Confessions of a Wayward Wife

So I didn't keep you posted. Because I am terrible. But still - I'm back and posting. Posty post post.

Doctor chat is still going on - and my oh my does that man have a way with words! Two years ago I could not have imagined myself having anything that resembled cyber sex; now at least 2 evenings a week I'm twiddling away on my laptop, batting back and fourth obscene adjectives and philanderous phrases with Mr White Coat. It's no substitue for the real thing mind, but since he lives in Manchester, the real thing is currently unattainable. Hey ho. I'm not exactly loathing my own company right now. Partially thanks to current reading material. Cue announcement:

*Attention Wayward Wives and their female asociates* : if you haven't read The Bride Stripped Bare, your life is seriously poorer for it. It is basically pornography with brains. Deliriously unbound and hedonistic. Saturated with light and desire. And seriously, seriously hot. I made the mistake of reading it on my commute to a meeting the other day, and when I got to said meeting, four people (four people!) asked me if I "needed to sit down". One particualrly concerned staff member fetched me a glass of water I didn't ask for, and a hand fan, such was my lobster-like hue. Being a traditional English rose, it seems I can't consume any amount of erotic literature without turning an embarrasring shade of radish. Sexy.

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