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:

  1. 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.
  2. 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.*
  3. 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.
  4. 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.....
  5. 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
I'll keep you posted as to which one it is....

*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.

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"


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????


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??

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.


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.

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.


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.

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!

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!

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.

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...)


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.


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.

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.

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.

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?"