Well, the Sunday Times has done it again - not just one article on polyamory/sleeping around, but two! (MM reckons that now that The News of the World is no more, the ST are utilising a gap in the sunday morning "sex with your breakfast" scene. If it's in the Sunday Times (albeit the Style section, which gives it some cachet) then our lifestyle choice is becoming quite routine amongst the middle classes.
"The More the Merrier" examines the ethics behind polyamory, which is based on open and honest relationships between all involved parties and, "What it Feels Like to be the Other Woman" is an irritating self-involved piece from some woman who goes round finding married men on websites (oops, that sounds a bit like me). It's a pity my current tri-partite involvement reflects the "Other Woman" relationship model, rather than the "More the Merrier" one, but it's not for lack of trying. It's just that most people are not cool about their partners sleeping with others. Both Jim and Sam are happy to sleep with me, but neither would be happy for their women to sleep with someone else. Although Sam did at least try swinging when he was with his ex.
So, how ethical am I being, really? I am completely honest with MM - and we often discuss our relationship and sometimes we discuss the jealousy he occasionally feels about me sleeping with others. (Interestingly, he is just as often jealous because, being a woman, it's usually easier for me to get laid than it is for him -so it's not always possessiveness, just the far more prosaic "it's not fair"!) Nevertheless, I can't get away from the fact that the other women in my lovers' lives don't know and I do feel bad about that. Not bad enough to stop, though. The only way I can justify it is that both men were looking for an affair and if it hadn't been me, it would have been someone else. The other thing I have noticed as well is that for Jim, at least, he seems to be happier in his marriage than he was when I met him. He was talking about leaving her within the next year but now they are looking to move house together. I don't know whether seeing me has relieved some of the frustration and unhappiness he was feeling, but I do hope so.
All in all, things have settled down nicely for me - I see Jim and Sam alternately, usually one in one week and the other the week after. Affection is a big part of it for me and both are affectionate as well as good lovers. I like to hear about their lives and they hear about mine. I want them to have a nice time with me, and they want me to enjoy myself too. None of us are falling in love, but I hope that we are becoming friends as well as lovers. I know I'm a slut, but I like to think that, on the whole, I'm an ethical one.
*"The Ethical Slut" is a 1997 guide to "infinite sexual possibilities" by Dossie Easton and Janet Hardy. I must read it...
Sunday, 4 December 2011
Sunday, 27 November 2011
The Chandelier, the Sofa and the Avocado Bathroom
Having had a nice time with Lucky Jim, I turn my attentions to Sam, who has assured me that I won't get better than him. It's an intriguing promise, and I do wonder if he realises quite how many men he is up against (I'm not in triple figures yet, but approaching my half-century, and I haven't had to complain about poor performance very often). Unfortunately, before our intended date I wake up in the middle of the night from a nightmare where he has turned into an evil axe murderer and I am running for my life. As I lie there with my heart pounding, I wonder if my subconscious is trying to tell me to steer well clear of him, but then put it down to good old Catholic guilt warning me that I will be punished for trying to sleep with 3 men in the space of a week.
Nevertheless, after we meet in the same Ditchling pub again, and he suggests I follow him back to his place in my car, I make sure I get his address and text it to MM, just in case I end up being a bloody corpse somewhere in Sussex - at least he'll know where to start searching for the body. Once I'm in his house I watch for anything suspicious - the first being that the house looks like something out of the 1950s and he obviously doesn't live there, judging by the lack of furnishings, personal items, etc. Well, he has already told me he only stays over when he's working late...or "entertaining" (nice to know that in these economically strapped times "working late" can still mean a bit of illicit shagging). He doesn't double lock the door behind me, so I take that to be a good sign. Next he pours me a glass of chilled white wine and he has a beer - I watch him like a hawk and grab the wine off him before he can tip in some Rohypnol. Next we move into the sitting room (vast empty space, harsh lighting, with one ancient red velveteeen sofa and a pile of cartoon DVDs - sign of paedophilia?). I am wearing a short wraparound dress with stockings, suspenders and high heels (well, not vertiginously high because I had to drive..) and it doesn't take long before we are snogging passionately on the sofa and he has his hands working their way up to my stocking tops. I realise he isn't going to need any Rohypnol to get me into bed because I can't wait to get off the narrow, uncomfortable sofa and into somewhere with more flattering lighting. I'm worried I look like Camilla Parker-Bowles before the makeover (after the makeover would be bad enough...) and although I don't mind keeping my eyes shut when being passionately grappled with, I was having to keep them firmly shut to avoid the 400 watt bulbs in the overhead "chandelier" lasering my retinas. I love men, I really do, but how is it they are completely oblivious to their surroundings when getting a woman into bed?
Rather than ask for a pair of goggles (for me) and a blindlfold for him, I suggest we move to the bedroom and he leads me upstairs to a massive freezing cold bedroom, where the windows are wide open. Bloody hell, how am I supposed to get my kit off in sub-zero temperatures?! He apologises and shuts the windows - meanwhile I am shivering under the duvet refusing to take anything else off until he warms me up a bit. Which he does..... quite a lot, in fact. He has a very slow, gentle way of making love, which is really rather nice. In fact, we end up having sex for over 2 hours, with me coming 3 times, before he finally lets himself go and has a very long, satisfying, climax. Nice stuff! I have a lovely post-coital glow which lasts right up to when I have to go to the loo and find the nasty avocado bathroom - yes, honestly, it really was avocado. I didn't think anyone actually still had one - it should probably be listed. Being an intermittent shag, rather than a meaningful relationship, I don't have to worry about his taste in furnishings - but, still, I feel for any other women who may pass this way. Then he explains the house is due to be demolished and so nasty sofas, laser beam chandeliers and avocado bathrooms will all make way for a new development and earn him lots of dosh.
I make it home in one piece, and congratulate myself on finding 2 very nice men who are great in bed and just what I am looking for. And both of them seem keen to see me again. Being an upfront sort of girl, I have told both of them about the other - on the basis that it will make them more competitive and I will get more attention as a result. I know - it's appalling, manipulative behaviour, but it seems to work - they both want to see me next week - in fact, they are both edging to be first on the list. Now I have to ensure I share myself out fairly, as well as ensure MM doesn't miss out on his oats either. I know I'm being greedy,so could all this end up being more than I bargained for?
Nevertheless, after we meet in the same Ditchling pub again, and he suggests I follow him back to his place in my car, I make sure I get his address and text it to MM, just in case I end up being a bloody corpse somewhere in Sussex - at least he'll know where to start searching for the body. Once I'm in his house I watch for anything suspicious - the first being that the house looks like something out of the 1950s and he obviously doesn't live there, judging by the lack of furnishings, personal items, etc. Well, he has already told me he only stays over when he's working late...or "entertaining" (nice to know that in these economically strapped times "working late" can still mean a bit of illicit shagging). He doesn't double lock the door behind me, so I take that to be a good sign. Next he pours me a glass of chilled white wine and he has a beer - I watch him like a hawk and grab the wine off him before he can tip in some Rohypnol. Next we move into the sitting room (vast empty space, harsh lighting, with one ancient red velveteeen sofa and a pile of cartoon DVDs - sign of paedophilia?). I am wearing a short wraparound dress with stockings, suspenders and high heels (well, not vertiginously high because I had to drive..) and it doesn't take long before we are snogging passionately on the sofa and he has his hands working their way up to my stocking tops. I realise he isn't going to need any Rohypnol to get me into bed because I can't wait to get off the narrow, uncomfortable sofa and into somewhere with more flattering lighting. I'm worried I look like Camilla Parker-Bowles before the makeover (after the makeover would be bad enough...) and although I don't mind keeping my eyes shut when being passionately grappled with, I was having to keep them firmly shut to avoid the 400 watt bulbs in the overhead "chandelier" lasering my retinas. I love men, I really do, but how is it they are completely oblivious to their surroundings when getting a woman into bed?
Rather than ask for a pair of goggles (for me) and a blindlfold for him, I suggest we move to the bedroom and he leads me upstairs to a massive freezing cold bedroom, where the windows are wide open. Bloody hell, how am I supposed to get my kit off in sub-zero temperatures?! He apologises and shuts the windows - meanwhile I am shivering under the duvet refusing to take anything else off until he warms me up a bit. Which he does..... quite a lot, in fact. He has a very slow, gentle way of making love, which is really rather nice. In fact, we end up having sex for over 2 hours, with me coming 3 times, before he finally lets himself go and has a very long, satisfying, climax. Nice stuff! I have a lovely post-coital glow which lasts right up to when I have to go to the loo and find the nasty avocado bathroom - yes, honestly, it really was avocado. I didn't think anyone actually still had one - it should probably be listed. Being an intermittent shag, rather than a meaningful relationship, I don't have to worry about his taste in furnishings - but, still, I feel for any other women who may pass this way. Then he explains the house is due to be demolished and so nasty sofas, laser beam chandeliers and avocado bathrooms will all make way for a new development and earn him lots of dosh.
I make it home in one piece, and congratulate myself on finding 2 very nice men who are great in bed and just what I am looking for. And both of them seem keen to see me again. Being an upfront sort of girl, I have told both of them about the other - on the basis that it will make them more competitive and I will get more attention as a result. I know - it's appalling, manipulative behaviour, but it seems to work - they both want to see me next week - in fact, they are both edging to be first on the list. Now I have to ensure I share myself out fairly, as well as ensure MM doesn't miss out on his oats either. I know I'm being greedy,so could all this end up being more than I bargained for?
Wednesday, 16 November 2011
Lucky Jim and a Night at the Casino
I call him Lucky Jim because he seems to like a flutter and, from what he tells me anyway, seems to do quite well. So, a night out with him at the casino should be a bit of fun. MM isn't too happy about it, though. He's quite happy for me to have sex with whoever I like, but he's not so keen if I actually get on well enough with them to have a night out with sex not necessarily on the agenda. I sort of see where he's coming from but I could do with a night out with an attentive man, I've been working hard and need a break.
I decide that I may well end up wanting to have sex with him so I might as well dress for the part. It's a warm evening, so I'm not going to bother with stockings etc. I wear a silky, black wraparound dress that MM bought for me last Xmas. It flatters my figure and shows a flash of thigh if there's a gust of wind (always a likelihood in Brighton), and I think it's a good look for the casino with a pair of black strappy stilettoes. No knickers, which makes me feel a little kinky - especially with the ever-present danger of a big gust of wind.
We have arranged to meet at another Cricketers - the one in Brighton this time. The taxi drops me off just in time and I see him standing in the doorway. He looks surprisingly good in a sort of gangsterish sort of way. Better than I remembered him looking, anyway. We cosy up on one of the red plush benches and chat away. I feel good seeing him again and just feel really relaxed with him, like I've known him ages, rather than it being our second date. We head off to the King and I for a Thai meal and all through the meal I am aware of him looking at my cleavage when he thinks I can't see and at my legs when I get up. It really is a bloody good dress.
Eventually we make it into the casino and agree we'll each put in £20 and see how long it lasts us. He has a go at Blackjack but that's a bit hardcore for me - I just go on the Roulette. A lot of the time we are standing watching the poker tables and every time we stop and stand, his hands find their way onto one part of my body or another. At one point, he is stroking my arse through the thin fabric of my dress and then more or less has his hand between the top of my thighs from behind. God knows what the punters on the table behind us are seeing, but I hope it's not putting them off their game. Jim has quickly worked out I'm not wearing any knickers and he's having trouble keeping his hands from going all the way up my skirt. He's also having trouble walking. I have now realised that I actually fancy him quite a lot and my pussy is soaking wet, so walking is becoming increasingly uncomfortable for me too. When he whispers in my ear, "what do you want to do next?", I have no trouble saying "I want to go back to your hotel and go to bed with you". He agrees that's a good idea. Luckily, the hotel is about 20 paces away so we manage it without too much discomfort.
When we get to his room, I insist on making a cup of tea. Don't know why, really, it's probably a bit of a passion killer, but I think we are both feeling a little bit shy all of a sudden. He lies down on the bed and I go over to him and start kissing him. He slowly unties my dress and I take it off, followed by my bra. He caresses my nipples then starts licking them, which drives me crazy with desire. I undo his jeans and take his erect cock into my mouth and start to give him a blow job which he loves. Then he puts his hand onto my wet pussy and starts rubbing my clit. I am really turned on and it doesn't take long for me to come really hard against his hand. I am desperate to feel his cock inside me. I climb on top of him and guide him in. It feels great and I start to move up and down and then, suddenly, he comes! I can't believe it and neither can he - he is really embarassed and I am amazed. I think it's about 30 years since I experienced premature ejaculation and I am rather flattered. Don't know if that's the appropriate reaction, but I rather like the fact that he is so turned on by me that he couldn't hold it in. He has his hands over his eyes and won't look at me for about 5 mins, saying "god, I'm really sorry, that hasn't happenend since I was about 17.." I tell him I think it's great.
After a hug and a chat and a cup of tea, I say I'd better be getting home. He walks me to the taxi rank, apologising again, despite me saying there's no need, I had a great time. In the taxi on the way home, I am feeling rather smug that I made a man come before he was ready (fortunately, having managed to get one orgasm in already for myself) and, came out of the casino with £6 more than I went in with. So, all in all, Lucky BB.
I decide that I may well end up wanting to have sex with him so I might as well dress for the part. It's a warm evening, so I'm not going to bother with stockings etc. I wear a silky, black wraparound dress that MM bought for me last Xmas. It flatters my figure and shows a flash of thigh if there's a gust of wind (always a likelihood in Brighton), and I think it's a good look for the casino with a pair of black strappy stilettoes. No knickers, which makes me feel a little kinky - especially with the ever-present danger of a big gust of wind.
We have arranged to meet at another Cricketers - the one in Brighton this time. The taxi drops me off just in time and I see him standing in the doorway. He looks surprisingly good in a sort of gangsterish sort of way. Better than I remembered him looking, anyway. We cosy up on one of the red plush benches and chat away. I feel good seeing him again and just feel really relaxed with him, like I've known him ages, rather than it being our second date. We head off to the King and I for a Thai meal and all through the meal I am aware of him looking at my cleavage when he thinks I can't see and at my legs when I get up. It really is a bloody good dress.
Eventually we make it into the casino and agree we'll each put in £20 and see how long it lasts us. He has a go at Blackjack but that's a bit hardcore for me - I just go on the Roulette. A lot of the time we are standing watching the poker tables and every time we stop and stand, his hands find their way onto one part of my body or another. At one point, he is stroking my arse through the thin fabric of my dress and then more or less has his hand between the top of my thighs from behind. God knows what the punters on the table behind us are seeing, but I hope it's not putting them off their game. Jim has quickly worked out I'm not wearing any knickers and he's having trouble keeping his hands from going all the way up my skirt. He's also having trouble walking. I have now realised that I actually fancy him quite a lot and my pussy is soaking wet, so walking is becoming increasingly uncomfortable for me too. When he whispers in my ear, "what do you want to do next?", I have no trouble saying "I want to go back to your hotel and go to bed with you". He agrees that's a good idea. Luckily, the hotel is about 20 paces away so we manage it without too much discomfort.
When we get to his room, I insist on making a cup of tea. Don't know why, really, it's probably a bit of a passion killer, but I think we are both feeling a little bit shy all of a sudden. He lies down on the bed and I go over to him and start kissing him. He slowly unties my dress and I take it off, followed by my bra. He caresses my nipples then starts licking them, which drives me crazy with desire. I undo his jeans and take his erect cock into my mouth and start to give him a blow job which he loves. Then he puts his hand onto my wet pussy and starts rubbing my clit. I am really turned on and it doesn't take long for me to come really hard against his hand. I am desperate to feel his cock inside me. I climb on top of him and guide him in. It feels great and I start to move up and down and then, suddenly, he comes! I can't believe it and neither can he - he is really embarassed and I am amazed. I think it's about 30 years since I experienced premature ejaculation and I am rather flattered. Don't know if that's the appropriate reaction, but I rather like the fact that he is so turned on by me that he couldn't hold it in. He has his hands over his eyes and won't look at me for about 5 mins, saying "god, I'm really sorry, that hasn't happenend since I was about 17.." I tell him I think it's great.
After a hug and a chat and a cup of tea, I say I'd better be getting home. He walks me to the taxi rank, apologising again, despite me saying there's no need, I had a great time. In the taxi on the way home, I am feeling rather smug that I made a man come before he was ready (fortunately, having managed to get one orgasm in already for myself) and, came out of the casino with £6 more than I went in with. So, all in all, Lucky BB.
Saturday, 29 October 2011
Coming thick and fast
Men, that is, not orgasms. I realise it's 2 whole months since my last post, but that doesn't mean I've had another dry spell. It does mean that I have been rather busy - work has gone mad, MM has moved in with me (well, we thought 10 years together was a good sign) and both my sons have dropped out of uni/college and decided to lie around in bed all day (well, not the older one, he has actually got a job). So, the homestead is seeing rather a lot of male occupants while I'm out at work fighting bedbugs/cockroaches and other property-related problems. Still, I've managed to find time for a bit of illicit naughtiness - though god knows how, most of my friends have stopped talking to me because I haven't rung them back for weeks.
It seems obvious that Aussie Bloke has dumped me (par for the course..) but good old illicitencouters.com is still alive and buzzing. I decide that I've been too picky so far and that weeding blokes out on the basis of their photos and how witty they are on paper isn't necessarily the best way of finding a lover. So, I go for the bulk-buy option and basically agree to meet anyone who can string a sentence together and doesn't live too far from Brighton. So following Prep-Man, and ITMan, I meet, in quick succession, the following:
Well, 3 hours later and we're still gassing away like we are long lost mates. Jim is from up north and I feel instantly at home with him - I sometimes forget how different southern men are from those north of Watford Gap and I do sometimes really miss the open and direct men I used to take for granted. The trouble is, I still don't fancy him. So, when he asks me if I want to see him again, I realise I definitely do, I just don't know if I want to snog him. As I'm in an open and direct frame of mind, I tell him this. He is a bit gutted. Actually, I am a bit gutted I don't fancy him, cos I really, really like him. After a bit of huffing and puffing from him about how women always say looks don't matter and it's personality that counts and here I am being all fussy about his looks, I eventually agree to meet up with him next week for a no strings evening of fun at the casino and see where it takes us (into debt, probably, knowing my luck.). Just to double check, I snog him on the way back to the car to see if there is any stirring in my loins. There isn't, but there is a definite stirring in his so I leave him to it and head off home. Don't want to be out too late because I have 2 more dates tomorrow (well, I'm getting fed up with it all, so I'm doing one at lunch, one in the evening to get them out the way, then I'm giving up for good.)
Lunchtime date in Henfield pub was OK, he definitely thought he was in with a chance and looked quite amazed when I said no. Men are so sweetly egotistical it's quite funny. But I am feeling a bit guilty about saying no to so many nice men, maybe there's a better way of doing it, but I don't know how. I am a bit more hopeful about my evening date with Sam, the Surveyor, because we have had ongoing flirty texts for quite a while now.
I meet Sam in a pub in Ditchling (could write a pub guide with all this dating) and I like what I see straightaway. He is tall and well-built, with a big smile and a big hug. I feel instantly at home with him and we get on really well. So well, that we start chatting about the website and what a good idea it is. I see out of the corner of my eye that the guy on the next table keeps looking over at us and I remember I am supposed to be discreet. I tell Sam we are being listened to and the guy gets up and goes outside. We fall about laughing and start chatting about something else. Well, you could have knocked me down with a feather - this guy comes back in and comes over to us and says "I do hope you don't think I was eavesdropping, but I couldn't help but overhear some of your conversation and, well, I'm quite interested in this website you were talking about, and I wonder if you would be good enough to let me have the web address?" I go bright red, but being the obliging sort, write the address down for him on a beer mat and he heads off - straight home to his laptop, no doubt. Sam is killing himself laughing and I am apologising, saying "I'm sorry, that was probably my fault, I can get a bit loud, I'm not being very good at being discreet". Fortunately, he seems to think it's hilarious, which is a relief (Henry, take note...). Anway, IE probably have me to thank for another customer in East Sussex.
After another drink Sam and I decide to go. We have established that we would both like to see each other again. I am looking forward to a nice snog in the car park. He holds my hand on the way there and then, yes, we have a great snog. AT LAST someone I fancy. In fact, I actually say that out loud which surprises Sam - he can't believe I am so picky that I have had 8 dates in a row and he is the only one I fancied (or maybe he was being genuinely modest - nah, that theory goes straight out the window when he tells me I won't get better than him!!!!).
At least the week has ended well. Lucky Jim and Sam the Man are on the final shortlist.
It seems obvious that Aussie Bloke has dumped me (par for the course..) but good old illicitencouters.com is still alive and buzzing. I decide that I've been too picky so far and that weeding blokes out on the basis of their photos and how witty they are on paper isn't necessarily the best way of finding a lover. So, I go for the bulk-buy option and basically agree to meet anyone who can string a sentence together and doesn't live too far from Brighton. So following Prep-Man, and ITMan, I meet, in quick succession, the following:
- an accountant (monosyllabic)
- a dentist (uncannily like my ex-father-in-law)
- a food-stylist (just no)
- a hygiene product salesman (strangely, maybe..)
- a print consultant (no, I didn't know they existed, either)
- a surveyor (thank god, at last, YES!)
Well, 3 hours later and we're still gassing away like we are long lost mates. Jim is from up north and I feel instantly at home with him - I sometimes forget how different southern men are from those north of Watford Gap and I do sometimes really miss the open and direct men I used to take for granted. The trouble is, I still don't fancy him. So, when he asks me if I want to see him again, I realise I definitely do, I just don't know if I want to snog him. As I'm in an open and direct frame of mind, I tell him this. He is a bit gutted. Actually, I am a bit gutted I don't fancy him, cos I really, really like him. After a bit of huffing and puffing from him about how women always say looks don't matter and it's personality that counts and here I am being all fussy about his looks, I eventually agree to meet up with him next week for a no strings evening of fun at the casino and see where it takes us (into debt, probably, knowing my luck.). Just to double check, I snog him on the way back to the car to see if there is any stirring in my loins. There isn't, but there is a definite stirring in his so I leave him to it and head off home. Don't want to be out too late because I have 2 more dates tomorrow (well, I'm getting fed up with it all, so I'm doing one at lunch, one in the evening to get them out the way, then I'm giving up for good.)
Lunchtime date in Henfield pub was OK, he definitely thought he was in with a chance and looked quite amazed when I said no. Men are so sweetly egotistical it's quite funny. But I am feeling a bit guilty about saying no to so many nice men, maybe there's a better way of doing it, but I don't know how. I am a bit more hopeful about my evening date with Sam, the Surveyor, because we have had ongoing flirty texts for quite a while now.
I meet Sam in a pub in Ditchling (could write a pub guide with all this dating) and I like what I see straightaway. He is tall and well-built, with a big smile and a big hug. I feel instantly at home with him and we get on really well. So well, that we start chatting about the website and what a good idea it is. I see out of the corner of my eye that the guy on the next table keeps looking over at us and I remember I am supposed to be discreet. I tell Sam we are being listened to and the guy gets up and goes outside. We fall about laughing and start chatting about something else. Well, you could have knocked me down with a feather - this guy comes back in and comes over to us and says "I do hope you don't think I was eavesdropping, but I couldn't help but overhear some of your conversation and, well, I'm quite interested in this website you were talking about, and I wonder if you would be good enough to let me have the web address?" I go bright red, but being the obliging sort, write the address down for him on a beer mat and he heads off - straight home to his laptop, no doubt. Sam is killing himself laughing and I am apologising, saying "I'm sorry, that was probably my fault, I can get a bit loud, I'm not being very good at being discreet". Fortunately, he seems to think it's hilarious, which is a relief (Henry, take note...). Anway, IE probably have me to thank for another customer in East Sussex.
After another drink Sam and I decide to go. We have established that we would both like to see each other again. I am looking forward to a nice snog in the car park. He holds my hand on the way there and then, yes, we have a great snog. AT LAST someone I fancy. In fact, I actually say that out loud which surprises Sam - he can't believe I am so picky that I have had 8 dates in a row and he is the only one I fancied (or maybe he was being genuinely modest - nah, that theory goes straight out the window when he tells me I won't get better than him!!!!).
At least the week has ended well. Lucky Jim and Sam the Man are on the final shortlist.
Sunday, 28 August 2011
All Clear
Aussie Bloke carries on texting me for a few days after our last meet up but, within minutes of the wife getting back from her trip, he stops. I send a few texts over the following week and he always replies, but the momentum has gone and, having gone from at least 5 or 6 texts a day from him, I am down to virtually none. I suppose it's to be expected but, still, it would have been nice to be prepared. I send him a text at the end of the week saying "you are a bit quiet with me these days, do you still want to keep in touch?". I get back "yeah, sorry, been a bit hectic since they got back" which isn't a resoundingly positive response so I decide to leave him to it for a few weeks. Maybe we'll see each other again at some point, or maybe it was just a "while the wife is away" fling.
Anyway, all is not lost because, out of the blue, I get a text from Sexinsussex, asking how I am. I am excited that he might finally be out of the dog house and be able to meet up again. In fact, like a Pavlovian response, I start getting moist down below as soon as we start texting back and forth. Text chemistry is a funny thing - there was hardly any with Aussie Bloke, but loads in person. Sexinsussex has it both ways. Compare "Hi, what u up to?" (AB) with "would be nice to have my hard cock inside you" (SiS) and you'll see why I start salivating when I hear from SiS. Unfortunately, he is still "being watched like a hawk" so doesn't feel able to meet up again just yet. Am hoping he manages something soon though - after two blow jobs and a hand wank (for me) I want the full monty with him at some point.
Also out of the blue, I get a phone call from Mr EPC asking if I want to meet for lunch. Now, that is a surprise - 4 months after shagging me senseless he finally rings as if nothing ever happened. Luckily, he is the sort of person I can verbally abuse and make laugh at the same time, so we end up chatting for a while and agree to get together the following week.
Meanwhile, I have been back on IE chatting away to various chaps. There are certainly a few fruit cakes on board. Read this charming exchange with Pandects...
Unfortunately, it is now holiday season and everyone seems to be going away, so IE is a bit bereft of talent. Another problem is that the Sunday Times has just had an article featuring IE, so the place is awash with the type of man who reads the Sunday Times. Now, I have nothing against Sunday Times readers, I read it myself. I suppose I am politically more inclined to read The Observer, I just find it a bit boring. Much better to read about how the underclass are tearing the country to shreds and we are all being overrun with immigrants while doing an excellent job in Afghanistan, than it is to read a load of mealy mouthed do-gooders blaming the riots on bankers - even if I am more inclined to agree with the latter. Anyway, when it comes to bonking on the side, I would rather go for a Sun reader and they all seem to be on holiday.
Hence I find myself on a Thursday evening in a seedy pub in Brighton (because he is less likely to bump into anyone he knows there) with a deputy head from a prep school. Followed by lunch the next day with a top IT consultant who has a degree in Maths from Cambridge. Both lovely chaps - PrepMan being quite fanciable I guess (but not to me) and the IT Man being very witty and good company but completely unfanciable. There's no getting away from it, to get me wet quickly you have to work with your hands.
So, all in all, my diary is back to being clear of bookings. Which is a shame, because I finally get the all clear from the clap clinic and am raring to go again...
Anyway, all is not lost because, out of the blue, I get a text from Sexinsussex, asking how I am. I am excited that he might finally be out of the dog house and be able to meet up again. In fact, like a Pavlovian response, I start getting moist down below as soon as we start texting back and forth. Text chemistry is a funny thing - there was hardly any with Aussie Bloke, but loads in person. Sexinsussex has it both ways. Compare "Hi, what u up to?" (AB) with "would be nice to have my hard cock inside you" (SiS) and you'll see why I start salivating when I hear from SiS. Unfortunately, he is still "being watched like a hawk" so doesn't feel able to meet up again just yet. Am hoping he manages something soon though - after two blow jobs and a hand wank (for me) I want the full monty with him at some point.
Also out of the blue, I get a phone call from Mr EPC asking if I want to meet for lunch. Now, that is a surprise - 4 months after shagging me senseless he finally rings as if nothing ever happened. Luckily, he is the sort of person I can verbally abuse and make laugh at the same time, so we end up chatting for a while and agree to get together the following week.
Meanwhile, I have been back on IE chatting away to various chaps. There are certainly a few fruit cakes on board. Read this charming exchange with Pandects...
(Him) "That's the main problem. Because the women don't pay, they just dabble. The whole thing is so distorted. Not sure why I bother with it. The last woman I met was telling me all the things she was going to do with me. When we met, she bottled it completely. Pathetic."Then, the following exchange with Cinnamon Toast:
(Me) "Maybe she just didn't fancy you in person? It happens, the chemistry has to be right. Don't get bitter - I know a couple of men on here who are doing OK, so maybe lighten up a bit!"
(Him) "Fuck off"
(Him) Am I your type, yes or no? It would be presumptuous to be too prescriptive. It would be wonderful if you had an optimistic outlook though. Together we could then take down the collective trousers of Misfortune and Pessimism, damn their respective eyes, and warm their heels from here to Putney Bridge, stopping off for refreshment on the way. Hurrah ! If you like what you read please mail me, and we can chat some more.
(Me) Liked the profile - very funny! Shame Nottingham is so far away, Been in the midlands for long? (I assume not, as you still sound quite chirpy and cheerful.)
(Him) I'm 50 quid an hour. And I don't do kissing. Or anal.
(Me) sounds very cheap - I get £130 an hour, which would leave you in debt I'm afraid. And you'd have to add in the travel costs, as I don't bother leaving the balmy south coast.
(Him) Do you take cheques ?
(Me) Certainly not! The sort of low life prepared to pay me £130 for an hour of ho-hum sex is likely to ensure funds have mysteriously disappeared from his account by the time the cheque attempts to clear.
(Him) Been there before, eh, pet ?I'm still not entirely sure he wasn't joking...
Unfortunately, it is now holiday season and everyone seems to be going away, so IE is a bit bereft of talent. Another problem is that the Sunday Times has just had an article featuring IE, so the place is awash with the type of man who reads the Sunday Times. Now, I have nothing against Sunday Times readers, I read it myself. I suppose I am politically more inclined to read The Observer, I just find it a bit boring. Much better to read about how the underclass are tearing the country to shreds and we are all being overrun with immigrants while doing an excellent job in Afghanistan, than it is to read a load of mealy mouthed do-gooders blaming the riots on bankers - even if I am more inclined to agree with the latter. Anyway, when it comes to bonking on the side, I would rather go for a Sun reader and they all seem to be on holiday.
Hence I find myself on a Thursday evening in a seedy pub in Brighton (because he is less likely to bump into anyone he knows there) with a deputy head from a prep school. Followed by lunch the next day with a top IT consultant who has a degree in Maths from Cambridge. Both lovely chaps - PrepMan being quite fanciable I guess (but not to me) and the IT Man being very witty and good company but completely unfanciable. There's no getting away from it, to get me wet quickly you have to work with your hands.
So, all in all, my diary is back to being clear of bookings. Which is a shame, because I finally get the all clear from the clap clinic and am raring to go again...
Saturday, 20 August 2011
Down Under Again
Did I really think it was a good idea to go and see Aussie Bloke again, the day after spending the afternoon in the clap clinic? No, I didn't really, especially as I also had an ear infection and was having a tough week sitting in a room with a load of system developers. Now, I like IT people. Yes, they are a bit geeky, but they are also usually quite funny and, it goes without saying, pretty bright. I don't normally have to mix much with them but, for various reasons, I have got myself involved in a major IT project with my ex-employers. I'm not normally concerned about my ability to keep up with intellectual heavyweights - MM is pretty heavyweight in the intellect department and I run rings round him on a day-to-day basis. (He will take great exception to this, but it's true - I just can't equal him when it comes to depth and breadth of knowledge.) But sitting in a room with a load of IT people discussing the finer points of interfaces is a bit of a stretch from my normal work, which doesn't require a great deal of mental agility. It's stimulating in a way - I just feel my brain has been doing gymnastics by the end of the day.
What with that, and the ear infection and the simmering resentment left over from the clap clinic, having sex probably isn't the best idea. Still, I hate being let down at the last minute (see The Plumber for confirmation of how badly I take that sort of thing) so I decide to go. Once I've been able to get home and have a small glass of whisky in the bath, I'm feeling a bit better anyway. I text AB to say I'm going to be half an hour later than planned and he texts back to say he's starving and can he eat without me. Well, I'm starving too and don't have time to eat anything, but I'm always happy to lose a couple of pounds at short notice so I say yes and resign myself to an evening of hunger pangs - hopefully they will get drowned out by the sounds of passionate lovemaking.
I park round the corner from his house and he comes to get me in his car. I still fancy him (phew!) and he is very appreciative of my fishnet stockings and starts running his hand up my leg almost before I've got in the car. I'm glad he likes the fishnet stockings because I did, in fact, have a bit of a dilemma about my underwear this evening. Mostly because MM has confiscated my lingerie. Well, confiscated is probably an exaggeration - let's just say he has a possessive streak when it comes to my underwear. I don't know what that says about him, and I'm not complaining, but still, it does mean that I have to occasionally negotiate over my rights to use certain items of underwear with other men. His first proposal was that I was only allowed to wear lingerie I had bought for myself. Well, that's all very well, but I don't buy much for myself, mainly because he buys so much for me. After a bit of reasoned arguing, we settled on me also being able to use any lingerie he had bought for me as a present, leaving only those items (the majority) that he had bought for his own use. No, I don't mean he likes to parade around the house wearing it, but he does buy a large amount of stuff I wouldn't been seen dead in, unless I died at a swinging party. Therefore, in both our minds, it is his lingerie and shouldn't be used for other men. (I try not to muse too long over the inconsistency of him being possessive about my lingerie and not about me, but I'm sure someone somewhere could write a thesis on it.) Anyway, in order for me to turn up for a tryst with AB in a different set of underwear to last time, I had to nip round to MM's house on my way home from work and negotiate hard to get my favourite black and red suspender belt. I was safe with the fishnet stockings because (a) I bought them myself and (b) MM isn't really into fishnets.
When I get into AB's house, I find he's delayed dinner for me after all and there are 2 barbequed (what else?) pork chops being kept warm in the oven and some rather overdone vegetables and new potatoes. I am quite overwhelmed momentarily and kiss him hungrily before remembering that I am also hungry for food so I sit down and get stuck in to my meat and 2 veg. I've completely forgotten to bring wine, but luckily he has some chilled chardonnay in the fridge (leftover from some other "entertaining" no doubt) so I get stuck into that as well. Now, I like my food and I love cooking which can mean I am rather judgemental about what is cooked for me (see MM for confirmation of that) but this guy certainly knows how to barbeque a pork chop - it is really nice. Can't say much for the veg though, but I do my best - it helps that I'm starving.
All in all, things are very domesticated and cosy, we chat like an old married couple, he puts away the dishes and I think "oooh what I really fancy now is to sit on the sofa with a nice cup of tea and watch Desperate Housewives, then climb into bed and go to sleep being hugged by this big hairy man". The trouble is, what I am really there for ostensibly is to have a night of unbridled passion and multiple orgasms. I don't think it's just me, either. He's yawning quite a bit and I don't think it's because I'm boring him cos we're still making each other laugh. Still, we both know what we're there for so we start kissing and fondling on the sofa and pretty soon the only things I'm wearing are my stockings and suspenders. I go down on him and he gets nice and hard. After a bit of shifting around on the sofa, we decide it's not really big enough and we'd be better off in bed. I head off towards where we were before but am then gently propelled in the opposite direction into another bedroom and quickly realise I have been demoted into, not just the spare bedroom (which I can see out of the corner of my eye), but the junk bedroom! i.e. the room where all the spare furniture they can't fit elsewhere into the house is put - it's like an antique storeroom, and the duvet has a nasty fishy smell which is quite offputting. Well, talk about a downgrade.... although I can understand why. His wife is back in a few days and he's probably already swept the main bedroom for stray hairs, earrings and suspicious stains. Don't know why we can't be in the spare room though, but still, I guess he has his reasons.
Anyway, we get down to it and it's nice, but it's not much like the last time. He's much gentler with me this time (basically, he has to be, I'm too worried I'm going to be wincing for weeks if he goes for it like before) but he also gets a bit floppy from time to time so I think he's pretty tired. (I know he's been out for the past 2 evenings, which I suspect is woman-related - not that I mind, but I do if it affects his bedroom performance with me!). Anyway, I have no complaints really - but I guess it is a bit of a come down after the amazing sex we had 2 weeks ago. We both fall asleep pretty soon afterwards and that's pretty much it. When I've stayed the night with other lovers I've usually ended up demanding more action in the early hours, but not this time. I'm really not in the mood for it, which is a shame - cos I'm not going to have him for a full 12 hours again once his wife is back. And he really does have a nice body - I stroke his chest a bit wistfully before waking him up at 7 to say I'm going to have to go.
We have a bit of a cuddle then he gets up to make the tea and I go and have a shower. We have a chat and a nice long snog before I head off home. First song on the radio after I get in the car is Men at Work - "Down Under"! ha ha - very apt.
What with that, and the ear infection and the simmering resentment left over from the clap clinic, having sex probably isn't the best idea. Still, I hate being let down at the last minute (see The Plumber for confirmation of how badly I take that sort of thing) so I decide to go. Once I've been able to get home and have a small glass of whisky in the bath, I'm feeling a bit better anyway. I text AB to say I'm going to be half an hour later than planned and he texts back to say he's starving and can he eat without me. Well, I'm starving too and don't have time to eat anything, but I'm always happy to lose a couple of pounds at short notice so I say yes and resign myself to an evening of hunger pangs - hopefully they will get drowned out by the sounds of passionate lovemaking.
I park round the corner from his house and he comes to get me in his car. I still fancy him (phew!) and he is very appreciative of my fishnet stockings and starts running his hand up my leg almost before I've got in the car. I'm glad he likes the fishnet stockings because I did, in fact, have a bit of a dilemma about my underwear this evening. Mostly because MM has confiscated my lingerie. Well, confiscated is probably an exaggeration - let's just say he has a possessive streak when it comes to my underwear. I don't know what that says about him, and I'm not complaining, but still, it does mean that I have to occasionally negotiate over my rights to use certain items of underwear with other men. His first proposal was that I was only allowed to wear lingerie I had bought for myself. Well, that's all very well, but I don't buy much for myself, mainly because he buys so much for me. After a bit of reasoned arguing, we settled on me also being able to use any lingerie he had bought for me as a present, leaving only those items (the majority) that he had bought for his own use. No, I don't mean he likes to parade around the house wearing it, but he does buy a large amount of stuff I wouldn't been seen dead in, unless I died at a swinging party. Therefore, in both our minds, it is his lingerie and shouldn't be used for other men. (I try not to muse too long over the inconsistency of him being possessive about my lingerie and not about me, but I'm sure someone somewhere could write a thesis on it.) Anyway, in order for me to turn up for a tryst with AB in a different set of underwear to last time, I had to nip round to MM's house on my way home from work and negotiate hard to get my favourite black and red suspender belt. I was safe with the fishnet stockings because (a) I bought them myself and (b) MM isn't really into fishnets.
When I get into AB's house, I find he's delayed dinner for me after all and there are 2 barbequed (what else?) pork chops being kept warm in the oven and some rather overdone vegetables and new potatoes. I am quite overwhelmed momentarily and kiss him hungrily before remembering that I am also hungry for food so I sit down and get stuck in to my meat and 2 veg. I've completely forgotten to bring wine, but luckily he has some chilled chardonnay in the fridge (leftover from some other "entertaining" no doubt) so I get stuck into that as well. Now, I like my food and I love cooking which can mean I am rather judgemental about what is cooked for me (see MM for confirmation of that) but this guy certainly knows how to barbeque a pork chop - it is really nice. Can't say much for the veg though, but I do my best - it helps that I'm starving.
All in all, things are very domesticated and cosy, we chat like an old married couple, he puts away the dishes and I think "oooh what I really fancy now is to sit on the sofa with a nice cup of tea and watch Desperate Housewives, then climb into bed and go to sleep being hugged by this big hairy man". The trouble is, what I am really there for ostensibly is to have a night of unbridled passion and multiple orgasms. I don't think it's just me, either. He's yawning quite a bit and I don't think it's because I'm boring him cos we're still making each other laugh. Still, we both know what we're there for so we start kissing and fondling on the sofa and pretty soon the only things I'm wearing are my stockings and suspenders. I go down on him and he gets nice and hard. After a bit of shifting around on the sofa, we decide it's not really big enough and we'd be better off in bed. I head off towards where we were before but am then gently propelled in the opposite direction into another bedroom and quickly realise I have been demoted into, not just the spare bedroom (which I can see out of the corner of my eye), but the junk bedroom! i.e. the room where all the spare furniture they can't fit elsewhere into the house is put - it's like an antique storeroom, and the duvet has a nasty fishy smell which is quite offputting. Well, talk about a downgrade.... although I can understand why. His wife is back in a few days and he's probably already swept the main bedroom for stray hairs, earrings and suspicious stains. Don't know why we can't be in the spare room though, but still, I guess he has his reasons.
Anyway, we get down to it and it's nice, but it's not much like the last time. He's much gentler with me this time (basically, he has to be, I'm too worried I'm going to be wincing for weeks if he goes for it like before) but he also gets a bit floppy from time to time so I think he's pretty tired. (I know he's been out for the past 2 evenings, which I suspect is woman-related - not that I mind, but I do if it affects his bedroom performance with me!). Anyway, I have no complaints really - but I guess it is a bit of a come down after the amazing sex we had 2 weeks ago. We both fall asleep pretty soon afterwards and that's pretty much it. When I've stayed the night with other lovers I've usually ended up demanding more action in the early hours, but not this time. I'm really not in the mood for it, which is a shame - cos I'm not going to have him for a full 12 hours again once his wife is back. And he really does have a nice body - I stroke his chest a bit wistfully before waking him up at 7 to say I'm going to have to go.
We have a bit of a cuddle then he gets up to make the tea and I go and have a shower. We have a chat and a nice long snog before I head off home. First song on the radio after I get in the car is Men at Work - "Down Under"! ha ha - very apt.
Friday, 19 August 2011
Down the Clap Clinic
Yes, I know, it's a shocker isn't it? But before you go all poe-faced and disgusted on me, I do NORMALLY wear a condom when having random sex and there isn't any particular reason for me to think I might be coming down with something itchy, bumpy or scratchy - other than nearly 2 weeks after having sex with Aussie Bloke it is still hurting Down Under (ha ha - god, I'm funny). Anyway, I have to admit I have had sex in the past 6 months without a condom (yes, I know, it's far worse than adultery) - I am naming no names. In any case, it is more than 10 years since I've been to the clap clinic and, just to allay any nagging doubts, I decide to make an appointment and get my bits looked at.
Well, things have changed. 10 years ago, I had to sit in a large waiting room with hundreds of other people, surrounded by posters about AIDS and HIV and wait for what seemed like hours. What made the wait particularly embarrassing was that there was a bloke in there I recognised from a previous encounter. I had to think for a while to work out whether or not I had actually slept with him - I then remembered I hadn't, it was only a snog. It was my friend Ruby who had actually slept with him. But still, you know you have fallen a long way from the innocent convent girl your mother was so proud of when you are sitting in a clap clinic trying to remember if you've slept with the bloke in the chair opposite.
This time, it was much more civilised. The waiting room was more or less empty (obviously Brighton's sex life is much more responsible these days) and I didn't have to wait long. After about 10 minutes a 12-year old wearing a white coat came out and called my name. I followed the child into a room and she shut the door and introduced herself as Dr Speculum (no, I can't remember her real name). I resisted the urge to ask her where her mummy was and tell her a clap clinic wasn't really the place to be playing doctors and nurses and realised that I am now of the age where not only policeman look like children but doctors do too. I consoled myself with the fact that she had very small hands, so wasn't going to be hurting me too much on my sore bits when she stuck her hand up there later.
What then followed I can only describe as the modern equivalent of the Spanish Inquisition. This girl child asked about a million questions on my sex life - here is a sample:
She then caps it all off with a nice little homily about contraception:
Q "When was your last period?" A - "um about 3 weeks ago".
Q "so you had unprotected sex with your partner in the past 3 weeks?" A - "Yes".
Q "Are you using contraception"? A - "No".
Q "Aren't you concerned about pregnancy?" A - "No",
Q "Why?" Because I'm not, you daft tart. I am 48, my eggs are fried, my partner is sorted in that department, and, in any case, what does it have to do with why I'm here at the moment? For all you know, I might WANT to get pregnant at 48!
I am so annoyed and embarassed by all the intrusive questioning that I nearly walk out there and then. Anyway, luckily she moves quickly onto the main business, i.e. getting me up on the couch with my legs spread and her and a nurse with a torch and spatula thingy up my fanny. There's a bit of fannying around (ha ha, I know, corny..), while she whips that one out and replaces it with a longer one and eventually manages to get whatever she needs to scrape off my cervix and internal walls to send off to the labs. I briefly wonder if there is a porn film somewhere that finds this sort of thing erotic. Frankly, I am in such a bad mood after all the questioning and poking around that I decide never to have sex again.
I'll know whether or not I have something sinister in about 3 weeks.
Well, things have changed. 10 years ago, I had to sit in a large waiting room with hundreds of other people, surrounded by posters about AIDS and HIV and wait for what seemed like hours. What made the wait particularly embarrassing was that there was a bloke in there I recognised from a previous encounter. I had to think for a while to work out whether or not I had actually slept with him - I then remembered I hadn't, it was only a snog. It was my friend Ruby who had actually slept with him. But still, you know you have fallen a long way from the innocent convent girl your mother was so proud of when you are sitting in a clap clinic trying to remember if you've slept with the bloke in the chair opposite.
This time, it was much more civilised. The waiting room was more or less empty (obviously Brighton's sex life is much more responsible these days) and I didn't have to wait long. After about 10 minutes a 12-year old wearing a white coat came out and called my name. I followed the child into a room and she shut the door and introduced herself as Dr Speculum (no, I can't remember her real name). I resisted the urge to ask her where her mummy was and tell her a clap clinic wasn't really the place to be playing doctors and nurses and realised that I am now of the age where not only policeman look like children but doctors do too. I consoled myself with the fact that she had very small hands, so wasn't going to be hurting me too much on my sore bits when she stuck her hand up there later.
What then followed I can only describe as the modern equivalent of the Spanish Inquisition. This girl child asked about a million questions on my sex life - here is a sample:
- when did you last have sex (ok, I grant you, this one is probably relevant)?
- was it normal sex? (oh god, does oral sex count as normal?)
- have you had sex with a sex worker (I ask you, do I LOOK like someone who would go to a prostitute for sex - why don't you just ask if I AM a sex worker - that would be more likely)
- how many partners have you had in the past 6 months? (whatever I say is going to be the wrong answer to this girl who, I now notice, is wearing an engagement ring)
- did you have oral sex with them? (yes, I know middle aged women aren't supposed to do such disgusting things, but yes, I did, and I'm quite good at it, actually)
- did you have sex with a man (erm, doh, YES!)
- have you had sex with a foreigner? (does an Australian count as foreign, or do I only include people whose first language isn't English?)
She then caps it all off with a nice little homily about contraception:
Q "When was your last period?" A - "um about 3 weeks ago".
Q "so you had unprotected sex with your partner in the past 3 weeks?" A - "Yes".
Q "Are you using contraception"? A - "No".
Q "Aren't you concerned about pregnancy?" A - "No",
Q "Why?" Because I'm not, you daft tart. I am 48, my eggs are fried, my partner is sorted in that department, and, in any case, what does it have to do with why I'm here at the moment? For all you know, I might WANT to get pregnant at 48!
I am so annoyed and embarassed by all the intrusive questioning that I nearly walk out there and then. Anyway, luckily she moves quickly onto the main business, i.e. getting me up on the couch with my legs spread and her and a nurse with a torch and spatula thingy up my fanny. There's a bit of fannying around (ha ha, I know, corny..), while she whips that one out and replaces it with a longer one and eventually manages to get whatever she needs to scrape off my cervix and internal walls to send off to the labs. I briefly wonder if there is a porn film somewhere that finds this sort of thing erotic. Frankly, I am in such a bad mood after all the questioning and poking around that I decide never to have sex again.
I'll know whether or not I have something sinister in about 3 weeks.
Friday, 5 August 2011
Trouble Walking
I knew there was a downside to amazing, blow-your-socks-off sex. Having moaned for 6 months about a lack of action in the bedroom department, I hesitate to complain about the fact that a full week after seeing Aussie Bloke my cervix is still grumbling about the persistent battering it got for a couple of hours. Actually, I'm not really complaining, I'm just wondering whether it will be back in full working order for when I next meet him. MM has already put in a formal complaint that I need to be treated a little more gently next time as he has noticed me wincing when he approaches me with a fully erect member and a glint in his eye.
So, as you have gathered, nothing disastrous happens this time and my meeting with AB goes amazingly well. I park round the corner from his house and he comes to get me in his car. Fortunately, I still think he is gorgeous. I have on the full regalia of high heels, low cut dress, stockings and suspenders. (The effect was only partially ruined by getting a ladder in one of the stockings just as I was leaving my house. ) We go for a drink in a bar and chat away for a bit while waiting for the chinese takeaway to be prepared (cooking obviously isn't his strong point). It is very touchy feely right from the off and I feel completely relaxed with him as well as full of eager anticipation for what's going to happen later. When we get back to his place I am given a tour of the downstairs areas (of the house, not his bits!!!) and then we have our chinese. Finally, I am given a tour of the upstairs half of the house and, surprise surprise, we end up in the bedroom.
The next couple of hours were a bit of a blur but, as I have been told to put in a few more sexual details in this blog, I will get down as much as I can remember. We start kissing and pretty soon after that I start unzipping his jeans. I draw out his semi-erect cock, which is rapidly stiffening, and stroke it up and down to appreciative moans from AB. My dress had been selected with the aim of being easily removed, so I undo the wrap around tie and let it fall open in front of him. More appreciative noises.
I'm afraid I can't remember the order everything comes in after that, but here's a list that can be re-arranged in any way that gives you the most pleasure:
We are meeting again next Wednesday - I'm not sure how my internal organs are going to cope.
*my breasts are very small, his hands are very big, so I am very pleased with this comment.
So, as you have gathered, nothing disastrous happens this time and my meeting with AB goes amazingly well. I park round the corner from his house and he comes to get me in his car. Fortunately, I still think he is gorgeous. I have on the full regalia of high heels, low cut dress, stockings and suspenders. (The effect was only partially ruined by getting a ladder in one of the stockings just as I was leaving my house. ) We go for a drink in a bar and chat away for a bit while waiting for the chinese takeaway to be prepared (cooking obviously isn't his strong point). It is very touchy feely right from the off and I feel completely relaxed with him as well as full of eager anticipation for what's going to happen later. When we get back to his place I am given a tour of the downstairs areas (of the house, not his bits!!!) and then we have our chinese. Finally, I am given a tour of the upstairs half of the house and, surprise surprise, we end up in the bedroom.
The next couple of hours were a bit of a blur but, as I have been told to put in a few more sexual details in this blog, I will get down as much as I can remember. We start kissing and pretty soon after that I start unzipping his jeans. I draw out his semi-erect cock, which is rapidly stiffening, and stroke it up and down to appreciative moans from AB. My dress had been selected with the aim of being easily removed, so I undo the wrap around tie and let it fall open in front of him. More appreciative noises.
I'm afraid I can't remember the order everything comes in after that, but here's a list that can be re-arranged in any way that gives you the most pleasure:
- he asks me what really turns me on and I say being licked and being done from behind.
- he licks me expertly and I have Orgasm No 1
- I am on top of him rubbing his cock on my clitoris and we have what I call "the condom moment" i.e. when proceedings have to be halted while the practicalities are discussed and sorted out
- He is thrusting into me from behind and I am moaning "fuck me harder"
- I have Orgasm No 2
- I am on top again and he is sucking my tits.
- We are doing it with me on top, facing away from him, so he can see right up my bum. Normally I feel a bit shy in this position, but I am loving it all so much, I just don't care about the fact he's looking up my arsehole, in fact I quite like it.
- He fucks me so hard from behind that I am feeling a pain deep inside, but I still want him to carry on - but, in the end, I have to tell him to do it slowly and gently for a while.
- He comes.
- I tell him I probably won't be able to walk tomorrow.
- We cuddle and stroke each other for a while. I admire his hairy rug of a chest which makes me feel like I'm in bed with a bear and he admires my breasts, which apparently are the perfect handful*.
We are meeting again next Wednesday - I'm not sure how my internal organs are going to cope.
*my breasts are very small, his hands are very big, so I am very pleased with this comment.
Tuesday, 26 July 2011
Aussie Rules
Things have been a bit quiet on the sex front recently. Sometimes life gets in the way and, what with holidays as well, I haven't really had time to nurture any new relationships on IE. Apart from one bloke, anyway. An Aussie builder whose photo wasn't particularly inspiring and whose texts are sparse, to say the least. Still, that's Aussies for you. My experience of Aussie blokes is as follows:
Mental note 1987: do not date Australians - a guideline I follow religiously for 24 years (helped by the fact that, back in the UK, I don't meet any).
2011: Still, it's nice getting texts, even if they are sparse ones, so I agree to meet Aussie bloke for a drink. He suggests daytime, I suggest an evening. He says, "Ok, but only if you come to me". Seeing as he lives 20 miles away, I think it is only fair to meet halfway at least - call me demanding, but I thought blokes were supposed to do the running at least until they get you into bed. So I reply, "why?". He says "so I can have a drink".
Now, bearing in mind points 1-5 above, taking particular note of point 1, you can understand why I then decided to ignore him. In fact, even without points 1-5 above, it is decidedly unflattering to be told someone is only prepared to meet you if they have to make no effort to get there and can get blind drunk as well.
AB finally notices I'm ignoring his increasingly plaintive texts and asks what he did to upset me. I graciously explain and he says "oh don't worry, I'll come to you and just get a taxi". Great! That's OK then - cos I'm dead keen on dating alcoholics. He says I am misunderstanding him and it's all coming out wrong. Finally, I agree to meet him for a non-committal, non-alcoholic coffee the next time he is in Brighton (but only cos he's a builder and he might be useful).
Having made A Stand, I relax and we start texting as before. Funnily enough, I seem to enjoy them a bit more and am even having a nice little fantasy on Sunday morning about meeting up with him in bed. But I def don't fancy him so time I got back on IE and find someone else, I think. However, suddenly, after getting back from work on Monday evening, I find I somehow seem to have arranged to meet AB in Steyning for a drink at 8.30pm. How did that happen? Bugger, now I have to go and wash my hair, slap on some make up etc. And I suppose I will have to make an effort and dress a bit sexy cos, even though I'm not going to fancy him, I'd like him to fancy me.
Having spent longer than I should have done deciding what shoes to wear, I am running a bit late, but I make it into the pub about 8.40 - and see him sitting near the bar and he is........ oh my god....... gorgeous. I am so pleasantly surprised that I am almost in shock for a few minutes and have no idea what I say for probably the first 15 minutes. Luckily we get on really well as the evening goes on, and he is full of funny stories - trouble is, I keep being distracted by what a sexy smile he has and my eyes start glazing over as I imagine being in bed with him. Do blokes have this problem, I wonder? Is that why they don't appear to be listening when you tell them what you think is a riveting bit of information? Is it because they are actually thinking about what it would be like to get all your clothes off? Because that was definitely what I kept thinking with AB. I am very definitely head over heels in Lust and I want to go to bed with this man very soon.....
Unfortunately, the evening takes a slight downward turn when he starts going on about all the other women he has been chatting to and it then turns out that he has only been able to see me tonight because another woman blew him out. Hmmmmm, don't know if all that is supposed to make me keener but it has the opposite effect and I decide it's time I went home. I mean, it's not enough to put me off completely, but no one wants to feel that they are one of many options, even if they are. Still, on the plus side, at least he's up front and at least he's not going to mind if I shag other blokes as well.
He walks me back to my car and we have a good night snog. Several good night snogs. In fact, the snogging is so nice I nearly say yes when he asks if I want to go back to his house with him. I seriously want to get his kit off. His body feels really nice under his shirt and his jeans and I am in danger of creating a public nuisance in Steyning High Street if I carry on enjoying myself this much. We agree to meet on Thursday evening for some full on enjoyment somewhere more private. Luckily he has somewhere to go (my flat is still in disrepair).
So, knowing my luck, one of the following will happen before Thursday:
*bitch girlfriend ended up marrying this guy and they had 4 kids and are still together, so I suppose it was the path of true love, etc etc....
- Brisbane, 1986, bloke rescues me from flat I'm stuck in (blonde moment) and asks me out for a drink. He turns up so pissed he starts to drive me down the wrong side of a dual carriageway. I demand to be taken home.
- Brisbane, 1986, start seeing a bloke who has recently been dumped by bitch girlfriend. He is very grateful I want to sleep with him. We go camping with a load of his mates. Bitch girlfriend hears about me and gets jealous and turns up to reclaim him. I am unceremoniously kicked out of the tent and have to sleep in another couple's tent, while he reunites with bitch girlfriend.*
- Sydney, 1987, for some inexplicable reason I find I am dating a real-life, full-time Moonie and I hadn't noticed. Well, it might have been that tribe who go round wearing orange all the time - a cult anyway. I must have been having a lonely moment. Long distance round the world travel can have that effect. Luckily, I escape before being brainwashed.
- Sydney, 1987, second date with a bloke, he confesses he is currently on bail for rape. Did he do it, I ask? Erm, well, it all depends on how you define rape, apparently. She said no in the middle of a full-on bondage session, and he carried on. Well, I can see where there might have been a misunderstanding, but still.....
- Sydney, 1987, having a very nice time with a cameraman - he gives great oral sex. Meet his mate, mate hates me, I am dumped.
Mental note 1987: do not date Australians - a guideline I follow religiously for 24 years (helped by the fact that, back in the UK, I don't meet any).
2011: Still, it's nice getting texts, even if they are sparse ones, so I agree to meet Aussie bloke for a drink. He suggests daytime, I suggest an evening. He says, "Ok, but only if you come to me". Seeing as he lives 20 miles away, I think it is only fair to meet halfway at least - call me demanding, but I thought blokes were supposed to do the running at least until they get you into bed. So I reply, "why?". He says "so I can have a drink".
Now, bearing in mind points 1-5 above, taking particular note of point 1, you can understand why I then decided to ignore him. In fact, even without points 1-5 above, it is decidedly unflattering to be told someone is only prepared to meet you if they have to make no effort to get there and can get blind drunk as well.
AB finally notices I'm ignoring his increasingly plaintive texts and asks what he did to upset me. I graciously explain and he says "oh don't worry, I'll come to you and just get a taxi". Great! That's OK then - cos I'm dead keen on dating alcoholics. He says I am misunderstanding him and it's all coming out wrong. Finally, I agree to meet him for a non-committal, non-alcoholic coffee the next time he is in Brighton (but only cos he's a builder and he might be useful).
Having made A Stand, I relax and we start texting as before. Funnily enough, I seem to enjoy them a bit more and am even having a nice little fantasy on Sunday morning about meeting up with him in bed. But I def don't fancy him so time I got back on IE and find someone else, I think. However, suddenly, after getting back from work on Monday evening, I find I somehow seem to have arranged to meet AB in Steyning for a drink at 8.30pm. How did that happen? Bugger, now I have to go and wash my hair, slap on some make up etc. And I suppose I will have to make an effort and dress a bit sexy cos, even though I'm not going to fancy him, I'd like him to fancy me.
Having spent longer than I should have done deciding what shoes to wear, I am running a bit late, but I make it into the pub about 8.40 - and see him sitting near the bar and he is........ oh my god....... gorgeous. I am so pleasantly surprised that I am almost in shock for a few minutes and have no idea what I say for probably the first 15 minutes. Luckily we get on really well as the evening goes on, and he is full of funny stories - trouble is, I keep being distracted by what a sexy smile he has and my eyes start glazing over as I imagine being in bed with him. Do blokes have this problem, I wonder? Is that why they don't appear to be listening when you tell them what you think is a riveting bit of information? Is it because they are actually thinking about what it would be like to get all your clothes off? Because that was definitely what I kept thinking with AB. I am very definitely head over heels in Lust and I want to go to bed with this man very soon.....
Unfortunately, the evening takes a slight downward turn when he starts going on about all the other women he has been chatting to and it then turns out that he has only been able to see me tonight because another woman blew him out. Hmmmmm, don't know if all that is supposed to make me keener but it has the opposite effect and I decide it's time I went home. I mean, it's not enough to put me off completely, but no one wants to feel that they are one of many options, even if they are. Still, on the plus side, at least he's up front and at least he's not going to mind if I shag other blokes as well.
He walks me back to my car and we have a good night snog. Several good night snogs. In fact, the snogging is so nice I nearly say yes when he asks if I want to go back to his house with him. I seriously want to get his kit off. His body feels really nice under his shirt and his jeans and I am in danger of creating a public nuisance in Steyning High Street if I carry on enjoying myself this much. We agree to meet on Thursday evening for some full on enjoyment somewhere more private. Luckily he has somewhere to go (my flat is still in disrepair).
So, knowing my luck, one of the following will happen before Thursday:
- his wife will come back early
- his place will burn down in a freak accident
- he will have an uncharacteristic attack of the guilts
- now I'm keen on him he will go off me
*bitch girlfriend ended up marrying this guy and they had 4 kids and are still together, so I suppose it was the path of true love, etc etc....
Friday, 8 July 2011
MusicMan - 10 years
Having referred several times to my long-suffering partner, he has pointed out that I have omitted to mention his most endearing characteristic, namely, that he has an enormous dick. Although lacking in stature generally he is, indeed, very well-endowed in his nether regions. However, I wouldn't want anyone to think that I am shallow enough to persist in a 10 year relationship purely on the basis of generous cock proportions. Nevertheless, it does have its compensations during those brief periods when some of his other characteristics (e.g. excessive negativity, neurotic obsessions and a fondness for model numbers) make me grind my teeth with irritation.
We celebrated our 10 year anniversary yesterday by repeating our first date. The only thing we did differently was that, instead of him depositing me chastely at my front door at the end of the evening, we went back to his house and I badgered him into making love to me. Now, getting MM to make love to me isn't normally an issue. However, due to his (in my view) unfair success in getting middle-aged women to sleep with him, he has had rather a busy week. Not only has he spent several hours on Tuesday evening servicing a woman in front of her husband but he was also meeting another woman today for the first time, and she had already declared an unhealthy interest in the size of his todger. He was worried, therefore, that, if he made love to me last night, he might not have enough juice left to put on a healthy performance today. You can imagine that, given the recent history of my attempts to get some extra-marital sex, my sympathy for his predicament wasn't high. In fact, I made it quite clear that I would take a very dim view of any attempt on his part to get out of doing his 10-year anniversary duty.
Fortunately, he saw my point of view and put on a very creditable performance. Apparently, there were no complaints today either. I can't help but feel a slightly misplaced pride in the fact that, in the throes of advanced middle age, he is able to keep 3 demanding women satisfied in one week.
We celebrated our 10 year anniversary yesterday by repeating our first date. The only thing we did differently was that, instead of him depositing me chastely at my front door at the end of the evening, we went back to his house and I badgered him into making love to me. Now, getting MM to make love to me isn't normally an issue. However, due to his (in my view) unfair success in getting middle-aged women to sleep with him, he has had rather a busy week. Not only has he spent several hours on Tuesday evening servicing a woman in front of her husband but he was also meeting another woman today for the first time, and she had already declared an unhealthy interest in the size of his todger. He was worried, therefore, that, if he made love to me last night, he might not have enough juice left to put on a healthy performance today. You can imagine that, given the recent history of my attempts to get some extra-marital sex, my sympathy for his predicament wasn't high. In fact, I made it quite clear that I would take a very dim view of any attempt on his part to get out of doing his 10-year anniversary duty.
Fortunately, he saw my point of view and put on a very creditable performance. Apparently, there were no complaints today either. I can't help but feel a slightly misplaced pride in the fact that, in the throes of advanced middle age, he is able to keep 3 demanding women satisfied in one week.
Tuesday, 5 July 2011
Who would have a conscience?
After a great date with Robocop and a few more fruity texts, the date is almost set for us to meet for a tryst in my flat in Hove. I nag MusicMan to help me get the bed set up. We go round to the flat and, unbelievably, find the whole place has been completely flooded by some idiot upstairs. All MM's decorating has been ruined and the place is definitely not going to resemble anything like an erotic boudoir anytime soon. Added to which, we couldn't get the mattress in the car, so we have a bed ready to be assembled but nothing comfortable to shag on.
Going beyond the call of duty, and also because he has now joined IE and has got 3 potential lovers on the go to my one almost-lover, MM offers me the use of his house if I can arrange something with Robocop. We clearly can't use the flat and my house is invaded by teenage sons on an unpredictable basis. It's nice of him, but I can't really see myself shagging a bloke in my partner's bed when he is out. Plus, he already has a date with a woman and her husband at his house tonight (yes, he is up for threesomes) and things would be getting farcical with me vacating the house a couple of hours earlier with a hunk in tow. What would the neighbours think?. Anyway, I am pretty sure I will have my house to myself this evening so hope I can sort something out with Robocop for then.
This morning I get a phone call from Robocop. He's been a bit quiet since the weekend, so it shouldn't really have come as a shock.
..."erm, I've been thinking. I'm not sure I can go through with this. I've had an attack of conscience about cheating on my partner and don't know what to do"
DAMN, DAMN, DAMN!!!!
If it wasn't so funny, I would cry. Is there another woman out there, in reasonable condition, with all her own teeth, good sense of humour, generally light hearted approach to life who can't get a reasonable shag in 6 months without some sort of terminal problem cropping up????
Going beyond the call of duty, and also because he has now joined IE and has got 3 potential lovers on the go to my one almost-lover, MM offers me the use of his house if I can arrange something with Robocop. We clearly can't use the flat and my house is invaded by teenage sons on an unpredictable basis. It's nice of him, but I can't really see myself shagging a bloke in my partner's bed when he is out. Plus, he already has a date with a woman and her husband at his house tonight (yes, he is up for threesomes) and things would be getting farcical with me vacating the house a couple of hours earlier with a hunk in tow. What would the neighbours think?. Anyway, I am pretty sure I will have my house to myself this evening so hope I can sort something out with Robocop for then.
This morning I get a phone call from Robocop. He's been a bit quiet since the weekend, so it shouldn't really have come as a shock.
..."erm, I've been thinking. I'm not sure I can go through with this. I've had an attack of conscience about cheating on my partner and don't know what to do"
DAMN, DAMN, DAMN!!!!
If it wasn't so funny, I would cry. Is there another woman out there, in reasonable condition, with all her own teeth, good sense of humour, generally light hearted approach to life who can't get a reasonable shag in 6 months without some sort of terminal problem cropping up????
Robocop
June 2011
Now that Sexinsussex is back home under lock and key, I have to get back onto IE and find a replacement. Pretty soon I get chatting to a new man who sounds like fun. He's even quicker off the mark than Sexinsussex and sends me a photo of himself in his work gear. I'm impressed. Sexinsussex had a large throbbing machine, but this guy has a gun in his pocket and its not because he's pleased to see me. Pretty soon, he's sending me a photo of his secret weapon and that's impressive too. Can't wait to meet him.
We arrange to meet at Brighton station and I set off in good time. Unfortunately, I see a friend in a pub and stop for a quick drink. By the time I get away, Robocop is already at the station and I have to run up the hill in my miniskirt. I spot him straightaway, as described, scruffy looking, in a black t-shirt and looking as if he's lost. I walk right up to him and kiss him right on the lips. Luckily it is him - not just some random bloke who thinks its his lucky day (or nightmare day, depending on how bedraggled I actually look).
We get on like a house on fire. We chat away for a couple of hours, his erection is plain to see and we hold hands walking back. He is good looking, with a great body. This is great - what could go wrong with this one??
Now that Sexinsussex is back home under lock and key, I have to get back onto IE and find a replacement. Pretty soon I get chatting to a new man who sounds like fun. He's even quicker off the mark than Sexinsussex and sends me a photo of himself in his work gear. I'm impressed. Sexinsussex had a large throbbing machine, but this guy has a gun in his pocket and its not because he's pleased to see me. Pretty soon, he's sending me a photo of his secret weapon and that's impressive too. Can't wait to meet him.
We arrange to meet at Brighton station and I set off in good time. Unfortunately, I see a friend in a pub and stop for a quick drink. By the time I get away, Robocop is already at the station and I have to run up the hill in my miniskirt. I spot him straightaway, as described, scruffy looking, in a black t-shirt and looking as if he's lost. I walk right up to him and kiss him right on the lips. Luckily it is him - not just some random bloke who thinks its his lucky day (or nightmare day, depending on how bedraggled I actually look).
We get on like a house on fire. We chat away for a couple of hours, his erection is plain to see and we hold hands walking back. He is good looking, with a great body. This is great - what could go wrong with this one??
I'm in Heaven
June 2011
I have referred earlier to the fact that my house is full of builders. What I haven't mentioned is that the house is full of good looking builders, one of them being The Plumber, who is now talking to me again, and, phew, doing plumbing work for me. Unfortunately, just the conventional type of plumbing - he certainly doesn't seem to be offering to tinker with my boiler, which is a shame, because I'm sure the pressure is too high and needs attention.
I did ask him if he was OK with me now, and he nearly ran out of the door in fright - but as long as I keep the subject to pipes, valves, and pumps we seem to be getting on ok. I sneak a quick look at his bum every time he bends over, but I can't be blamed for that - I'm only human.
At least his effect on me is somewhat diluted by the fact that there is a drop dead gorgeous carpenter working in the kitchen. I do love having practical men around me.
I have referred earlier to the fact that my house is full of builders. What I haven't mentioned is that the house is full of good looking builders, one of them being The Plumber, who is now talking to me again, and, phew, doing plumbing work for me. Unfortunately, just the conventional type of plumbing - he certainly doesn't seem to be offering to tinker with my boiler, which is a shame, because I'm sure the pressure is too high and needs attention.
I did ask him if he was OK with me now, and he nearly ran out of the door in fright - but as long as I keep the subject to pipes, valves, and pumps we seem to be getting on ok. I sneak a quick look at his bum every time he bends over, but I can't be blamed for that - I'm only human.
At least his effect on me is somewhat diluted by the fact that there is a drop dead gorgeous carpenter working in the kitchen. I do love having practical men around me.
Busted!
June 2011
Yes, dear reader, you knew it couldn't last long. Sexual satisfaction for Brighton Blonde - surely not? Indeed, surely not.
Sexinsussex continues to woo me by text. We are waiting for the flat that MM and I have bought to let out, to be ready with a bed so we can shag in secluded comfort. However, I can't wait and persuade him to meet me in another sussex carpark on his way back from work - although he can only manage half an hour as he has to get home and look after the kids in time for his wife to go out. This time it is just south of Petworth. What I don't realise (I've only had a walker's view of this particular car park) is that the road up to the car park is a bumpy old track and is difficult to find. I get there first, he gets lost. (typical man.... yeah yeah). By the time he arrives, he is more interested in his suspension than in my suspenders. Still, he soon stops worrying about his car and we have a good half an hour. I check him for lipstick and he departs with a smile on his face.
Next morning, for the first time, I don't get a text from him. I text him, he replies and, bugger, bugger, bugger, his wife found blonde hair all over his t-shirt when he got in and he is busted. Suspect it's not the first time he's been a naughty boy and she was probably looking for evidence. I feel terrible. And frustrated.
Still, never mind - the beauty of IE is that there are plenty more fish in the sea/pebbles on the beach, etc.
Yes, dear reader, you knew it couldn't last long. Sexual satisfaction for Brighton Blonde - surely not? Indeed, surely not.
Sexinsussex continues to woo me by text. We are waiting for the flat that MM and I have bought to let out, to be ready with a bed so we can shag in secluded comfort. However, I can't wait and persuade him to meet me in another sussex carpark on his way back from work - although he can only manage half an hour as he has to get home and look after the kids in time for his wife to go out. This time it is just south of Petworth. What I don't realise (I've only had a walker's view of this particular car park) is that the road up to the car park is a bumpy old track and is difficult to find. I get there first, he gets lost. (typical man.... yeah yeah). By the time he arrives, he is more interested in his suspension than in my suspenders. Still, he soon stops worrying about his car and we have a good half an hour. I check him for lipstick and he departs with a smile on his face.
Next morning, for the first time, I don't get a text from him. I text him, he replies and, bugger, bugger, bugger, his wife found blonde hair all over his t-shirt when he got in and he is busted. Suspect it's not the first time he's been a naughty boy and she was probably looking for evidence. I feel terrible. And frustrated.
Still, never mind - the beauty of IE is that there are plenty more fish in the sea/pebbles on the beach, etc.
SexinSussex Carpark
May 2011
Finally, we meet up in a pub in Steyning. I get there first, he gets lost. Typical man, can't ask for directions. Can't stop grinning at each other in the pub because our text messages have got on to him sending pics of his erections and me sending ones of my tits, followed by some very rude messages of exactly what we intend doing to each other. Seems a bit weird to be sitting opposite someone I have been very intimate with and not actually met. Still, that's just me, my 17 yr old son is having a full on relationship with a girl he's never met in Wolverhampton. I blame it on his father.
As he decides he doesn't like the pub we leave to go somewhere else. I am not used to wearing high heels and remaining vertical for very long and am stumbling around like Bambi. I think he thinks I'm drunk. As we are about to get in our separate cars, he changes his mind and walks right over to me and grabs me and kisses me. It is the sexiest thing to happen to me for a long time. I feel like undressing myself and begging him to do me there and then in the car park. After a breathless ten minutes of snogging, I do what I know MM will tell me off for later and get in his car so we can go and find somewhere more intimate. I am completely incapable of driving anyway, my brain seems to have stopped working and I can only think of getting my hand down his jeans.
I eventually remember there is quite a secluded car park at Washington (thank goodness for all those sunday walking sessions on the Downs with the girls!) and we go there. It's not long before he's got his hands down my jeans (not easy, they are very tight) and I'm giving him a blow job. I am so worked up I come really quickly and it doesn't take him long either - luckily, as I'm a bit out of practice. (Mental note: must give MM more blow jobs, he's missing out.)
Phew! what an evening. I think I could be having fun with this one.... at last.
Finally, we meet up in a pub in Steyning. I get there first, he gets lost. Typical man, can't ask for directions. Can't stop grinning at each other in the pub because our text messages have got on to him sending pics of his erections and me sending ones of my tits, followed by some very rude messages of exactly what we intend doing to each other. Seems a bit weird to be sitting opposite someone I have been very intimate with and not actually met. Still, that's just me, my 17 yr old son is having a full on relationship with a girl he's never met in Wolverhampton. I blame it on his father.
As he decides he doesn't like the pub we leave to go somewhere else. I am not used to wearing high heels and remaining vertical for very long and am stumbling around like Bambi. I think he thinks I'm drunk. As we are about to get in our separate cars, he changes his mind and walks right over to me and grabs me and kisses me. It is the sexiest thing to happen to me for a long time. I feel like undressing myself and begging him to do me there and then in the car park. After a breathless ten minutes of snogging, I do what I know MM will tell me off for later and get in his car so we can go and find somewhere more intimate. I am completely incapable of driving anyway, my brain seems to have stopped working and I can only think of getting my hand down his jeans.
I eventually remember there is quite a secluded car park at Washington (thank goodness for all those sunday walking sessions on the Downs with the girls!) and we go there. It's not long before he's got his hands down my jeans (not easy, they are very tight) and I'm giving him a blow job. I am so worked up I come really quickly and it doesn't take him long either - luckily, as I'm a bit out of practice. (Mental note: must give MM more blow jobs, he's missing out.)
Phew! what an evening. I think I could be having fun with this one.... at last.
SexinSussex
May 2011
Am in regular correspondence with another man on IE. Calls himself Sexinsussex which is to the point, at least. He is funny and very sexy. After about a week of fairly normal texting/phone conversation with an arrangement to meet, we have suddenly catapulted ourselves into full-on double entendres about throbbing machines (he has a motorbike) and enjoying the ride. I am enjoying it all so much I have to regularly stop work to have a little play with myself. Good thing I'm working at home now. Slightly complicated by the fact that I have a house full of builders. Still, I can do it quietly. Can't wait to meet this one.
Am in regular correspondence with another man on IE. Calls himself Sexinsussex which is to the point, at least. He is funny and very sexy. After about a week of fairly normal texting/phone conversation with an arrangement to meet, we have suddenly catapulted ourselves into full-on double entendres about throbbing machines (he has a motorbike) and enjoying the ride. I am enjoying it all so much I have to regularly stop work to have a little play with myself. Good thing I'm working at home now. Slightly complicated by the fact that I have a house full of builders. Still, I can do it quietly. Can't wait to meet this one.
Henry the Eighth
May 2011
No, I haven't found a man with 6 wives. I have been in touch with a man on Illicit Encounters (IE for short) who calls himself Henry the Eighth on account of his strikingly similar beard. Well, I suppose it's difficult to think of a good name. I have just called myself Brighton Blonde, amazed it hadn't gone already.
I like IE, I haven't felt so wanted since I was 17. So many messages from married/attached men that I can't answer them all. Henry is the only one who really makes me laugh so far, so we arrange to meet for a coffee. I think we get on well. I am busy telling him about the pros and cons of swinging parties. I do see a few glances out of the corner of my eye and Henry is shifting uncomfortably in his seat and looking a bit pale. I belatedly remember that discretion is supposed to be a desirable statistic when dating married men, and I am being somewhat loud and indiscreet. Still, I'm sure that my bubbly personality and classic good looks will keep him hooked. I move on to the pros and cons of couples counselling, after he tells me he and his wife have tried it and he didn't really like it much.
I am, therefore, somewhat surprised when he messages me a couple of days later to say he isn't sure we "had a spark" and what did I think? Quite apart from the novelty of being asked how I rated the sparkiness of our date, I was somewhat taken aback that I hadn't completely overwhelmed him with my sparkling personality. I pointed out that, in my view, sparks didn't necessarily fly at the first date, but that if he was having trouble finding any at all, that there probably wasn't much point asking me. Clearly, I had done something wrong, and would be grateful if he could let me know if it was my poor dress sense, my loud analysis of swinging parties or my debateable appreciation of couples counselling.
Asked him to mail his feedback to me at: nosparks4u.com He did reply and say I had made him laugh so much he was nearly thinking of seeing me again. Erm, cheers... I am almost flattered.
Bloody married men!
No, I haven't found a man with 6 wives. I have been in touch with a man on Illicit Encounters (IE for short) who calls himself Henry the Eighth on account of his strikingly similar beard. Well, I suppose it's difficult to think of a good name. I have just called myself Brighton Blonde, amazed it hadn't gone already.
I like IE, I haven't felt so wanted since I was 17. So many messages from married/attached men that I can't answer them all. Henry is the only one who really makes me laugh so far, so we arrange to meet for a coffee. I think we get on well. I am busy telling him about the pros and cons of swinging parties. I do see a few glances out of the corner of my eye and Henry is shifting uncomfortably in his seat and looking a bit pale. I belatedly remember that discretion is supposed to be a desirable statistic when dating married men, and I am being somewhat loud and indiscreet. Still, I'm sure that my bubbly personality and classic good looks will keep him hooked. I move on to the pros and cons of couples counselling, after he tells me he and his wife have tried it and he didn't really like it much.
I am, therefore, somewhat surprised when he messages me a couple of days later to say he isn't sure we "had a spark" and what did I think? Quite apart from the novelty of being asked how I rated the sparkiness of our date, I was somewhat taken aback that I hadn't completely overwhelmed him with my sparkling personality. I pointed out that, in my view, sparks didn't necessarily fly at the first date, but that if he was having trouble finding any at all, that there probably wasn't much point asking me. Clearly, I had done something wrong, and would be grateful if he could let me know if it was my poor dress sense, my loud analysis of swinging parties or my debateable appreciation of couples counselling.
Asked him to mail his feedback to me at: nosparks4u.com He did reply and say I had made him laugh so much he was nearly thinking of seeing me again. Erm, cheers... I am almost flattered.
Bloody married men!
Umbrella... or no umbrella?
April 2011
Does Mr EPC have one? I know, 3 posts on one man is excessive, but I need to finish the story, and it was a bit drawn out due to his general hopelessness at getting in touch.
Anyone who has read this far will realise that any policy I may once have had of always waiting for "the man" to make the first move has been abandoned. I have realised it doesn't work once you're past 45 cos any man who is willing to shag you is probably going off sex a bit himself and can't be bothered to work up the effort to make an idiot of himself asking you out. Either that, or I'm too scary.
Anyway, it is a hot April day and I'm working at home and I'm bored. Decide to text Mr EPC and say hello. Get an instant reply saying he is round the corner and should he pop round. "Yes!" I say and quickly change into something skimpy. My lady garden is bare.
Quicker than I can say "is that an umbrella down there or are you just pleased to see me", he is at my door, all charm and suave. He sweeps in and proceeds to stride around my office poking fun at my books and neatly labelled files. I don't mind - he is very funny with it. We spend the next couple of hours sitting in my garden (no, the real garden, not a euphemism..yet) drinking vodka martinis. Pretty soon we are snogging and pretty soon after that I am dragging him up the stairs to my bedroom. Well, I didn't have to drag this one actually, he seemed quite keen. I was pretty sure it wasn't an umbrella down his trousers as well, cos the weather was very hot and sunny - but still, one has to check. And sure enough, it wasn't an umbrella, but it certainly came in handy when things got wet my side of the bed.
All very nice, no orgasm for me, unfortunately, but not due to any lack of effort on his part. Just sometimes, it doesn't happen. He went off quite happy and I looked forward to hearing from him soon.
I'm still waiting - some people don't even have the manners to say thank you for an afternoon of vodka martinis and sex. Bloody single men!
Does Mr EPC have one? I know, 3 posts on one man is excessive, but I need to finish the story, and it was a bit drawn out due to his general hopelessness at getting in touch.
Anyone who has read this far will realise that any policy I may once have had of always waiting for "the man" to make the first move has been abandoned. I have realised it doesn't work once you're past 45 cos any man who is willing to shag you is probably going off sex a bit himself and can't be bothered to work up the effort to make an idiot of himself asking you out. Either that, or I'm too scary.
Anyway, it is a hot April day and I'm working at home and I'm bored. Decide to text Mr EPC and say hello. Get an instant reply saying he is round the corner and should he pop round. "Yes!" I say and quickly change into something skimpy. My lady garden is bare.
Quicker than I can say "is that an umbrella down there or are you just pleased to see me", he is at my door, all charm and suave. He sweeps in and proceeds to stride around my office poking fun at my books and neatly labelled files. I don't mind - he is very funny with it. We spend the next couple of hours sitting in my garden (no, the real garden, not a euphemism..yet) drinking vodka martinis. Pretty soon we are snogging and pretty soon after that I am dragging him up the stairs to my bedroom. Well, I didn't have to drag this one actually, he seemed quite keen. I was pretty sure it wasn't an umbrella down his trousers as well, cos the weather was very hot and sunny - but still, one has to check. And sure enough, it wasn't an umbrella, but it certainly came in handy when things got wet my side of the bed.
All very nice, no orgasm for me, unfortunately, but not due to any lack of effort on his part. Just sometimes, it doesn't happen. He went off quite happy and I looked forward to hearing from him soon.
I'm still waiting - some people don't even have the manners to say thank you for an afternoon of vodka martinis and sex. Bloody single men!
Illicit Encounters
April 2011
Having got back into the swing of sex, but inexplicably seeming to cock it up (ha ha) at every opportunity, I decide that the problem is not me, but the Single Man. Both the Plumber and Mr EPC are in their 40s and single and I decide that there is probably a good reason for that. It can't possibly be me because I am almost perfect. In fact, if it wasn't for the MusicMan pointing out on a regular basis that I do have some imperfections, I would argue that I was completely perfect. He does agree that I have so many self-improvement books, that I am almost impossible to improve upon. Thank goodness for MM.
The answer is, obviously, to find a man (or men, I don't want to deny anyone the opportunity of getting to know me better on the flimsy excuse that I can only do one at a time) who is in a relationship, and therefore proven to be house-trained and able to relate on a basic level to a woman. Now I know this is somewhat controversial. The whole moral justification of polyamory is that everyone should know who is doing what with whom. The trouble is, there are not an awful lot of people lucky enough to have the type of relationship I have with MM, where we can both be completely honest about wanting to fuck other people. And, most people in long term relationships would be happy (I think) to be a bit naughty with someone else, but they don't want their partners doing it!
Nevertheless, I find an interesting website called http://www.illicitencounters.com/ and am pleased to read that many people have found their marriages have got better thanks to the being able to be a bit naughty with someone else on the side. I know I am sort of looking for moral justification for a morally debatable decision and therefore I am probably going to find it on a site fully of morally debatable people making a similar morally debatable decision to myself, but never mind - life is too short to deny a frustrated man in a long term boring partnership the opportunity to spice up his sex life with someone who is never going to be a serious threat to his marriage. i.e. me - or so I like to think.. and how right I am.
Having got back into the swing of sex, but inexplicably seeming to cock it up (ha ha) at every opportunity, I decide that the problem is not me, but the Single Man. Both the Plumber and Mr EPC are in their 40s and single and I decide that there is probably a good reason for that. It can't possibly be me because I am almost perfect. In fact, if it wasn't for the MusicMan pointing out on a regular basis that I do have some imperfections, I would argue that I was completely perfect. He does agree that I have so many self-improvement books, that I am almost impossible to improve upon. Thank goodness for MM.
The answer is, obviously, to find a man (or men, I don't want to deny anyone the opportunity of getting to know me better on the flimsy excuse that I can only do one at a time) who is in a relationship, and therefore proven to be house-trained and able to relate on a basic level to a woman. Now I know this is somewhat controversial. The whole moral justification of polyamory is that everyone should know who is doing what with whom. The trouble is, there are not an awful lot of people lucky enough to have the type of relationship I have with MM, where we can both be completely honest about wanting to fuck other people. And, most people in long term relationships would be happy (I think) to be a bit naughty with someone else, but they don't want their partners doing it!
Nevertheless, I find an interesting website called http://www.illicitencounters.com/ and am pleased to read that many people have found their marriages have got better thanks to the being able to be a bit naughty with someone else on the side. I know I am sort of looking for moral justification for a morally debatable decision and therefore I am probably going to find it on a site fully of morally debatable people making a similar morally debatable decision to myself, but never mind - life is too short to deny a frustrated man in a long term boring partnership the opportunity to spice up his sex life with someone who is never going to be a serious threat to his marriage. i.e. me - or so I like to think.. and how right I am.
Mr EPC (2)
March 2011
Feeling that my behaviour the night before was somewhat inexplicable from his point of view, I text Mr EPC and apologise for leaving suddenly, but intimate that female matters might have been the explanation. Hope he thinks it was my period or something. We have a few back and forth texts but it seems to dry up...
Meanwhile I'm still moping about the Plumber. He eventually texts me to say that he was genuinely too busy to see me that night, but after my reaction, he doesn't want to see me again. Can't say I blame him. I send him a grovelling email, but get no reply. What is really bugging me, though, is that I've known this guy for years and he's a bloody good plumber and bloody good plumbers are hard to find. Am scared he will never plumb for me again, so to speak. I decide not to mix business and pleasure again. (damn, damn, damn...)
Feeling that my behaviour the night before was somewhat inexplicable from his point of view, I text Mr EPC and apologise for leaving suddenly, but intimate that female matters might have been the explanation. Hope he thinks it was my period or something. We have a few back and forth texts but it seems to dry up...
Meanwhile I'm still moping about the Plumber. He eventually texts me to say that he was genuinely too busy to see me that night, but after my reaction, he doesn't want to see me again. Can't say I blame him. I send him a grovelling email, but get no reply. What is really bugging me, though, is that I've known this guy for years and he's a bloody good plumber and bloody good plumbers are hard to find. Am scared he will never plumb for me again, so to speak. I decide not to mix business and pleasure again. (damn, damn, damn...)
Mr EPC
March 2011
Not being on talking terms with the Plumber, Fate steps into the picture and deposits a tall, slim, charming and very witty Energy Performance Assessor on my doorstep. Well, not literally. But he does lean over at a landlord meeting and kiss me on the lips. I was so shocked I didn't quite know where to look. But as he is so tall his crotch is almost at my eye level, I did happen to look there and noticed his erection was about to poke my eye out.
As he was drunk and I was sober I took him home. After I'd almost wet myself laughing at his stupid Renault (one of those ones with the bum sticking out), he invited me in for a coffee and said he might have to rape me. Of course, any normal sane woman would have run a mile at that point. However, I am neither normal nor sane and thought he was probably joking. Anyway, I was interested to see whether he had an umbrella stuffed down his trousers.
I then remembered that, yet again, my lady garden was in dire need of a strimming. Look guys, I know you like to think that us women are smooth as a baby's bum down there with almost no effort on our part but I can tell you, and I am pretty non-hairy as it goes, that it is a constant hassle trying to keep everything neat down there. Plus, a slight regrowth gets very itchy so the temptation to let it grow a bit longer when you're having a temporary dry spell is hard to resist.
So, there I am, in his kitchen, being snogged enthusiastically, and having what definitely feels like an umbrella pressed against my crotch, when I suddenly remember that, after my Plumber experience, I cannot have him fumbling down there and finding a far-flung bit of the Amazon Rainforest, cos it will all end badly. So what do I do? Gaze sexily into his eyes and say, "darling, I am mad with lust and can't wait to see more of you, but I promised my son I would be home by 11." No, I push him off me quite forcibly, pick up my keys and handbag and say "gotta go now, lovely time, byee!!" and run off into the night. I have a dim memory of him staring at me perplexedly and saying, "is it my car?", but I might have imagined that.
Not being on talking terms with the Plumber, Fate steps into the picture and deposits a tall, slim, charming and very witty Energy Performance Assessor on my doorstep. Well, not literally. But he does lean over at a landlord meeting and kiss me on the lips. I was so shocked I didn't quite know where to look. But as he is so tall his crotch is almost at my eye level, I did happen to look there and noticed his erection was about to poke my eye out.
As he was drunk and I was sober I took him home. After I'd almost wet myself laughing at his stupid Renault (one of those ones with the bum sticking out), he invited me in for a coffee and said he might have to rape me. Of course, any normal sane woman would have run a mile at that point. However, I am neither normal nor sane and thought he was probably joking. Anyway, I was interested to see whether he had an umbrella stuffed down his trousers.
I then remembered that, yet again, my lady garden was in dire need of a strimming. Look guys, I know you like to think that us women are smooth as a baby's bum down there with almost no effort on our part but I can tell you, and I am pretty non-hairy as it goes, that it is a constant hassle trying to keep everything neat down there. Plus, a slight regrowth gets very itchy so the temptation to let it grow a bit longer when you're having a temporary dry spell is hard to resist.
So, there I am, in his kitchen, being snogged enthusiastically, and having what definitely feels like an umbrella pressed against my crotch, when I suddenly remember that, after my Plumber experience, I cannot have him fumbling down there and finding a far-flung bit of the Amazon Rainforest, cos it will all end badly. So what do I do? Gaze sexily into his eyes and say, "darling, I am mad with lust and can't wait to see more of you, but I promised my son I would be home by 11." No, I push him off me quite forcibly, pick up my keys and handbag and say "gotta go now, lovely time, byee!!" and run off into the night. I have a dim memory of him staring at me perplexedly and saying, "is it my car?", but I might have imagined that.
Dumped!
February 2011
Am gutted. Have fallen out with The Plumber. I can't say it is related to him finding out about the GasMan because I'm not sure he has. GM definitely knows I'm shagging his mate, but not sure about the other way round. Anyway, this is how it went. I came back from a little trip to the Emerald Isle with the MusicMan and get in touch with the Plumber to arrange our next tryst. On the actual day of the planned meet, he texts and says he is too busy to meet up! Men, take note - you are NEVER EVER too busy to meet up with the woman you are shagging - even if you are. Instead, some really important family issue has come up that you absolutely can't get out of, or you are on your deathbed. If you can't come up with a serious excuse then you might as well be honest and have a "Dear Jill" conversation.. And you NEVER EVER cancel a date by text. Bite the bullet and ring, you cowards.
Anyway, I thought I was entirely justified in sending a stroppy text back along the lines of "I haven't been treated like this since I was 15.. . I never want to see you again unless it's with a boiler wrapped around your head". I might not have actually said the last bit but I definitely thought it. I suppose, then, technically, I was dumping him, it just didn't feel like it. I suppose, when I read his text again, it did actually say he was really sorry and he would make it up to me the following week. It's just that I over-reacted, your honour... I did say that it would be a shame to fall out and maybe we could meet up for a coffee and a chat instead. Trouble is, I think the damage was already done. I didn't get a reply.... :-(
Bugger, looks like I screwed up.
Am gutted. Have fallen out with The Plumber. I can't say it is related to him finding out about the GasMan because I'm not sure he has. GM definitely knows I'm shagging his mate, but not sure about the other way round. Anyway, this is how it went. I came back from a little trip to the Emerald Isle with the MusicMan and get in touch with the Plumber to arrange our next tryst. On the actual day of the planned meet, he texts and says he is too busy to meet up! Men, take note - you are NEVER EVER too busy to meet up with the woman you are shagging - even if you are. Instead, some really important family issue has come up that you absolutely can't get out of, or you are on your deathbed. If you can't come up with a serious excuse then you might as well be honest and have a "Dear Jill" conversation.. And you NEVER EVER cancel a date by text. Bite the bullet and ring, you cowards.
Anyway, I thought I was entirely justified in sending a stroppy text back along the lines of "I haven't been treated like this since I was 15.. . I never want to see you again unless it's with a boiler wrapped around your head". I might not have actually said the last bit but I definitely thought it. I suppose, then, technically, I was dumping him, it just didn't feel like it. I suppose, when I read his text again, it did actually say he was really sorry and he would make it up to me the following week. It's just that I over-reacted, your honour... I did say that it would be a shame to fall out and maybe we could meet up for a coffee and a chat instead. Trouble is, I think the damage was already done. I didn't get a reply.... :-(
Bugger, looks like I screwed up.
Oops! Double Trouble
February 2011
Finally, the Plumber and I get it together again. And again... I'm having a great time. He's struggling a little with the demands, but I am reassuring about the fact that men over 40 can't stay ramrod straight all night and that a litte floppiness from time to time is perfectly acceptable. In any case, he has very good hands and me coming is no problem. In fact, I am having problems concentrating on my work cos I am too busy staring into space thinking about what a nice time I am having in bed with him. I only have one little quandary. The GasMan is getting firmer about his date for the Spa Visit and I don't know what to do. Should I tell him I'm bonking his mate? I don't even know if the Plumber wants me to tell anyone that we're bonking - on the other hand, it doesn't really feel right not to say. I decide to tell him on the evening we go and then he can decide whether or not he still wants to go. Yeah, I know, not the best plan, but still....
Fortunately, the problem seems to sort itself. Out of the blue, GM phones me to say he's going to have to cancel due to "childcare issues". I think it's a bit of a crap excuse, but am relieved to be let off the hook. The following week, when I see the Plumber and he is a little cool with me, it all adds up. They have talked and now think I was planning to shag both of them.
Finally, the Plumber and I get it together again. And again... I'm having a great time. He's struggling a little with the demands, but I am reassuring about the fact that men over 40 can't stay ramrod straight all night and that a litte floppiness from time to time is perfectly acceptable. In any case, he has very good hands and me coming is no problem. In fact, I am having problems concentrating on my work cos I am too busy staring into space thinking about what a nice time I am having in bed with him. I only have one little quandary. The GasMan is getting firmer about his date for the Spa Visit and I don't know what to do. Should I tell him I'm bonking his mate? I don't even know if the Plumber wants me to tell anyone that we're bonking - on the other hand, it doesn't really feel right not to say. I decide to tell him on the evening we go and then he can decide whether or not he still wants to go. Yeah, I know, not the best plan, but still....
Fortunately, the problem seems to sort itself. Out of the blue, GM phones me to say he's going to have to cancel due to "childcare issues". I think it's a bit of a crap excuse, but am relieved to be let off the hook. The following week, when I see the Plumber and he is a little cool with me, it all adds up. They have talked and now think I was planning to shag both of them.
An Invitation to the Bristol Gardens Spa
January 2011
Having got Xmas and New Year out of the way, I am back at work. I have spoken to the Plumber and we have both nervously agreed that we had a Very Nice Time and we should do it again some time. Or, at least, that's what I think we agreed. It might have been me saying that and him going, "ummmm" which I can confidently interpret in whichever way I choose. Still, never mind, a lack of obvious enthusiasm isn't going to put me off because I now also have another interesting invitation from his friend, the GasMan. Now, the more perceptive amongst you are going to spot the problem in that sentence. "His friend" - yes, they are mates. Now, the GasMan and I go back a long way. We once had a shag soon after my constantly philandering ex-husband finally left me for someone younger. I was very grateful at the time, as it made me feel a whole lot better about being dumped on the shelf at the ripe old age of 36. We have always been pretty affectionate since and it had recently become a bit fruitier with the odd snog and grope if I ended up meeting him near a boiler.
When I had to meet him at a job in January, he confessed that he was feeling a bit down because his wife had got a bit fed up of him being a constant flirt and had started an affair with a mutual friend. In order to feel a bit better he wanted to go to the Bristol Gardens Spa with a naked female friend (i.e. me) so that he could ogle other couples having sex and maybe have a bit of a nice time with me too. Now, I've been to this place before with the MusicMan and I wasn't that keen first time. Call me old-fashioned, but I like my sex one on one and doing it in a room with a whole load of other people doesn't really add much to the experience. I can appreciate it's erotic and it sort of turns me on, but I'd really rather have a nice time in bed with a nice man. Still, I could see GM was down and he is a mate so I said I'd go. At this point I hadn't actually arranged to meet up with the Plumber again, so it all seemed ok on that score too. We set a vague sort of date for a couple of weeks hence and he went off happy and chirpy.
Having got Xmas and New Year out of the way, I am back at work. I have spoken to the Plumber and we have both nervously agreed that we had a Very Nice Time and we should do it again some time. Or, at least, that's what I think we agreed. It might have been me saying that and him going, "ummmm" which I can confidently interpret in whichever way I choose. Still, never mind, a lack of obvious enthusiasm isn't going to put me off because I now also have another interesting invitation from his friend, the GasMan. Now, the more perceptive amongst you are going to spot the problem in that sentence. "His friend" - yes, they are mates. Now, the GasMan and I go back a long way. We once had a shag soon after my constantly philandering ex-husband finally left me for someone younger. I was very grateful at the time, as it made me feel a whole lot better about being dumped on the shelf at the ripe old age of 36. We have always been pretty affectionate since and it had recently become a bit fruitier with the odd snog and grope if I ended up meeting him near a boiler.
When I had to meet him at a job in January, he confessed that he was feeling a bit down because his wife had got a bit fed up of him being a constant flirt and had started an affair with a mutual friend. In order to feel a bit better he wanted to go to the Bristol Gardens Spa with a naked female friend (i.e. me) so that he could ogle other couples having sex and maybe have a bit of a nice time with me too. Now, I've been to this place before with the MusicMan and I wasn't that keen first time. Call me old-fashioned, but I like my sex one on one and doing it in a room with a whole load of other people doesn't really add much to the experience. I can appreciate it's erotic and it sort of turns me on, but I'd really rather have a nice time in bed with a nice man. Still, I could see GM was down and he is a mate so I said I'd go. At this point I hadn't actually arranged to meet up with the Plumber again, so it all seemed ok on that score too. We set a vague sort of date for a couple of weeks hence and he went off happy and chirpy.
A Dry Spell Ends
December 2010
Having decided to do this blog, I ought really to start at the beginning, which is about 6 months ago. My diary entry for Saturday 18th December 2011 reads as follows: "terrible hangover. Work Xmas do last night. "
My last words to MusicMan before I left were "don't worry, I won't be late, I'm not planning to shag anyone this time...". In fact, I was so NOT going to shag anyone, that I left the house with hairy legs and a bush that would do Alan Titchmarsh proud. Having told everyone I know that I've gone off sex for the past few months, I have no intention, absolutely none, of shagging anyone. Least of all The Plumber.
The trouble is, the works Xmas do is the source of a vast amount of whisky, and normally in the company of the type of man I like best, namely, blokes who are good with their hands - and it has been a Very Dry Spell.... No sex with anyone other than the MusicMan for 3 years. At 1.00am, I am in Casablanca (the club, not the city) with the Plumber, the GasMan, a couple of girls from the office and a debonair/sleazy letting agent who is buying the drinks. I am dancing. I am drunk and happy. So, when the Plumber taps me on the shoulder and says he is going home, I am gutted. So gutted that I stare drunkenly into his sexy blue eyes (which are probably red in reality, I only know they are blue normally because I have admired them in daylight) and say, in that playhardtoget style I have when drunk, "I'm coming with you". Like a true gentleman, he refrains from recoiling in horror and says "OK, I'll wait outside for you". When I'd collected my coat I was quite surprised to find him actually out there waiting. There is an awkward moment when I kiss the GasMan goodbye, who had been on a sort of long-term promise, and lurch drunkenly down the road with The Plumber. When we get back to his 'Iamabatchelorandintendtostaythatway pad' he makes me tea. I kiss him, he kisses me back. We then have a discussion about whether it's a good idea to go to bed together. I think it's an excellent idea. He's not so sure - in fact, he tries to put me off. Still, he's a gentleman and a 5'9" determined female is pretty hard to turn down when she's drunk, so we end up in bed together.
Unsurprisingly, due to the mutual intake of alcohol, it isn't a resounding success in purely technical terms. In other words, he can't get it up for long and I can't come. But he holds me tight all night long, snores in my ear and talks in his sleep about England winning 5-0. I don't get a wink of sleep but have a strangely happy feeling. I seem to like sex again. The dry spell has ended and I definitely want more wet weather. I only get a nasty dose of reality when I suddenly remember that I'd more or less forced this man into bed with me and hadn't even had the decency to make sure I'd shaved my bush first. Hopefully he was too drunk to notice. The second dose of reality I get is when I creep home at 6am and realise that I've got home just after my 20 year old son, who is rather shocked that his mother has stayed out even later than him... I feel a little like I did aged 17 being caught creeping in at some ungodly hour by my mother, I feel I have some explaining to do, but how do you explain to your offspring that you have just got outrageously drunk and gone home with the plumber?
When I tell the MusicMan, he rolls his eyes and said "I knew you'd end up in bed with someone, couldn't you have made a bit of effort and shaved your bits first?"
Having decided to do this blog, I ought really to start at the beginning, which is about 6 months ago. My diary entry for Saturday 18th December 2011 reads as follows: "terrible hangover. Work Xmas do last night. "
My last words to MusicMan before I left were "don't worry, I won't be late, I'm not planning to shag anyone this time...". In fact, I was so NOT going to shag anyone, that I left the house with hairy legs and a bush that would do Alan Titchmarsh proud. Having told everyone I know that I've gone off sex for the past few months, I have no intention, absolutely none, of shagging anyone. Least of all The Plumber.
The trouble is, the works Xmas do is the source of a vast amount of whisky, and normally in the company of the type of man I like best, namely, blokes who are good with their hands - and it has been a Very Dry Spell.... No sex with anyone other than the MusicMan for 3 years. At 1.00am, I am in Casablanca (the club, not the city) with the Plumber, the GasMan, a couple of girls from the office and a debonair/sleazy letting agent who is buying the drinks. I am dancing. I am drunk and happy. So, when the Plumber taps me on the shoulder and says he is going home, I am gutted. So gutted that I stare drunkenly into his sexy blue eyes (which are probably red in reality, I only know they are blue normally because I have admired them in daylight) and say, in that playhardtoget style I have when drunk, "I'm coming with you". Like a true gentleman, he refrains from recoiling in horror and says "OK, I'll wait outside for you". When I'd collected my coat I was quite surprised to find him actually out there waiting. There is an awkward moment when I kiss the GasMan goodbye, who had been on a sort of long-term promise, and lurch drunkenly down the road with The Plumber. When we get back to his 'Iamabatchelorandintendtostaythatway pad' he makes me tea. I kiss him, he kisses me back. We then have a discussion about whether it's a good idea to go to bed together. I think it's an excellent idea. He's not so sure - in fact, he tries to put me off. Still, he's a gentleman and a 5'9" determined female is pretty hard to turn down when she's drunk, so we end up in bed together.
Unsurprisingly, due to the mutual intake of alcohol, it isn't a resounding success in purely technical terms. In other words, he can't get it up for long and I can't come. But he holds me tight all night long, snores in my ear and talks in his sleep about England winning 5-0. I don't get a wink of sleep but have a strangely happy feeling. I seem to like sex again. The dry spell has ended and I definitely want more wet weather. I only get a nasty dose of reality when I suddenly remember that I'd more or less forced this man into bed with me and hadn't even had the decency to make sure I'd shaved my bush first. Hopefully he was too drunk to notice. The second dose of reality I get is when I creep home at 6am and realise that I've got home just after my 20 year old son, who is rather shocked that his mother has stayed out even later than him... I feel a little like I did aged 17 being caught creeping in at some ungodly hour by my mother, I feel I have some explaining to do, but how do you explain to your offspring that you have just got outrageously drunk and gone home with the plumber?
When I tell the MusicMan, he rolls his eyes and said "I knew you'd end up in bed with someone, couldn't you have made a bit of effort and shaved your bits first?"
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