a quiet life

Is this what you call life after sex?

He arched an eyebrow at me.  I wondered that he might have the temerity to jibe.  We’d had rather a lot of sex last night and earlier this morning.  I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he was the only one I was having sex with now that I’d kissed off the others.  I was still self-conscious about my mid-life body, stretched and flabby with quite a bit of wobble in all the wrong places.  But when he removed his glasses and we were in bed together, his appreciation of me very plain and priapically evident I could believe that I was quite hot.

We’d also started text chatting with each other almost all the time now and meeting up practically every Friday evening.  When he suggested another Friday date I asked him if this was a regular thing now and he’d said it could be if I fancied it.  I was hesitant initially – because of course when expectations are raised disappointment inevitably follows.   I discover that the optimistically shameless hussy still lurks as I make an assignation with him midweek after 10pm.   I would not fall in love with him even as I enjoy his body.  He belongs in an open marriage and I belong to myself.

My life as a single woman now revolves around the choices I make about whom I see and date.  The other evening Jan came round and we pored over the map of Iceland, planning routes and booking ferry crossings, guesthouses, etc..  We’d gone to bed tired –  I’d fallen asleep in his arms, which was lovely but not sexy, for some reason.    We’d woken up in the morning together and then fallen into discussing Jung and dreams and being content in ourselves rather than looking for someone on whom to hang our happiness.  He echoed my sentiment that sex was not everything in a relationship.  Which caused me to wonder if he considered that we were in a relationship …  He must suspect that I see other men, although he is smoothly diplomatic and never intrusive about how I spend my time, even when I quiz him about his dates, both virtual and in the real world.   When he bemoaned the fact that we’d spent another sexless night together I rather indignantly replied that he’d not made any overtures or intimated that he might be inclined towards a romp.   We had already showered and got dressed by then and were kissing our goodbyes.  Not quite virginal kisses but very warmly and the dog had got a tad jealous again.  I went back upstairs to strip the bed and wash the bedlinen despite our chaste night together.  At the end of the week Goran was coming round for his regular date.   He had already sent me a morning text and it has become something I look forward to now.

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