First off, I cannot say how ashamed and embarrassed I am.
Allow me to explain, or try to.
I'm Emma. Nice to meet you. I'm a perfectly normal woman, or, I thought so, but anyway, I have a job, which I enjoy enough to get by, and my time is mainly spent working, because that's how it is these days. I binge boxsets until I fall asleep every night, like everyone else does, and, usually curled up with my boyfriend; well, fiance, maybe, I don't know? I mean, how long after you've been proposed to do you still consider yourself engaged?
Anyway, I think that's enough for introductions right now because I'm on fucking fire right now, and I need to get this out of me before I do something stupid I might regret... Breathe... In... Ooooh... Yeah, so, my relationship with my boyfriend-stroke-fiance-stroke-husband (as he should be at this point, because it feels that way most of the time), it's all pretty normal. We live together. We cook. We clean. We cuddle. We are sweet. It's nice... mostly...
As I'm sure it's normal, and most girls will attest to, living with a man is the fucking worst, most of the time. They're useless, and expect you to do everything, but, I really don't mind all that. I accept it, because that's who I am. I love him, and thought he loved me.
If I'm being honest, I'm very innocent and unassuming, and I'm not led by anything sexy or sexual. I don't know how normal that is, since sex is not explicitly talked about in great detail, what with all the innuendo and joking around the subject, and pop culture rams all these expectations down our throats. I'm not tuned-in to all that.
We have sex, though; that's what I'm trying to say. It's not porn-worthy (which I've never done myself, but have been shown things on very few occasions, but never looked myself), but the sex is sweet, and I love him.
Oh! Yeah, I almost got carried away. You want to know his name: Luke.
So, the sex is sweet, but we don't get to do it all that often. Much of our time is apart because of different shift patterns, and we don't really have time for anything outside of the apartment.
Oh, and, the apartment is a fucking shoebox. It's a tiny one-bed that's basically one-room with a few cupboards, one of which is a very cramped en-suite (and that's generous, believe me).
We're middle-aged, but we very much act as teenagers. Very giddy. Very unassuming. Imagine my shock then to be woken up by being tied to a chair with rope, and see a young woman on our bed! What is up with that?
I was so scared. I was sweaty and smelly from sleep, and dressed in my favourite pyjamas, which were musty and damp. I was not in any condition to entertain guests, let alone be gawked at by a fucking stranger!
I asked, "What is this?," pretty much ready to cry as I was so emotional, from being woken up with little sleep, and having all this shit happening.