She got hers and now she doesn’t even care I wanted mine. I feel angrier than I ever had through the whole night, knowing that, once again, another ...oman has used me!“You no-good dirty slut bag! you fucking cunt! You used me!” Ignoring the look of mortification and confusion, I rain down on her face and chest with my fist. Breathless, I stop beating on her and look down on her, wondering why she toys with my emotions in this way, why she doesn’t see me as her lover. Every ounce of anger is. Just before the Easter break, she sent me a text – could she bring home a friend? For supper? Of course – why not?The surprise was the friend she brought home. I had assumed – you know what they say about 'assume'? That the friend was a contemporary. Well, Anna was at Uni; she was actually undertaking the PGCE course (the teaching qualification) but she wasn't a youngster. She looked about forty (actually, as I found out later, she was fifty-one). Even apart from that, she couldn't have been. More

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