Leaning back in the taxi, Olive tried to relax as the lazy spring evening sped past the windows. Magnolias, cherry blossoms, camellias. She was passing through the quiet side of the city now, houses with gardens and garages, the kind of upper class pristine suburbia that only seemed to exist in lifestyle magazines. The sky was deepening and traffic was quiet. His house was half a mile away. She’d never been there before. He didn’t even know she knew the address, let alone that she was on her way.***One week earlierI’ll pick you up at seven, he’d said but it was half past now and he still hadn’t turned up. Olive had given up on standing by the buzzer (in case she didn’t hear it) and was sitting on the sofa in the short black dress she’d bought especially for the night. It was a nice dress. She couldn’t wait for him to see it, to see how she looked in it. The skirt didn’t reach halfway to her knees and she extended her legs, examining them for imperfections. Her skin was smooth and brown from lying out on the balcony all weekend. Black, heeled sandals were secured around her ankles. She sighed, stood up and wandered to the window, parting the Venetian blinds with her index and middle fingers. The street below was quiet. The one time she figured she looked passable, he didn’t show up. She told herself traffic must have been acting up. Wasn’t there a football match or a concert on the other side of town? The last time someone had put on a gig, she’d been stuck in traffic for two hours. Picking up her phone, she checked for messages, even though it hadn’t made a sound. Nothing. She typed a text. Where are you? She backspaced. She frowned and let out a istanbul travesti long sigh, glaring at the screen. Something… softer. Light-hearted. As though she wasn’t about to burst into tears. Did you forget about me? She sent it before she could rethink it and threw the phone onto the sofa. Seven thirty-five. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. Didn’t he care? Had he actually forgotten?She didn’t know what to do with herself. She’d been looking forward to seeing him all week and now he hadn’t shown up and the entire night she’d been fantasising about was suddenly empty. Her phone remained silent. If it had been anyone else, she wouldn’t have cared, she’d have phoned a friend, someone from work even, gone out, drank too much and had a good time. But it was him. Why did being in love make her so pitiful? Needy. Emotional. Why did it make her pace around the apartment like a spare part, simultaneously loving him and hating him and constantly wanting to burst into tears? They’d talked earlier in the day. He told her he loved her like he always did and it made her heart jump. She’d made him laugh, he’d made her laugh, he’d called her baby and angel and honey and it made her feel full of golden weightless sugar. Every word spilled into her and made her feel like he really did love her. He said it. I love you, he said. But he also said he’d pick her up at seven and now it was twenty to eight and he hadn’t called or texted so maybe it was all just words. She wanted to scream. All day she’d felt jittery, excited, elated at the prospect of seeing him. It didn’t matter where they went as long as she was with him. They could go to a travesti istanbul movie and she’d spend half of it just staring at his profile, so caught up in the flawless architecture of him. Nobody touched her like he did. Soft and hard and always so possessive, whether he was holding her hand or holding her throat while he fucked her hard. Olive crossed her legs. Almost always his hand would find its way beneath her skirt before they were even alone together and he’d trace the edge of her underwear and make her tell him what colour it was. He made her heart race and her cheeks flush and he loved it. He’d kiss her, whisper the dirtiest things in her ear, the kinds of things that made her stomach clench and her body flush with want. “As soon as we get back in the car, I want those lips around my cock,” he’d said last time and he got what he wanted. She could still remember his hand pulling up the hem of his dress as she’d leaned over to trace her tongue around his hardening cock, feeling it grow beneath her fingers. He’d smacked her ass as she’d sucked him, making her flesh sting and her panties wetter with every swat. Nobody got to her like he did. In those moments, their relationship felt full, complete, they were in sync and understood everything about each other. It was the most beautiful way of being alive. But now? It was the worst. She wanted to hate him but couldn’t begin to. She’d tried before, but always wound up caving. Ten to eight. She looked out of the window again. He wasn’t coming. She knew he wasn’t coming and yet she still sat waiting, glaring at her silent phone until the clock had crawled past nine and she caved. She istanbul travestileri decided she hated him. She took off her dress and her earrings and decided she hated him and would never speak to him again. He wasn’t hers. Reality hit her hard. She stood under the shower and tried to believe it. To anyone else it was obvious. It was his tenth wedding anniversary next week and yet she still held onto this crazy idea that he belonged with her. He wasn’t hers. But every emotion hit harder with him. Was she delusional? It hurt to try and believe it maybe because it meant all the years of hanging on had been for nothing. But it wasn’t nothing. All those feelings. He was married. She hadn’t known it until after the first time they’d fucked. She liked to think she wouldn’t have touched him if she’d known. But he had a way of being reticent with reality, and once they’d crossed the line everything seemed to turn grey, mistakes and lies indistinguishable. She’d never asked if he was in a relationship. He’d never said. She tried to break it off after, agonised over the audacity of him and yet she couldn’t stop. Couldn’t help herself. He had a way of talking to her that made her insides light up and ache.Olive stepped out of the shower and dried off, walking naked to her bedroom. It was a hot night. She opened the window and a warm breeze drifted in. Her phone lay on the bed and she picked it up telling herself he hadn’t texted but unable to stop hoping he had. He hadn’t.She lay back on the bed, the light from the phone illuminating her face in the dark room. She scrolled back through their conversations, pausing now and again. Nudes. His body. Her body. An endless exchange of raw nakedness. Videos and pictures he’d taken. His cock pushing inside her. His hand gripping her hair as he yanked her head back and made her take it deep. His fingers in her pussy and in her mouth and digging into every inch of her body.