The photos are unmistakably me; completely naked. I’m on my bed: the covers familiar, the artwork in the background. Definitely my bedroom. One of me from the side: hair tied up, hands covering my face. And then three more explicit ones. Mainly him inside me from his POV, his hairy belly contrasting with my bare mound. My manicure is peach, yet a few millimetres of growth showing it’s not fresh. My nails are much longer, I’m wearing rings. I’m completely shaved. My fingers holding open my labia. It is a very unnerving glimpse into the past. Who was I eight years ago?

I don’t remember the guy that took them, even when he sends me these and tells me how long ago it was, how long we met and how good it was. his face picture rings no bells, nor does his name. I accuse him of blackmail. I’m amazed he’s kept the pics.

He is not on my meticulously kept list of conquests.

He messages me all day : asking if I still live there, am I single, am I still available.

He is not.

The idea is sexier than the reality. I have not been with a man now for over a year. And I’m doing pretty well thanks. I had got into quite an unhealthy place – I needed to stop.

It doesn’t stop me wanking furiously to the four second video of his dick throbbing though. It’s the first orgasm I’ve had in months. Grazie.