But to our mutual credit we recognised it immediately. There was no pining, no awkward silences, no ghosting; just a simple, honest, mature conversation about how we were so obviously, completely, irrevocably wrong for each other. Go us, fist bumps all round, that’s what we call growth.

But the sex. Oh my god, the sex. The sex worked like a Swiss watch, and who throws away a perfectly good Swiss watch? What, we have to stop fucking just because we’re not soulmates? No. No. It would have been a crime to deny the world the artistry of our fucking just because it wasn’t going to lead to a cutesy couples Christmas card. And so we kept fucking, like Swiss-made clockwork, whenever our schedules mutually aligned…or whenever you were so horny you texted me a pic of your dripping cunt from my office’s lobby and demanded I come downstairs and scoop up the mess with my fingers.

But we’re not getting any younger, and it’d be nice to have someone to eat carbs and watch Netflix with, so sometimes you like to multitask. It was an accident, the first time - I’d gone to the bathroom to piss and wash my cum off my face, so you rolled on to your front, grabbed your phone and checked your matches.

‘He’s cute,’ I offered, jumping back into bed and laying with my head pillowed on your ass.

‘Yeah, but I bet he can’t fuck me like you do,’ you replied, tapping out a reply to his entirely pedestrian opening message.

‘Maybe I could teach him…you know...show him the ropes,’ I shot back, voice muffled slightly between slow, warm kisses of your cunt.

‘Sure, let’s do that; I’ll just…fuck, I can’t type while you’re doing that…find a hot guy who likes the same TV as me, and you can…mm…educate him.’

‘Send him a voicenote,’ I said, a growly edge to my voice as I looked down at your swollen, pink lips, the puffy perfection of your clit.

‘What?’

‘Go on…send him a…mmf fuck you taste good…voicenote’

And so you did, trying your utmost to keep the breathy whimpers out of your voice as you introduced yourself to this guy while I licked you out. His reply, which we listened to together as we lay side by side, catching our breath after another round, was predictably awful, utterly lacking in either charm or wit, but you couldn’t help blushing when he mentioned how sexy your voice had sounded…

And the sensible thing to do would have been to try and keep that world separate to this one, but who knows how long this world is going to last? You’re funny, hot, successful, and give head like an actual demon loosed from hell, so I know it won’t be long until someone snaps you up. So in the meantime, we have a new routine - we fuck, and you chat with other guys while we’re fucking.

Sometimes it’s just text, slowly tapping out the most typo-riddled messages imaginable with both thumbs between the heavy, core-deep thrusts of my cock into the back of your cunt, my fingers making handles of your hips as I glance over your shoulder at the screen. Other times, you test yourself to see how long a recording you can make while tamping down the urgent, incessant need to moan, riding my dick or my face or my fingers. And occasionally, if we’re feeling really daring, and if you’re almost certain that the guy on the receiving end has no chance of being anything other than an occasional fuckbuddy (because yes, the sex we have is fucking amazing, but sometimes I go away on business trips and a woman has needs), you’ll give him your number and hold an honest-to-god live phonecall with the poor, unsuspecting bastard, you doing your best to pay attention to the conversation and offering the occasional ‘uhuh’ or ‘yeah’ or ‘mmm’, and me doing my best to keep the sounds of flesh-on-flesh collisions to a dull roar.

And I want the best for you, I really do - I want to sit in the third-to-fourth row of your wedding and watch you marry the guy of your dreams, and shed a tear when you say your vows because you’ll never suck my cock again (unless he’s a cuck, god I hope he’s a fucking cuck) - but I also want this to keep going forever, because I swear to fucking god I’ve never seen anyone cum so hard as you do when you’re apologising to the guy on the other end of the line, saying ‘I’m just…Jesus…a little out of breath….from my…fuck…my run’ with my fingers curled into the centre of your pussy and my tongue spelling ‘you’re such a fucking slut…you’re such a fucking slut…you’re such a fucking slut’ in morse code across your clit.