Settle down; this takes time. And dates back to the '60s.
I was living on Queensway with a retired call girl, as the profession was called then.
She'd introduced me to some fun activities; the second night we met she had me lying in the bath while she pissed all over me.
I had a big job with a firm on Park Street, Mayfair. She had got a straight job in Notting Hill
When I came home one day she asked me what I'd done. I said I had lunch in Mayfair with a girl I knew.
Immediately she said "You fucked, her didn't you?"
I denied it - because I hadn't. She kept pestering me. "Tell the truth. Admit it. I'll understand. You fucked her."
This exchange went on and on. The same conversation. Till eventually I said "Look if it makes you happy, I fucked her."
She immediately thumped me in the face, starting a nose bleed all over my brand new beautiful suede coat.
I ran out onto Queensway where we lived. She pursued me, trying to hit me again, but eventually gave up.
I came back to the flat, to get some clothes. She opened the door, stark naked, and came at me with a carving knife. I swung her round and there she was, locked out, naked.
This was the start of the end of our love affair, and not long after that I met a 17 year old Polish girl who gave me a dose - but that's another story.
The real problem in fact was caused by drugs. My excitable friend had been hooked on meth which doesn't do much for your emotional tranquillity.
Either way, I lost a beautiful coat - though that lady and I become friends again - but not until she had tried and failed to kill herself.