The EX Factor

Life. You cannot control what happens; no matter how high the high, the only place to go is down.

We’d been dating two years, 18 months were spent living together. We were that couple everyone wanted to be. Physically and esthetically complimentary to one another; we made each other better in every way. I had found him, my partner in crime, and it changed everything.

When I moved to New York we were still dating, but as the black sedan pulled away from our place I knew deep down it would be the last time I would see him. A couple of weeks later our relationship ended.

The fantasy was finished. Everything had been turned upside down in an instant; moving away only made it all the more clear. It was over and I haven’t looked back since, until now. 

Let’s call him The Ex.

Years had gone by, two and a half to be exact, and not one word, email, or text message had passed between us. When it’s over it’s over; I had never been one to dwell on the past.

When I arrived back to the ‘scene of the crime’ to cover an event for an international publication, the last thing I expected was to see him; we had been so good at avoiding each other for so long. 

Never having kept in touch with an ex boyfriend, something made me want to change that. Even though The Ex broke my heart and made me question everything I thought I knew about love, I didn’t hate him. Why couldn’t we be friends? I emailed him. Just a few words, a peace offering and the suggestion to grab a coffee while I was in town. To my surprise, he responded.

And that is when everything changed.

The Interview

One of my first interviews was for an online magazine featuring an extremely talented fashion and art photographer. As we were in different countries at the time of the interview we never met in person. Four months later I moved to New York and invited him for drinks to say thank you and introduce myself. My friend warned me about photographers and I remember telling her, "Don't worry he is 40 and married, I don't think we have anything to worry about".

That statement was the beginning of the end. Let's call him "The Photographer".

I think we bonded over our love of exotic food, or perhaps it was our love of wild sex. Either way we had way too much fun sneaking around the city to rip each others clothes off. It was such a cliche, going to his studio, him picking me up in his beautiful sports-car. I thought it would all end when I left New York in the Fall, but it didn't.

It became more intense... he'd fly to come see me, say he was going on a "shoot" and then it was a "re-shoot". I would try to break it off, but was so wildly attracted to him and we'd have so much fun together I couldn't help myself. Did I mentioned I have a thing for the British? His accent made everything even hotter (and more cliche).

Now, I don't want you to get the wrong impression, this is not a porn site, but it must be said, The Photographer is the some of the hottest sex I've ever had. He was wild, made me insane in all the best ways. His love of thigh high stockings gave me an Agent Provocateur addiction; one I have yet to break. He had me completely wrapped around his finger and when I invited a friend to join us, I had him wrapped around mine. He was, and most likely still is, a complete pervert and the idea of fucking someone half his age was a massive turn on.

I am not one of those dumb girls that thought he would leave his wife for me. That would have been terrible as who could trust a man that was cheating on his wife. I just saw myself as his mistress, the one he wanted to be with physically. It was kind of a turn on knowing he had someone else and would rather be with me.

Then one day everything got totally fucked.