to be tied up, I fancied a scenario quite like the Ludovico aversion therapy in Clockwork Orange, well not quite so cruel maybe and working the other way round of course. In the end I wanted to like what I was made to witness, hopefully be aroused.

Deal, he said. We prepared the bedroom together. Everything had to be lush. The bed. The sheets. The lights. We put an armchair in the corner for me. He undressed me and tied me up, sipping a Gin&Tonic, his eyes sparkling with excitement. I relaxed as he scrunched up a silk scarf into my mouth. Then the doorbell rang...