Whore to wife

I never realised I was such a shameless whore not until I laid my scandalous confessions bare to Beth. Beth and I have been inseparable for over a decade, but the look on her face when I spilt every sordid detail of my escapades was priceless. At first, her eyes gleamed with curiosity, her grin practically begging for more, but in a heartbeat it twisted into pure revulsion. She was judging me… I could feel it radiating off her. To be fair, I should have stopped myself the moment I clocked her expression, but let’s not pretend Beth is some saint. She’s had her fair share of wild, reckless nights with men and I’ve lost count of how many times she’s brushed off a pregnancy scare. Who am I to judge? It’s the sheer audacity for me. I’ve never once looked at her with disgust, never once sat in judgement but suddenly she thinks she’s holier than me. Ludicrous!!

Well, that’s Beth. As for me… I don’t mean to boast, but I’m utterly irresistible. My skin carries that deep, sun kissed glow, the kind you’d swear came straight from a summer on the Mediterranean. Dark, glossy hair frames my face, setting off my light green eyes and perfectly sculpted little button nose. And my body? Think somewhere between SZA and Beyoncé… all curves in the right places. My hands and nails are always immaculate, my lips a soft, plush pink that begs attention. Honestly, it’s no wonder men can’t keep their hands off me and that’s before we even touch on my personality. Some say I’m stuck up, head lodged so far up my own ass I can smell my own shit. But let’s be honest…when you’re this smoking hot, why wouldn’t you be?

Looking back now, I honestly think I was born a whore. Hardly the Virgin Mary… immaculate is the last thing I’ve ever been but I’m not quite at Bonnie Blue levels either, if you catch my drift. I’ve always been drawn to both men and women, never one for labels, because to me sex is sex. As I got older, a shag was a shag, and I wasn’t about to get picky. It could’ve been fit Josh from school with his chiselled jaw, low taper fade and them kunte kinte scars on his cheek, or Spotty Dottie from work, forever hiding her breakouts under that cheap foundation. Then there was Ahmed outside the YMCA, who smelt like Lynx Africa, cigarettes butts & glens vodka, and Meg the tranny with the big Danny bless her, she could drink any man under the table. I never discriminated; if it had a pulse and a half decent sense of humour, it was fair game. Reading that back, I do sound a bit unhinged, don’t I? Fuck you, Beth! you’ve got me reevaluating my entire sex life now. I’ll let you in on a little secret though….there’s just something about a tall, big black dark stallion. And when I say tall & big , I mean towering. I haven’t even got to the nits and grits yet… but trust me, that’s where the real fun begins.

Now, if we’re talking nits and grits, we’re really talking fetishes. I’ve dabbled in most of them tbh, a little spanking here, a silk tie there, and don’t get me started on food play. There’s something deliciously obscene about strawberries sliding across skin, or squirty cream sprayed in places Mr Whippy never intended. My favourite one, is popping skittles out my pussy, watching him trying to catch the skittles with his mouth. Just imagine Serena v Venus Williams just in slow motion, wetter and messier. People clutch their pearls like I’ve confessed to murder, but honestly? Men can rack up notches on their belts and they’re “legends,” “Big Boyzzz” while women do the same and suddenly we’re sluts. Absolute bollocks. And coming from a Muslim household? Ha! I was raised on the idea that sex before marriage was basically a oneway ticket to hellfire, but here I am with enough sins to barbecue half of Brixton. I still remember my mum warning me not to even look at boys too long in case I got pregnant, meanwhile, I was busy eyeing up the girls as well. I suppose that’s the thing: I’ve always known what I like, and I like a lot. Call it greedy, call it shameless, but I call it living. I already know what you’re thinking “she’s definitely got an STD” well.. you’re wrong. I’ve got an STI & it clears up in like 7 days. I’ve been lying to my husband, blaming the blood moon when really I’m just burning off the clap