We talked about God and our mutual disillusionment with religion in general. I discovered she came from a broken home, the same as me. I told her things I’d never tell the others. The words just came tumbling out and she listened with a careful ear.

Her beautiful face filled with concern and worry when I began to cry as I recounted some childhood scar that never quite healed. She placed a tender finger on my face and swiftly brushed aside the tears as they fell. When I was finally at a loss for words she kissed me and oh how I reeled! The sad thoughts left my head, replaced with lust and desire. Her soft lips pressed against mine tasting of the strawberries I’d had sent up and I lapped at them hungrily.

It breaks my heart to recall those moments of how her body felt to me that first time together. I ache for what I’ve lost and I burn with anger at the way I lost it. Such wretched betrayal fills me with a violent wave of fury that makes me want to smash mirrors and hurl heavy chairs through plate glass.