I am cursed by propriety, cursed by the moral imperatives that serve only to restrain me, to hold me back, to keep me in check.

A code that keeps me prisoner.

A code that limits all that I might be.

Looking up the length of your nakedness, bathed in candlelight, framed in shadows … watching her as she languorously kissed your glistening mouth, as she caressed the sweeping curves of your breasts, and all the time with the succulence of your sex at the mercy of my libertine’s fingers, my rake’s lips and tongue. It was an epicure’s feast for each one of my senses. Such sweet sensuality. Such delicious decadence. Lust coursed through me like fire, that night, its bestial roar echoing in my mind, daring me, spurring me on.

Oh, that urge to unzip myself, to plunge my aching cock into the velvet depths of your sodden cunt without invitation or encouragement from you or from her … that longing was intoxicating, drowning, nearly impossible to resist.