True christions dating
But once we were actually in bed, he was the one who was keen to be dominated, asking me to tie him up, tease him and generally make him suffer on the way to his orgasm.
It seemed that exerting such whip-tight control in all other areas of his life made the reversal of roles in the bedroom impossibly erotic.
I had mentally written the evening off – the cool Roksanda cocktail dress I’d borrowed was wasted on the table full of dull, grey, middle-aged corporate donors.
Then, suddenly, he strode in, two hours late and completely unapologetic.
Used to having thousands of employees at his beck and call, he seemed incapable of being on time, and I often waited shivering on his doorstep.
Refusing to allow me to take charge of anything, his rage was another issue.
But more than that, I think a small, shameful part of me knew the relationship would burn itself out soon, and that would be the end of five-star trips to the Caribbean for me. I spent Christmas Day vainly trying to Skype with my family over a hopeless Internet connection.
Irritated by my distress, he stayed in the bar all day, drinking daiquiris, a savage glint in his eyes that appeared when I was ‘ungrateful’. He was upset and annoyed, but didn’t try to change my mind – I think I had probably become just too much effort, and I doubt he was sorry the relationship was over.
Matthew’s lateness was habitual – and quickly became intolerable.
It was intoxicating, textbook romance; Richard Curtis himself couldn’t have written it better.
On our second date he hired a chef to cook us Coquille St Jacques at his Kensington townhouse (I had once mentioned it was the best thing I’d ever eaten), and on our third date he took me on safari to Africa.
On hearing I only liked red wine, he said, ‘We’re going to have to educate you, aren’t we?
’ and proceeded to order exorbitantly expensive bottles of white wine wherever we went.