Divorce Separated

I celebrated the first Saturday night of my brave new world getting drunk out of my skull and playing this song over and over, trying to convince myself that I really did.

Ruf was away on holiday and I was angry with him for not being there to support me at such a difficult time – an attitude which was reinforced and highlighted repeatedly by the opinions of a well-meaning, but ill-advised, friend.

Whether it was right or wrong, I was vulnerable and needy and emotionally unstable.

Facing the spectre of divorce, but in the limbo land of the separated, it was just me and my laptop. I was entering drunken rambles (that would later be deleted) into the draft section of the blog when I became aware of the insistent flashing of MSN, which I never normally use. I think I may have been talking to one of the children earlier. But, whatever, it was on and there was a man trying to attract my attention.

A good looking chap from the other side of the world with whom I conversed on occasion about a mutual interest.

I will not make excuses but he is very persistent and trained in the dark arts of auto-suggestion.

Combine that with the bottle of wine that I had opened to celebrate my freedom and which had merely succeeded in exacerbating my homesickness.

I don’t quite remember how I came to be flitting back and forth across the eye of the webcam in ever increasing states of undress in response to his encouragement.

Or how I found myself lying legs akimbo in front of that little eye as I used my Iris. His screen had frozen dark and I had almost forgotten that he was there in my alcohol-fuelled stupor.

As the last vestiges of the orgasm died away, I became aware of the enormity of what I had done, closed down the lid of the laptop and skuttled to bury myself in the depths of the bed to cry.

The following day I just felt grubby… and ashamed.

There was no need to tell Ruf, it was not important and, as the weeks progressed, he was so excited about the new level we had reached in our relationship, I didn’t want to spoil it.

Avoiding MSN for the next few months, the man recently found me through another social medium, where I fronted it out as if it had not affected me, behaved as if it had been fun but a one-off. Only, of course, he wants another show.

And there is no harm in it I suppose. It is not infidelity in the true sense of the word because it was and could only ever be pictorial. Two sets of pixels being stimulated by the other. There is no emotional connection as such.

And, it is understandable that he would like a real woman to wank for him on a regular basis. Personal Porn and free too. He is extremely persuasive talking of cultural mores and being ring-fenced by society’s expectations and rulings.

Is being naked on webcam really any different to putting up HNTs and knowing that some men may well use those photographs for their own nefarious purposes?

Except that, when I was naked and alone, I got off on knowing that he found me attractive and was masturbating as a result. This stronger woman should not need such diversion or validation, buoyed up the love of her real man. She should not shilly shally but tell this interloper in no uncertain terms that there will not be a repeat performance.

So why am I still left with the vaguest inkling that it might be fun to do it again?

Attention. Seeking.