I’m not sure how this will be taken on a website about swinging, but I find the whole thing a bit seedy, jumping in and out of bed with random people. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a prude, but I like to think I have quite a bit of self respect and there’s something about letting strangers have their way with you that causes an out of body experience and to judge yourself.

After the first time I did it (with a guy before Ed) I sat in our shower with the scalding hot water on me and as long as I sat there, I never felt any cleaner. Mouthwash wouldn’t get rid of the taste of him. I couldn’t remove the smell of him from my nose, or the feeling of being a slut. It sounds weird, but I thought of my dad, the disappointment he’d feel if he knew what I’d done, his only daughter letting herself get defiled like that. I felt sick. I was sick.

I wiped the condensation off the mirror but I couldn’t look myself in the eye. In the end I forced myself to, through tears.

I don’t really know what I was hoping to get out of doing these things. At that stage I wasn’t ready to let go of Toby and I guess I hoped it would help fix things. I blamed him, wrongly, for the slow motion failure of our relationship and the act of cuckolding him, punishing him for his failure to be the boyfriend I’d dreamt of, made me feel better temporarily and worse permanently. He said it made him feel better but I don’t think it did.

I definitely hadn’t planned to fall in love with Ed. He made me feel special, but I kept reminding myself he wasn’t my boyfriend.

Which wasn’t always easy. Ed’s written in his stories about some of the other girls he was sleeping with (knowing that he was doing it to try to avoid facing his feelings about me brings a lump to my throat) but he didn’t keep them a secret at the time. We talked most days and, when he met a girl, he’d be a gentleman about not divulging the details, but not make any bones about the fact of having met her.

You could analyse your own mind there. Was I just jealous? Was he telling me to make me jealous? Was I trying to subconsciously impose my own conception of what a normal situationship should be on whatever ours was? My head kept telling me he was just my bull and was entitled to fuck whoever he wanted - after all I was with Toby (or would have been if he ever touched me) but my heart hated those girls. I felt like he was losing interest in me but I understand he was just trying to keep his distance.

Our second night away (recounted in the creatively-titled “Second Night Away” - well done Ed) really fucked me up. Physically, I’ve never had sex like that before and never for that long. Dominating Edward felt amazing, I felt so empowered. I can feel my stomach fluttering now just thinking about it.

But then all that week, despite my soreness, all I could think about was him. It didn’t make it any better that it was all Toby talked about. Ed came round to ours, then we had that weekend away in London and I realised I was in love with him.

It was our first time together that hadn’t just been about having crazy sex. I realised we’d done things in the wrong order and normally we’d get to know each other before having sex, but it was nice to just have fun and open up to him. I don’t know how to explain it, but the fact we’d done all those crazy things together in beds and hot tubs and wherever else, I trusted him. I sort of feel like we’d been actors in a play for Toby’s benefit, but there we were alone and didn’t have to pretend.

Ed says “I guess we went to sleep” in his story (in the hotel in London). I actually lay awake in his big arms for hours because I knew I was in love with him and I couldn’t go back to how things were. I remember lying there playing with the chain on his wrist half wishing he’d wake up so I could tell him how I felt, half wishing he didn’t so I could avoid blurting it out and scaring him away.

Then I didn’t hear from him for weeks apart from the odd message, and only when I started the conversation first. He’d been working his way through all his dating apps and riding all the office bikes and I was gutted that I’d finally emotionally connected with him and he seemed to have lost interest. The joy of that first phone conversation had ended up with him declining my calls because he was busy and taking ages to reply to my messages.

Then Toby said Ed had told him to take that cage off and have sex with me, which confirmed it. I was heartbroken. I had sex with Toby but after the amazing time I’d had with Ed, it didn’t remotely compare (sorry Tobes, but even you know it was crap lol). I even lowered myself to the level of telling Ed afterwards I’d wished it was him.

Then it was Christmas and he messaged us both and started talking again out of the blue. Men are so confusing. But I get it. We’d agreed to cuckold Toby and that was what he was trying to do, although we both wanted more. It’d just have been helpful if he’d told me that instead of hoping I’d guess.

That following day was the first time I told him I loved him. I felt like such an idiot, the way he’d practically ignored me for weeks and the second he’d messaged I’d dropped everything to see him, fucked him on the back seat of his car like a desperate slag, sucked his dick in the shower and then told him I loved him.

I remember that exact moment, sat on his balls with his dick deep inside me. Exactly as Ed said, I ran my finger over his cheek bone, down the flesh of his cheek and under his chin, took a mental brave pill and said it.

When I wrote my other story last week I said that first drop of his trousers felt like hours, but waiting for him to reply felt like days. At the start, I thought he’d just reply automatically like you sometimes do (you know like: “how are you?”/”not bad”, “love you”/”love you too”), but he didn’t. Then I watched him thinking, looking a bit confused. And then I started to panic. Then I had that out of body experience and judged myself.

Desperate whore. So long wasted with Toby that all I needed was stretching round a big dick, a few kisses and the affections of a guy I’d known a month and suddenly I was declaring my love for him and expecting him to fawn and say it back. Toby, my actual boyfriend, was upstairs. And now I’d fucked up the only good thing that had happened in my love life since ever. I felt like he must think I was pathetic. I even realised he might actually be serious with one of the girls he’d slept with. I was just about to say “sorry, I should go” when finally he put his hands in mine and said it back.

I cannot describe the relief. He’d thought about it. He loved me. I’m such a neurotic I then worried he didn’t understand what I meant by love. I didn’t mean loved as a friend, or I loved fucking him (although I do), I meant I loved him and I want to be with him.

As if to give me confirmation he kissed me - it’s interesting to read what he wrote - “passionately” doesn’t quite describe it. We’d kissed passionately before, but this was something else. I didn’t think about the problems we’d just created for ourselves, about anything except him.

I’ll leave it there for now, thanks for reading my story xxx