Not after this. They couldn't point fingers now. Couldn't laugh at me. Or rib me about how "whipped" I was. Not after I pull this off. And to think that all it took was one night. One night of not being online. One night of no messaging or chatting. One night free of phonecalls or texts.

She'll never even know it happened. She'll never find out. It's so perfect. Just as long as she doesn't find out I'm totally good. If someone tells her though...I'm fucked! But no one's gonna tell. No one will dare say anything or I'll beat the shit out of them. Who'd believe such things anyway? I mean, I'm the committedtoalongdistancerelationship and pussywhipped boy. I have the perfect girl sitting some 30K miles away from me. I'm notoriously whipped. As far as anyone's concerned, I've been online every night till 8 in the morning worshiping at the alter of my Aphrodite. When I wasn't, it was only because I'd gone to bed early that night. So I was home, sleeping in front of that darned webcam. What could be a more flawless alibi?

You've got to love modern technology!

And it's technically not cheating. "It's not cheating if you're not in the same area code. It's not cheating if you put peanut butter on your..."

I'd be daft or lying if I said it wasn't fun. I had a blast. That cute little ass strategically situated on my lap. Wonderful little lapdance I got from her squirming around trying to get my cold fingers out from under her shirt. She enjoyed it. I enjoyed it. She won't find out. Life is beautiful. Now the only thing I worry about is these blue-motherfucking-balls. By the looks of things though, I might just be getting more of this action so we'll stay off Mary Palm and her Five Sisters and let's just hope it doesn't have to come down to bleeding the monkey.

Better invest in some rubber.