63

I never thought I'd ever touch him the way I did in Italy, ever again.

I was so adamant about the divorce it never crossed my mind for one day I'd be so overwhelmed with his presence, spending two days two nights straight with him, that on the second night I surrendered to my desire.

It's not regret that I felt afterwards because I wanted it; nobody forced me, not even him, it's purely my lust that I chose to quench.

It's just the draggy feelings I was beginning to have, knowing it will last for a lifetime, or perhaps two years if I'm not exaggerating, that I have to keep being by his side knowing I was the one who crossed the boundary and asked for it; this shameless woman who had been refusing him left and right was the one who initiated the move.

Would I do it again?

No.

Never.

Ever.

Do I regret doing it?

Urgh. I hate to admit I'm not regretting anything, because I loved how brave I was to face my desire and asked for it. It's just that... there won't be a next time.

There