Our kink is probably not a standard one. Or maybe I’m wrong. After all, most people put something on their heads now and then, don’t they? Well, I like hats—all kinds of hats—and they are definitely at the centre of our kink. The first time I met Ridge I was wearing a two-gallon Stetson—an original Made In Texas beauty and very authentic.

I will never forget what he said to me. It was a glorious Autumn afternoon and I was sitting in Richmond park finishing my lunch break. I work around the corner for an estate agent and was daydreaming really when I heard a very deep voice behind me say,

“Howdy partner, mind if I join you?”

Looking up I saw Ridge. Well, I didn’t need to think twice. He was hot with a capital H. So I shimmied along the bench a little and patted the space beside me. He asked me where I got my hat from and we started chatting.

He invited me to his flat for dinner and requested I wear the Stetson. It turned out well. We ate and drank an extreme amount then he fucked me over the side of the Dallas-style sofa saying I was Sue Ellen and he was my JR. It was so raw and hot.

We pretty much became an item straight away. Working on the oil rigs means he is usually gone for one or two weeks at a time. On his return, he’d call me up and we’d arrange to meet.

“Wear a hat.”

Always his main request. But that was fine because I had a whole cupboard full.

I remember a really hot date when we met at a West End wine bar. I was wearing a slinky pencil skirt, tight jacket and a beret. His eyes nearly came out on stalks when he saw me. I was really pleased with myself. But not as chuffed as he was, trying out his pidgin French, as he slipped a hand along…