Are my cheeks on fire?

I didn’t feel like having sex, but he wanted to. We live thousands of miles apart and Skype sex is soooo much better than phone sex. So even though I’ve turned off the part of me that can get turned on; even though I’ve become too spoiled by fancy, expensive toys to want to handle my business manually; even though I was tired and not even close to feeling sexy, I gave in and did it.

Right as he came, there was a knock at the door. It wasn’t a knock really, but a light rapping. I knew instantly that it was either my maid or my nanny. I feverishly put on my clothes and slathered on cologne to mask the familiar smell of sex. By the time I’d gotten to the door, whoever it was had left.

He came and I was happy he came. But I also felt slightly used. Slightly disgusted with myself for complying with my boyfriend’s needs instead of elevating my own needs above his. Slightly peeved that he asked me to do something sexual that he knew I would get no carnal pleasure out of. And then an unfamiliar feeling dawned on me, something I don’t think I’ve ever felt in my life.

Ladies and gentlemen: I was embarrassed.

Yep, that’s right. ME. The chica who has no shame in her game, who used to revel in having sex in public, who had no qualms about doing all kinds of sexual work and letting EVERYONE know about it. I was ashamed to have been caught having Skype sex with my boyfriend-cum-baby’s-father by my live-in-help.

So I did what any emotion-deficient person would do: I got mad at Rob and guilted him for having cum.

I know, I know. That was beyond awful of me. But dammit: I was embarrassed for the first time since *thinking*  I don’t even know when… Point being, it’s been so long, I don’t even know how to handle this particular emotion.


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