The Inner Slut

The Inner Slut wants to be feted and waited on hand and foot, and doesn't want to be bothered by a conscience that keeps reminding her that the guy's money is better off supporting his business. When it became apparent that Tom couldn't even afford to buy me breakfast at his hotel the morning after, I had to end it because it was pitiful. I could feel The Inner Slut cringing, deeper and deeper inside.

How's this: we sit at the breakfast table, with me nursing a cup of coffee. He asks me if I wanted anything from the buffet and I decline. So he goes to the buffet and eats a breakfast fit for four, perhaps to tide him over till dinner time as it was already ten in the morning, anyway. I sat there, feeling sorry for this guy. Reality hits. It's not working anymore. I'm in it for the fantasy, and reality bites me in the ass? Game over, folks. Time to go.