A 35-year-old married man, from Whitechapel in East London, has revealed that in December of last year he became embroiled in a steamy affair with himself which culminated in a series of sordid one-in-a-bed sex romps.
Lenny Irons, a motor vehicle technician, told The Whitechapel Whelk. “It all began one night shortly before Christmas. I came home from work to find a note from my wife telling me that her mum was unwell and that she’d gone to visit her for a few hours.
“I made myself a quick sandwich to tide me over and settled down to watch TV for a while. I was about to switch the set on when I caught sight of my reflection in the screen. It was then that I noticed how damnably attractive I was. I knew instantly, that no matter what, I had to make myself mine.
“Initially, I wanted to approach myself, to make the first move; but I felt shy and awkward, like a love-struck teenager. I just knew deep down that I was out of my league and probably wouldn’t even give myself a second glance.
“To my shame, I began to ply myself with alcohol. It was a desperate bid to summon up the courage to approach myself and to somehow get to know myself a little better. It was after my fifth or sixth drink that I finally made my move.
“I kept it pretty low key at first for fear of coming on too strong and maybe scaring myself off. I sidled over to myself and asked if I’d like a drink, To my delight I accepted.
“After some innocent small talk, I put on a Barry White record and asked myself if I’d like to dance. As I moved around the room with myself I could scarcely breath. My senses were on fire and I knew that there was only one way this could end.
“I gently put my own hand on my shoulder and slowly eased down my overalls until they were nestling around my hips. Before I knew it, I was rolling around with myself in front of a roaring log fire. It seemed like the most natural thing in the world.
“The following weeks were a heady mix of passion and guilt. I’d find excuses to stop work on a car so I could go to the toilet and romp with myself in one of the cubicles. I’d spend every spare moment with myself, exploring my body while kissing myself in the mirror.
“My marriage suffered badly and my wife began to ask questions after she spotted my hand prints on my buttocks as I got undressed for bed one night.
“I knew I had to end it for the sake of my own sanity and to save my marriage. I tried to break up with myself numerous times but it would always end with floods of tears, bitter recriminations and desperate pleas to give myself another chance.
“It finally ended one night when I caught myself watching inappropriate material on an adult TV channel. It was only then that I realised I just wasn’t worth it and that I could never be true.
“I’m over the worst now and my marriage is back on track; but even now, whenever I pass a mirror or catch a glimpse of myself in a shop window, I feel those old familiar stirrings and the memories of those magical nights spent in my own arms come flooding back.
“I’m just taking it one day at a time right now. I’m not taking my calls and have blocked myself on Facebook. My wife has suggested wearing boxing gloves in bed at night in case I’m tempted to stray and I’m going to take her advice.
“My advice to anyone out there tempted to fall in love with themselves is don’t go there. My naked lust for myself almost cost me my sanity and my marriage. So if you find yourself admiring the delicate curve of your own thigh or feel tempted to buy yourself a drink in a bar, just cover the mirror with a piece of sacking or go home and watch Match Of The Day”
Mr Irons has asked that his fee for this interview be donated in full to The Simon Cowell, If I Was Chocolate I’d Eat Myself Institute For Recovering Self-Abusers.