Eric has just referred to me as “My love”. Well, well. Endearments, plus some bubbly and two million bob that I’m to collect from GG. What else can go this well today? Or wrong.
I have my answer 10 minutes later as Eric and I share a toast... I look up and the last person on earth I expect to see walks in.
It’s Frank. My heart skips a beat. I didn’t think this would be my reaction on seeing him again. My heart sinking? Yes, but certainly not skipping a beat. Frank is my ex-fiancé. What a complicated relationship that was. I slept with him almost immediately. It was heaven for him, true love, with angels singing background vocals to what he called a ‘magical night’.
For me it was just sex. Great sex, I’ll give him that. This boy knows what to do in the bedroom. It would’ve been nicer if he just got down to business and forgot the romance bit. I know that sounds cold, but it’s the truth. I didn’t want to marry him. I didn’t want to have his children. I just wanted to use his body occasionally. I loved it when he called me a whore (which was often!). It was always hard to get him to say it, but I actually encouraged him to. I was guaranteed several orgasms when it happened.
So why did I say yes when he proposed marriage? Several reasons. First, he was on bended knee in a restaurant. I’m not heartless.
Secondly, I was not really into the idea of giving up on great sex. Every girl will tell you, the reason why we stay with unfaithful men or in abusive relationships, or with some broke a** ni**a is simply because of… Great sex. It’s not that easy to find.
Frank was not any of these unsavoury people I just described. He never cheated. Never raised a hand to me. He had a really good job. He was a really nice guy AND great in bed. So yeah, I said yes.
Add to that, he was emotional and sensitive. If he had thought I didn’t love him, he would have withdrawn the only thing I really wanted him for — a great roll in the hay.
And girls, saying yes to a man doesn’t mean you actually have to marry him! I figured we could draw out the “engagement” for a while. Besides, he was my security blanket. I’m pregnant, remember? If I decided to keep the kid, Frank would happily have taken the role of baby daddy. He would have been none the wiser.
And then the sex tape was released on social media (of The Prude and I). Frank saw it. He didn’t call. Instead he sent me five text messages in quick succession:
“How could you?”
“You whore!” (On this day, as I #Trended, this word did NOT turn me on!)
“I hate you!” (Well…)
“Die, bitch!” (Calm down, son.)
“I loved you!!!” (Guilt!)
We haven’t seen or spoken to each other since. And now here he is. Our eyes meet. I’m holding a glass of champagne, bringing back memories of when he proposed.
The waiter had popped open the bottle and poured the golden liquid into two flutes. We had smiled at each other as we clinked our glasses. “To us,” Frank had said. “To us,” I responded.
Afterwards we sneaked into the ladies room and did the most unimaginable things you can think of. As far as engagements go, I think that one was pretty memorable. I was… A total whore.
The only thing that has changed a few months later is that I’m sipping champagne with a different man. I’m still a whore. And from the look in Frank’s eyes, I know that’s exactly what he’s thinking.