On my way home from another night of drinking in the city, I noticed a familiar blonde snivelling in my local kebab shop. I almost walked past, but from the girl’s forlorn demeanour, that of a succulent pig in a second-rate abattoir, she looked as though she might need saving.

My old mate’s ex-girlfriend, Flossie burst into tears as I walked into the brightly lit halal grill and flung her arms around me, babbling tearily about how her bag had been snatched. Devoid of phone, jacket and wallet, her bandage dress appeared to be the only thing holding her together. I covered her with my Versace jacket and ordered us a mixed doner and chips to share.

Flossie was one of those mid-hot girls you say “How’s it going?” to at parties now and again, never really listening to the answer, but her nature was as sweet and fluffy as her name. I could have invited her back to mine right then but called the girl an Uber home instead,

“Keep the jacket for now– my pleasure, Flossie.”

As I closed the car door, Flossie smiled up at me with big wet eyes. They seemed to contain an ancient sadness that was at odds with her bimboesque appearance: the eyes of an abused animal, so deeply stirring that suddenly my dick was hard. I rushed home to jerk off to big blonde sluts getting pounded.

At work the next day, I scrolled through the busty photos on Flossie’s feed. They were so heavily filtered that they had an alluring, divine quality. Horny to experience the truth, I opened my unread messages.

Hey thanks so much for last night!! promise I’ll make it up to u 💕should I drop the jacket off later?

An onslaught of suddenly urgent-seeming emails prevented me from replying, but as I was clocking out, I got a sleepy boner and remembered her promise.

Come over later? 9ish

Flossie showed up at my house at 20:57 in a fluffy jumper and tight jeans.

“I’m serious, how can I make it up to you?” she pouted, like she didn’t have a bottle of Casillero del Diablo hidden underneath my jacket. She handed it over shyly, said she liked the font. I had nothing better to do than invite her in. I’d never kissed a girl with lip filler before.

Flossie looked shocked when I asked her to suck my cock. “We’re just friends!”

But she couldn’t play innocent for long with my hands up her shirt. I undid her bra and licked her nipples until I knew I had her in heat. She moaned quietly then hid her face in her hands, embarrassed. Triumphant, I spanked her hard and she moaned louder.

When I finally reached inside her, Floss was sopping wet but I had begun to tire. I was hard but exhausted and suddenly wanted it to all be over with. I unzipped and she took my dick between her bloated lips, suckling assuredly, but I could tell her mind was elsewhere. She kept pulling my hand towards her clit but I was too tired to actually fuck her so I busted onto her milky tits. They sagged slightly in real life.

Flossie wanted to stay over but I had an early start. She texted me afterwards asking to hang out again soon. I didn’t reply until a week later, when a provocative selfie popped up on her story. Filtered pink and glowing, she seemed the most covetable creature in the world. I invited her to the pub that night, but got horny on the bus home.

Come to mine first?

It wasn’t long before we were in the bedroom and Flossie was humping my leg in pink polyester, the smell of secretions leaking out of her garish thong. I was awake this time, determined to penetrate her. With the smallest of protests, she yielded, grunting with joy. Her womb felt so tight around me that I couldn’t control myself for long. I shot off inside her and she let me stay there as I softened. She probably wanted to go again because she kept contracting her pussy, but I withdrew, satisfied.

“You smell so good, your dick is perfect.” Flossie sighed, folding herself into my arms.

“Don’t worry by the way, I’m on the pill.” There was still a chance she might get pregnant, I thought. Then we’d have to stay together and raise stock.

Flossie started coming over several nights a week. I would fuck her until she was sore, then wait until she’d recovered enough to be able to take it again. She felt incredible but I didn’t want my mates to know, so I tried not to see her in the daylight.

After a while, she began to expect it. She felt amazing but there was always a palpable sadness as we fell asleep. Flossie would never be my wife. After I fucked her, the pet would ask if we could go on a proper date soon.

“Next week, darling.”

But next week would roll around and I couldn’t bring myself to spend money on her. At night, I’d dream I was a farmer feeding her scraps. Little pig Flossie snuffled at my knees, stinking of shit. I loved her but there was a rifle in my hand.

One hot night after an early morning Flossie fuck and a long day of admin, I met Anneke at a party: a gorgeous model, an unmissable opportunity. We got out of there together.

What were the chances I would run into Flossie in an East London Sainsbury’s on a Thursday night when I was buying beers with this exotic 10 who was going to Paris Fashion Week tomorrow? I’ll never forget fat Flossie standing there holding a tub of ice cream, speechless in the face of my butchery, porcine eyes castigating me as I grabbed Anneke and left.

Anneke headed straight to the Eurostar terminal the morning after, leaving my sheets stained with period blood. She would probably be shagging some bisexual post-punk DJ by the time I got out of the office.

I ignored Flossie’s reprimanding paragraphs and calls but woke up sweaty every night taunted by dreams of my hands on her arse. I triple-texted Anneke but she never replied. At the office, they said I was unfocused. I began to watch porn in the toilets on my lunch break, grew a beard.

When I finally drunk texted Flossie an apology, it wouldn’t deliver. I was too late, must have been blocked by the Supreme Court of the girls' group chat. I didn’t even know where she lived. I hoped she’d be at this one party all her friends were at but she never showed up. They looked at me like I was a murderer. In the inevitable future matriarchy, ghosting will be punishable by death.

Months later, I ran into Flossie at the pub. She had a puffer coat on and had done something new to her hair. I could feel her watching me across the bar, open and forgiving. I knew I had to apologise to cleanse myself of sin. As those big wet eyes met mine, a familiar heat took me. My erection was so mythically violent that I ejaculated into my boxers. I rushed to the bathroom, she couldn’t know.

When I came out, I looked for her but she had disappeared. My trousers are still stained and I haven’t seen Flossie since.