Secrets

Boys have been something of a hobby of mine over the years and I have always entertained the odd flirtation. So now, aware that I wouldn’t like it if Enduro was entertaining flirtations himself, I’m having a cull.

 The first is Xavier (Xavi dick pics), over in Spain:

 The second is someone I was chatting to from Muddy Matches, who I didn’t meet in the flesh but who discovered this blog and has been reading avidly.

 My final flirtation is a guy in a band from Boston I met about 10 years ago working as a massage therapist at one of their shows at Leeds University. He and I took it upon ourselves to go on a bouncy castle in the student’s union. A ‘bouncy house’ he called it, being American.

 In single times I would go and see him when they were on tour in the UK and we would have dinner and a night of shameless passion. Not so this year:

 

 Secrets are toxic to a relationship. Secrets pull you further apart, breed feelings of guilt and block real intimacy.

 The only time lying is justified, I feel, is in the following scenarios:

1.       The real cost of the dress/coat/pair of shoes you put on the joint credit card;

2.      When downplaying the extent of your crush on Jon Snow/*insert name here (“He’s quite fit, I suppose”);

3.      Your feelings about Botox and other such little procedures men can’t stand: “Oh, I’d never do that” – when you know fine well if you could justify the expense, you’d probably be all over it.

4.      If, like me, you spent your university years mostly drunk, your real number of sexual partners.