Tag: sex

don’t turn your nose up at online dating darling

I hate online dating

the above snapshot was taken from Dolly Alderton, 26 writing for the Sunday Times

She’d been watching too many movies clearly, those Before and After Sunrise type ones where you want to just grab Ethan Hawke, snog and shag him senseless into silence.

But who am I to make these pre-judgements?  The thing is I’ve not been patient enough to wait 5 years –  less than a month into being single and I’m hooked up with someone has been the story of my dating life.  Except in the last 1.5 years – which gives me another 3.5 to look for that someone in real life.  In the meantime I went on holiday with the first one from a dating website, optimistically called *****… Soulmates (!), and returned home NOT feeling like knowing him had been a huge mistake.  Thing is though, having had your heart broken and definitely approaching the end of days makes one a tad cautious.

Here’s a little preview of diary entries during that holiday –

It was promisingly sunny but bracing when we arrived and were met by our car hire rep.  I never quite got used to driving on the wrong side of the road, causing Jan to wince and chastise me for veering into the hard shoulder on the passenger side fairly frequently – it was mostly good humoured ribbing as he was equally incompetent.  I drove towards Stykkisholmur, stopping at Bogarnes to take in a heritage museum and hear Egil’s saga – he of warrior poet fame, slaying his first foe at the tender age of seven to the fulsome praise of his mother.

That evening the rain came down and tested our rain jackets.  We were recommended a pleasing diner at the tourist information centre by an enthusiastic young information guide (there are lots of good restaurants around here, well, ok not lots, but good …).  So we found Skirinn where we each had two large pints of the local brew with our first of many fish meals.  My inhibitions very much lowered after the strong beers, as we headed to the harbour and the lighthouse to take photos of the stunning sunset and rainbows when the rain cleared, I declared that I was ready to give my heart to the island.  I’m sure Jan must’ve thought me utterly reckless and almost as crazy as the rest of his women friends!

Our second full day, Jan at the wheel when we crossed over to the Westfjords with its breathtaking landscape saw us reaching for our phone cameras; he stopped the car every few minutes to take another scenic shot with his DSLR. We were headed towards Bolungarvik at the northern tip of the Westfjords opposite Hornstrandir peninsula.  En route we stopped off at the Dynjandi falls where the rest of the tourists on this wild bit of Iceland had also decided to congregate. It was still magical enough and we were able to have quite a few moments just taking in the booming majesty and spectacular beauty of the place.

Fresh off the ferry from Stykkisholmur earlier we’d paused at the side of the road and walked down the sides of a waterfall. I particularly revelled in the cushiony mossy banks.  If it hadn’t rained a few minutes before, I might have lain down on it.  But it was damp and the hovering midgies also a nuisance.

The mountains throughout the journey had rough black faces of lava rock, some were tiered with columnar basalts and some still had sheets of unmelted snow on them; the glaciers were only faintly visible, merging with clouds in the far far distance.  Some greenery was creeping up from the valleys, along fissures where water might have carved small rifts downwards.  It was beautiful and although most of the guidebooks said that we would encounter few people in these parts we did pass a number of cars on our journey – a sign of mounting tourism.

We arrived at the guesthouse – Einarshusid.  It was quaint and built at the turn of the last century. To be honest it wasn’t very inspiring initially not least because the washing facilities were shared but the hosts were charming and the place grew on us – we stayed there for three nights.

The next day we drove up to a bay at the end of the headland – the sands were a dark grey and there was a seal having a little swim in the deserted water.  We walked on the mossy grassy cliff top towards the end of a waterfall and I had a little drink.  It started to rain and the clouds descended rapidly as we drove away towards Isafjordur.  There we joined a ferry to Hesteryi, once a thriving settlement centred around a profitable whaling industry and then later when whale hunting was quota curtailed, herring.  But it lost even that trade when all the herring left the region, coincidentally at the same time as when telephone cables had been laid in the waters’ bed.  Now it is only visited by hikers, campers and the odd tourist like us.  There were two resident arctic foxes who gambolled up to us with quite docile expectation of feeding.  We all snapped away at them with our cameras and then it was time to get back on the ferry where the whales obliged us once more with their surface presence.

The hosts at the guesthouse were really a number of students on summer jobs but one of them, Alex, was particularly informative and helped us find amongst other attractions a lovely fish restaurant where we ate on our last night there.

It was called Tjorhusid (the Towerhouse) and we made friends with three other diners on the long tables who were seated next to us.  One was a young American from LA although he was born in Oahu, the other two a French couple from Brittany.  Jan was his convivial self and invited Kevin, the American for a post prandial drink but he declined.  We ended up in the basement of our guesthouse but no one else joined us.  Ennis, who was a Berliner had had a drink with us the previous evening, regaling us with her tales of driving woes.  She was making her way towards Akuryeri on her own and the previous evening we had been invited by two German couples to join them on their film night.  They had connected the TV in the bar to their laptop to play Fading Gigolo.  We watched it to the end that first evening and went to bed at around one in the morning.

When we woke up, Jan had been a little amorous but we were fairly chaste after that.  Goran has been messaging me on what’s app throughout this trip and I detected a little despondency in his tone on Sunday.  He asked and I confessed to him that Jan and I had had a little romp that morning and nothing since which was the truth.

We get to the middle of our holiday after an epic 5 hour journey weaving in and out of the fjords on smooth roads.   We play our music on our iPhones to each other and take turns with the driving.  Intent on arriving, a little anxious about the journey and destination, we missed a couple of sights.  We had eaten our packed lunches fairly late and didn’t feel like having a full meal so went for a walk on the beach and into the tiny interior before going back to the hotel bar for a drink.

I am enjoying this holiday a lot as both Jan and I quite like spending time reading on our own, not making any unreasonable demands on each other’s time. We’d had an honest sort of chat about our circumstances which helped tremendously to lay the boundaries for how we relate to each other.

I broke off from writing this halfway to entertain Jan on his PPE whimsy, Peston and Corbyn came up a few times and then we got distracted somehow and now I’m back to writing as he seems to be intent on a game on his phone.   I go off for a dip in the hotel hot pool, joined by a honeymooning couple from Kansas.  Jan sees us but disappeared back into the room.  I get out after the pool closes and find him on his phone, intent on the screen, lying on the bed.

We’d had a chat about what we want in our relationships with people and he is very much happy in his present state although still very much looking. A bit like me. We are all looking for something that will suit us.   What suits is not getting hurt after an adult lifetime spent with the wrong partners.   The next morning we’d had an unexpected romp – I was in a silly giggly mood.  The walls were uncompromisingly thin and we dared each other to remain silent in our enthusiasm.  He’d said the night before that sex was like sneezing but took it back after I challenged him post-coital.  We settle into an easy, comfortable pace and he says that I am nice to go on holiday with as I’m not at all mad, unlike some of his other women friends.  I laughed but felt inwardly quite pleased and then wished I might be thought a little mad after all.

The day of the journey down the F35 dawned blue and golden and the sights magnificent – glaciers in the far distance, moonscape in the foreground.  Sheep in threes – ewe and her two lambs were a fairly common sight, in the middle of the road licking the salt and then skittering off as we approached.  The road became rough and full of pot holes so we stopped off at hot springs at Hveravelir, and had some tea before pushing on to Gullfoss – the mother of all waterfalls.  The road thankfully improved as we reached the tourist trodden Golden Circle before getting to our final guesthouse.  Towards the grassy plains in the south we saw plenty of Icelandic horses.

Last full day – quietly seeing the main city, a visit to the penis museum and then some souvenir shopping before a drink at b5 to revive us.  I’d come across Halldor Laxness at one of the bookshops and am determined to find him at the library.  It was late – around 4pm but I managed to persuade Jan we should drive to the Black Sand Beach in Vik.  It would have been even more spectacular if it hadn’t been raining and so we spent a mere fifteen minutes there before picking up a couple of Russian hitchhikers on the way back.  The talk inevitably turned to Putin and the Russian economy, or laughable lack of it, according to them.

Things I liked about the holiday – listening to Jan’s music – Pink Floyd, Emiliana Torrini, June Tabor and a bit of his early band Valhalla – whilst on the road trip; also the breathtaking landscape and quiet desolation of most of the north west; and of course the final guesthouse just outside Hverargedi – a modern charm of simplicity, owned and run by an Icelandic sculptor.  She was an interesting character and Jan wished he could have chatted more with her, found out more about her etc.  I also found the last two nights refreshingly relaxing and would vote it the best place to stay.  The holiday could all have been a little cheaper but we’d had a fairly incident and drama free week.

Said goodbye yesterday and we returned to our ordinary lives.

And for your patience and reading to the end of the additional 1800 words, this is why I adore the music of the Icelandic singer Emiliana Torrini –

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.

Adventures with Lars

It was a while ago when Lars first wrote to me. We must have matched in terms of the answers we had given on the dating site and as to what we were looking for – sex in a non-monogamous relationship.  We agreed on a date some nearly two weeks ahead of our first few messages to each other and I didn’t hear from him much after that, unlike with some of the others at the time who engaged in a salacious exchange of messages, photos and videos.  We had established that we both wanted drama-free fun in the real world, sans jealousy and the sluttier the better.

He did send me a message while on the Eurostar pre-meeting up along the lines that he was getting fairly aroused merely thinking of me.  I was amused, gratified and quite prepared to indulge him, the character of Amy as a liberal sex vamp was still new and appealing to me at the time and I encouraged him to give an account of any slutty adventures he might enjoy on his trip.  We exchanged creative content and I learnt that he makes music which has a looping, rhythmic quality in a language I did not recognise.  He discovered that my appeal was that I lived only a couple of miles away from him – which meant spur-of-the-moment shags were easier to engineer.  During these message exchanges I had got to know him a little more and the little was enough to have persuaded me to accept his impromptu invitation to meet before our pre-arranged date.

This was at the end of last month two days ahead of our planned date, spontaneously,  in a part of London near his place of work. It was a Saturday afternoon however and the whole of London was crowded with people. We searched about for a suitable drinking hole until finally we came across a medium-sized bistro.

During the date he had told me more about himself – growing up in a part of Africa in an expat community and discovering as an adolescent the injustice of the situation; his rebellious streak and leaving home to put himself through university and now leading an academic’s life, with time for his music and sexual peccadilloes.  He told me of his open relationship with a dominatrix and their house in the country where they might occasionally host an orgy or two.  After polishing off the cheeseboard and a fairly decent bottle of puilly fuisse between us he invited me back to his.

We got into the tube and as he is considerably taller than me he went ahead on the escalators and we were able to kiss quite comfortably with me on the step above his.  At his house he poured us some red wine and we settled on his large bed-like sofa.  He put on some music and we kissed and undressed each other.  He removed his glasses, without which he looked even younger than his 46 years.  We explored each other’s bodies and I found that he had lovely smooth and strong hands.  I was very, very turned on and when he removed his pants I could see that he had a curved hard on, quite substantial in girth and length but not so large that I should worry about fit.  The curved part was most intriguing and reminded me of a horn.  It was incredibly delicious to ride him and he brought me to climax many, many times.  When he climaxed he made such a lot of noise that I was pretty certain his neighbours from the top of his road must’ve heard him!  I can say that he was the first vocally appreciative lover I’d ever had.  It was fabulous sex and later we talked a little and he showed me some of his toy collection which included tortuously high heeled shoes, a variety of restraints, whips and assorted vibrators.  I went home much later that evening and slept soundly.

The next meeting with Lars was another tryst arranged extempore – he had called me just before six o’clock to find out if I could see him that evening.  I was on my way to meet someone whom I had had a feeling would not be as fun and so I said yes after confirming that Lars was comfortable with seeing me straight after that.  I left my first date after we managed to find a suitable place for a quickie in cover of the dark in one of the parks, against a tree and went straight home for a quick wash before letting Lars know that I was on my way.

The following day he sent me effusive messages extolling the parts of me he had enjoyed the previous evening.  He continued sending me intermittent messages during his holiday in the French Alps and indicated a desire to meet up again on his return.  I’d got into a fairly confident routine with Lars, sufficiently that I was comfortable enough to reveal my real name to him.  He may yet become one of Amy’s regular lovers.

Just came through the tunnel with the train.  Almost in London now! Mmmm, can’t wait to see you again you naughty girl! Missed your juices and your amazing tits, bottom, lips and beautiful and cheeky smile!  How does today pan out for you?  Any chance of a visit …?

So it would appear that I might have a date that evening except that I already had a pre-arranged one at half past five in the afternoon. With dinner thrown in, … possibly. I guess I was mercenary enough not to jettison the dinner date however much the appeal of a fulfilling time was with Lars.  After all he could always be dessert, I reasoned.

The advantage of these spontaneous dates was that it lifted the day and added a little excitement to an otherwise dull one.  Having been out for a brief stroll and eaten a small lunch I wasn’t tempted to linger in the cold wind.  Moreover spring had brought with it the inevitable hay fever I suffer.  I tended to keep outdoor jaunts to a minimum then however tempting the weather.

I told my lover that I could be free later, much, much later that evening and suggested a midweek alternative.  He responded that he may have to come back to me on this as he had to check with his partner  – the divinely sexy madam dominatrix – this was the image I had of her as I had no idea what she really looked like since my lover is not sentimental and did not keep any photographs in his house, not that I’d noticed as we’d always been pretty much preoccupied with other more urgent business the few times I visited.

When I saw my lover that evening he was sporting a tiny bruise under his chin from the little skiing accident the week before.  Apart from that he was exactly the same and after a few exchanges of pleasantries we went straight into re-enacting the scene with the two-backed beast.  We were so hungry for each other’s touch that it was only much later when we were completely spent that I noticed he had very thoughtfully laid out some of his toys – a rope, a vibrator and some nipple clamps – oh well, next time perhaps…

Last Sunday with Dominic

When I saw him sitting near the entrance to the bar my heartbeat quickened.  He really is here in the flesh and bore a good resemblance to the pictures he had sent me.  We’d text chatted prior to this rendezvous and swapped photos – all of which were tastefully decorous – in contrast to the frank discussion on the varieties of deviant sex we both enjoyed.  When he suggested flying out from Europe to meet me one weekend for an evening out and possibly more, I readily agreed – his spontaneity was infectious.

I was not to be disappointed – I’d had two glasses of wine and he, even more, as he’d started a little earlier before me, by the time he boldly sneaked his hand under my skirt.  I’d deliberately chosen an above the knee little number and we’d moved to a private booth behind the bar area.  When he felt the fabric of my knickers his disappointment was plain.  In our earlier messages he’d made it clear how he was looking forward to me arriving sans knickers.  I urged him to venture even further, going as far as to lift my legs and spreading them over the low table, stretching my right leg out and resting my boot on the red velvet seat, my left knee wedged against his thigh so that his hand could explore between my legs and discover that in fact I was wearing my very special knickers, ones I reserved for those men I deemed worthy, who I was confident would appreciate their appeal – a pair of crotchless panties.

Aah I see, this I like.  You really surprise me and this is even betterI think we’re going to have a lot of fun.

So of course dinner was postponed and we proceeded straightaway to his hotel room.  It overlooked the back and across the space there were other rooms with windows facing us.  We left the blinds and curtains open in case any other hotel guests fancied watching us.  He sat down on a wingback armchair in the corner of the room and I leaned over to kiss him.  His hands were all over my body and when I felt him slide my skirt up and slip between my legs, I climbed up on top of his thighs, placing my knees either side of him.

How wet you are!  But he was to make me even wetter as I rubbed and writhed over his expert fingers, which stroked and entered and stroked.

Later I slid down and unzipped his trousers – his hard on was straining to be taken out and I slid it easily out of his pants.  Whilst I really enjoy giving head, I was also longing to fuck him through my crotchless knickers and it wasn’t long before the condoms came out and on, when I crouched over him and impaled myself on his gorgeous shaft. As I rode up and down it, he nuzzled at my cleavage, hands kneading my breasts.  One popped out and he took first one nipple into his mouth and then the other.   I was already incredibly aroused and the sensations this brought on sent me into a shivering frenzy – the muscles around my vagina tensed and then released as I came in waves, squeezing his cock over and over again, gasping for breath as I rocked back and forth, now rubbing myself against his body.

Later he lifted me off and flung me onto the bed.  He slipped my knickers off but left the rest of my clothes on, my skirt around my midriff, bra and chemise still intact. Turn around and don’t move he bade and I lay on my tummy.   He came back with a tube of lube and proceeded to apply this liberally on my bottom and in my ass.

You are such a tiny woman and there’s a really tight arse you’ve got there.

I could see him kneeling over me when I turned my head as there was a large mirror on the wall.  His penis was erect and ready as he slid first into my pussy.  I gripped it again and felt the waves of orgasm overcoming me.  The anticipation of his entering me anally was deeply arousing, and he did not disappoint, sliding his finger in and then two – I wriggled a little and told him it felt uncomfortable.  He continued stroking and applying more lube, all the while patiently coaxing me into a state of relaxation.  Even so, when he entered me and slid all the way in, the pain was excruciating and I literally howled with agony.

I do give my lover credit for not being daunted by my reaction as he remained still, just as he was, cock all the way inside my arse.  As I continued screaming and gasping at the sweet pain, he leaned down and whispered in my ear that anytime I really wanted him to stop, if the agony was too much, I merely needed to say the exact words: please, Dominic stop.   But I turned to look in the mirror and the sight of his large body dominating me on the bed was as much a turn on as the pain and said yes I understood, but please don’t stop. Oh it felt horrendously painful and yet I didn’t want him to stop and he didn’t and in a short while he began fucking me thus, moving in and out; slowly at first as I continued to gasp and moan, the pleasure gradually eclipsing the anguish and I began to work up to another orgasm.  As he felt my excitement he began pounding harder, clearly now deeply aroused and enjoying violating this part of me.  I couldn’t take my eyes off us, his pale enormous body dominating mine, the bucking motion as he rode me.

We slept briefly, went downstairs for sustenance before returning to the room for more orthodox sex.  I returned home early the next morning, riding the tube against the rush hour tide.



An ethical slut – a fantasy with Darren

Inspired by an encounter I recently had with my last lover, I decided to tell the story from his viewpoint –

Amy was lying naked apart from her stockings and boots on the bed in the hotel room. It was early afternoon, sunlight was streaming through the windows of the room, and we were alone together.  She leaned up and kissed me. A sensuous kiss, the kiss of a woman who had been on her own for far too long. It was the kiss of a woman looking for a physical connection.

She had, of course, initiated this rendezvous.  I had made contact a few weeks before on a dating website making clear that my intentions were purely dishonourable and we had exchanged brief messages as she had been out of the country then.  I didn’t know very much about her except that my directness had intrigued her, that she wanted to partake of this forbidden fruit.

There was not going to be much in the way of romance. Neither of us was looking for romance, or attachment. She did not want me to make love to her. She merely needed to be fucked. I was obviously not going to turn her down.

I looked down at her as she lay back against the pillows – a vision of wanton abandon, her olive skin in contrast with the crisp white linen, her dark hair falling across her face as her eyes followed my movements.

There was a tension in the air. I sensed her wariness and a tightness as though she was holding herself back. She was determined not to make another move – she was not the kind of woman who would show her hand, who would allow her need to control her – and I wondered if her control could be lost, whether she was as vulnerable as anyone else to lust and greed. I felt excited at the prospect of unlocking that desire in her, of making her helpless with lust, and something about her self-possession made me want to break her, made me want to have her all over me, to make her feel desperate for my touch, for her to become wet and overcome with yearning.

I kissed her again – tenderly, softly, my lips caressing hers, a long, slow, intimate kiss – I could already feel her pulse at the base of her neck quickening, and as my hands slipped down it to her shoulders, I could feel her own hands coming up my body, wrap round my neck and running through my hair, pulling me down towards her, kissing me back. My hands continued down her body, slowing around the curve of her breasts, causing her to arch up towards me, pushing her breasts up. I kissed the side of her neck, caressing the back of it and I felt her warmed and softened.

Her nipples were hard against me. I needed to taste them. I kissed further down her neck, biting her a little, and she gasped, arching up to me again, and I began to kiss my way down her body, lingering around her breasts, opening my lips and taking her hard nipple into my mouth, sucking her, my tongue flicking over and around her nipple.

My hand slipped down over her soft belly, finding no resistance as my fingertips traced over her dark and naturally abundant pubic hair, down between her thighs, and she gasped softly as my fingers brushed over her clit. Her thighs opened a little, as she lifted herself up to my touch, inviting me further. I kissed my way down her body, languorously, seductively, while she lay with her back on the soft pillows, beginning to surrender, arching up to each soft kiss, each flick of my tongue.

As my lips moved down across her belly, my hands continued stroking the inside of her thighs. She raised herself up slightly and looked down at me for a moment, her face a picture of lust, watching as my tongue traced over her belly and dipped between her thighs.  With a soft sigh, she lay back down again and opened her thighs wider.

It was an invitation which was impossible to resist. My tongue slipped down around her clit, circling it softly, moving further down to her slit, my tongue slipping between her wet, pouting lips, licking her, feeling her cunt part around the tip of my tongue as I lapped at her greedily.  I paused to look at her fully between her legs.

She was very wet.  Her pubic hair around her clit glistened darkly and I could see a mole on her left labia.

Sucking on her more greedily, I could feel her wetness on my face, smearing my lips across her cunt, letting my tongue drag slowly upwards, gently teasing the hood of her clit back with my fingertips, opening my lips and taking her clit onto my mouth, swirling my tongue around, possessing her. She gasped again, trembling a little as my tongue flicked slowly and sensuously around her clit.  I wanted to look at her again and let my fingers slip down to her cunt, stroking her with my thumb. She gasped again. “Please”, she whispered.

I pushed two fingers deep into her cunt, and she groaned deliciously at the sudden penetration, pushing herself onto my fingers, my thumb circling her clit a little faster, a little harder. She was shuddering now underneath me. I wanted to make her come and so  I lowered my head down to her cunt again and continued finger fucking her as I took her swollen clit greedily into my mouth, tongue licking the tip of the hard button of her clit. I wanted to feel her come all over my face. My cock was hard, and with my free hand I grasped my erection, masturbating as I stroked her, my fingers moving in the same rhythm as my tongue.

She was so close to her orgasm, her thighs wide open now, arching up to me, my fingers splashing harder and deeper into her dripping wet cunt – my tongue worked faster around her clit, flicking, sucking, licking her more urgently, my fingers thrusting deeper – she groaned again, trembling harder, pushing up to my lips, my tongue, gasping more urgently as her orgasm approached – I needed her to come, I wanted her to come – I sucked on her harder, faster, fucking her cunt hard with my fingers, hooking my fingertips inside her, rubbing inside her in the same rhythm as my tongue on her clit – she couldn’t take any more – she groaned urgently, frantically, her body arching up off the bed, her cunt squeezing around my fingers as she started to come, hard, frantic, pulsing and throbbing around my fingers, her juices streaming from her cunt as my tongue circled over and around her clit, gasping, groaning, screaming out my name as she came, all over me.

Amy’s thighs were still trembling, her body convulsing deliciously as her orgasm pulsated through her body, my fingers still deep inside her, soaked in her juices, my tongue greedily lapping at her clit, licking and swirling and sucking as she shook gorgeously on the bed. My other hand was still around my erection, stroking myself urgently as she came, needing her, wanting her badly now – so much lust for this woman, and I had yet to fuck her.  As she bucked and writhed on the bed, still convulsing from her orgasm, I couldn’t wait a moment longer – I needed to be inside her, I had to take her.

I slid up her naked body, between her wide open thighs, my fingers still deep in her cunt, my thumb stroking around her clit, kissing my way up her body, licking, sucking, until I reached her lips – and I kissed her, greedily, lustfully. Amy responded in kind, her tongue slipping into my mouth, her thighs wrapping around me, pulling my body against hers.

Mmm I love the taste of me on your lips  –  she breathed in, pausing her kisses and licked my lips and the tip of my nose – ah there’s me here and here.

Already the swollen head of my erect cock was sliding against her clit, my penis slipping and sliding against the dripping wet lips of her cunt, rubbing against her, my cock getting wet from her as we kissed more urgently. If Amy had initiated this rendezvous – if she had truly been in control as we began – that control was slipping from her rapidly – she was still getting aftershocks from her orgasm, and as I moved between her thighs, she splayed them wide open, rubbing herself against me, offering herself to me, surrendering to my lust eagerly.

The head of my cock slipped down, her lips parting easily around my pulsing cock, and I slid easily down her slit, pulling back for a brief moment, kissing her again and thrusting my cock, hard, deep into her cunt. She groaned with pleasure, the slick wetness surrounding my erection, coating my balls, and I gasped, thrusting my cock deeper inside her, fucking her more urgently, my lips greedy on hers as I pounded harder, deeper, taking her, fucking her.

She was coming almost from that first penetration – her orgasm had barely abated from earlier, still throbbing through her, and the sudden invasion of my cock into her cunt pushed her over the edge again, screaming with pleasure as I rammed my cock again and again inside her.

I knew I couldn’t last long with this first fuck – I’d needed this from the moment I saw her, dreamt about it over the last few days – but I knew I’d need her again, and again, and again – so damn it, I was going to be selfish with her this first time. I grabbed her wrists, lifting them roughly over her head, pinning them down on the bed, and she gasped, momentarily shocked by my roughness, but melting again as my lips found her neck, nibbling at it greedily, still pinning her down as my cock slammed harder and faster into her moist cunt.

She groaned again, wrapping her thighs around my back, pulling me deeper inside her – I couldn’t take much more – it felt so good, my mind dizzy with the sensations, my cock throbbing harder inside her as her cunt milked my cock, squeezing around me as I fucked her, and fucked her, and fucked her – she began to convulse again, arching up to me, my lips greedily sucking her breasts, biting on a nipple – her cunt engulfed my cock, taking it deep, and she bucked frantically up to me, her orgasm suddenly surging through her body, gasping, groaning, convulsing around me, and as her juices poured over my swollen cock, streaming over my balls, I couldn’t take any more – I groaned her name, and began the ascent to my own orgasm, hard, my cock pulsing intensely as I felt the first spurt of come rising up, I pulled rather reluctantly out of her cunt, spurted a stream over her belly, followed by another, and another, as we came deliciously together, hard, urgently, frantically.

I was getting my breath back – my orgasm had been intense, almost draining, the urgency almost overwhelming, and as I collapsed back onto the bed, come still coating my cock, her wetness cooling on me, Amy was watching me – on her back, her thighs open wide, presenting herself to me, her belly glistening with my come, the evidence of my urgent lust.

She was still intensely aroused. I had pushed her further than she was accustomed to – I could tell that she was not used to being taken in such a manner, not used to surrendering herself, and it was clear from the look in her eyes that although her expectations had been met, there was a slight resentment at how easily she had betrayed herself.

She looked at me, almost studying me, calculating, judging, considering her next move. I tried to return her look, my gaze drifting across her soft, naked curves, lingering, wanting her again, but still breathless from my orgasm. As she watched me, her hand drifted down her soft belly, between her open thighs. Her other hand cupped her breast, squeezing, caressing. I watched her, entranced, my cock stirred again, very much enjoying the intimacy of what she was allowing me to see. She clearly loved to be watched.

And she was deliberately arousing me again, that much was certain. Resting was not an option. She wanted to be fucked again. Her fingers were stroking her clit deliberately, sometimes rubbing sensually, sometimes slipping her fingers deep inside her cunt, masturbating not for my pleasure, but for hers.

My hand slipped around my cock, and I began to stroke myself, masturbating in time with her, my cock warm, erect in my hand, wet from her, wet from her cunt. She watched me, her gaze insolently fixed on my growing erection, watching my fingers slide up and down my cock rhythmically, in time with her own hands. It was too much, that brazen look on her, as though daring me to abase myself, taunting me.  Despite that, I was once again erect.  It was too much and I shifted up a gear.  Looking around the bed I noticed a sleep mask and two towelling dressing robes.

“Turn around” I commanded.

Amy gasped at the change in my tone, but did not move, her fingers continued stroking her clit, defiantly rubbing a lot faster.  I pulled her roughly off the bed and down onto her knees in front of me on the floor. She gasped, trembling, her fingers pausing.

“Take the belt from the dressing robe here.”

Nervously, she responded, handing me the belt. She could see my cock at a 90 degree angle, so close to her face.  She leaned over and licked the tip with her tongue.  It felt delicious, my cock pulsing at her touch, but I resisted and leaned out of her reach.  Amy could feel the warm wetness between her legs, her aching cunt already drenched, wanting to touch herself there, yet fearful now of the response.

Unable to keep myself at a distance, I moved a little closer to Amy as she was knelt in front of me. My cock is hugely erect, so close to her lips again, visibly throbbing.  She parted her lips greedily, sliding her hand to my hard cock, steering the swollen head into her mouth almost a little too eagerly, sliding her lips over me, taking my hard penis deep into her mouth, her tongue swirling and lapping around my erection. I groaned with pleasure, my grip tightening in her hair, pushing her lips further down onto my cock, holding her there as I started to fuck her mouth, a little roughly, taking my own pleasure, looking down at her as she sucked and licked greedily.  Such a dirty little slut.

I pulled my cock from her mouth roughly, dragging her up onto her feet, hearing her whimper, needing more.

“Bend over the desk,” I said. She cleared a space on the desk in front of the window, bending over, presenting her bottom to me in clear view of anyone who might look up at the window from below outside. My hand slid between her thighs, my fingers slipped over her hot, wet cunt, stroking her greedily. “You’re dripping wet.”

“yes…” she gasped, trying to push herself back against me. I lifted up my hand rapidly, and brought it down firmly onto her ass, spanking her hard, and she gasped with pain and pleasure, groaning sensually.

I stood behind her now, my hand in her hair again, pushing her face down onto the desk roughly, holding her there.  Amy could feel me pressed against her now from behind, my erection hard between her buttocks, rubbing against her, not entering her yet.

I pulled away for a moment, spanking her again, hard.

“Give me your wrists,”  Amy leaned forward on the desk, letting it support her, passing her wrists back to me timidly.  Picking up the belt, I tugged her wrists tightly behind her back, tying them with the belt, a little too tightly – it must have hurt a little when she struggled, digging into her wrists.

I slid my cock against her ass again, still holding her down. Amy could feel my erection pulsing between the cheeks of her ass, so hot, so hard.  I took a handful of her hair, pulling her back towards me, her back arching deliciously as she pushed back against me, my hand sliding around her body, cupping a breast in my fingers, pinching one of her nipples, rubbing myself against her, using her.

Amy needed me inside her, needed to feel my cock deep inside her cunt, but her wrists were tied tightly behind her back, and it was almost impossible for her to move, bent roughly over the desk, my hand still in her hair, pulling her back harder, leaning over her. I dragged her back harder, my cock pressed hard against her ass, my free hand sliding underneath her.  I pushed her face down against the desk, holding her down, my cock slipping down from between her buttocks, throbbing and erect, sliding quickly between her open thighs from behind, rubbing the head of my swollen penis against her dripping wet cunt… getting it wet.. and then pushing… hard… all the way inside her with one long, deep thrust.

I thrust my erection deeper and harder inside her. I could feel her trying to grind back onto me, and I lifted up my hand again, slapping her bare ass. Amy groaned with pleasure, unable to help herself pushing further back onto me, her warm, wet cunt engulfing the full length of my penis, squeezing tight around me.  I spanked her again, harder this time, taking hold of her hips, ramming my cock into her, deep and hard. Amy squealed with pleasure and pain.

I started to move inside her now… I knew that was what she wanted… my cock fucking her… harder… faster… and she was so fucking wet… so tight around my thrusting cock… ramming deeper into her now… her cunt splashing around my cock… she was groaning, already so close to coming… crying out with each hard thrust of my cock, slamming into her… taking her… using her for my own pleasure…

I had instructed her not to move, but I could still feel her cunt tightening deliciously around my erect cock, squeezing around me, trying to take me deeper inside. I groaned with pleasure myself, and she squeezed around my cock again, her cunt pulsating around my erection, pushing herself back onto me, fucking me hard as I fucked her, driving my cock deep inside her, and she groaned lustfully, begging me to fill her, begging me to cum hard in her cunt, begging me to spurt all my cum deep inside her.

I could barely resist – I heard her gasp deliciously, feeling her squeeze tightly around my cock, and she started to tremble, pushing herself back onto me, groaning.  I gasped with pleasure, thrusting my pulsing cock deep and hard into her cunt, grabbing her hair, tugging her back… hard. I needed to cum too, but I held it back, feeling my penis throbbing hard, somehow managing to hold back my own orgasm…

I pulled my erection out of her cunt with a wet pop, and we both groaned, Amy still convulsing, her juices dribbling down from her cunt, begging me to fuck her again, begging me to fuck her hard. I valiantly ignored her, pushing her head back down on the desk, lifting up my hand, and spanking her – a hard, sharp slap on her ass, reminding her that she had been bad, that she needed to be punished. She groaned with pleasure and pain, needing to be filled, needing to be fucked.

I reached across the bed and picked up the sleep mask, my hand sliding through Amy’s hair again, taking a handful, dragging her head back roughly, hearing her gasp.  But first I leaned over and opened the sash window.  The sounds from the busy street below wafted up.  Clearly if we could hear the passersby below, it stood to reason that any sounds we made would now also be carried down.

Before Amy could move, I secured the mask on her, blindfolding her, pushing her back over the desk, her wrists still firmly tied behind her back, the belt pinching her wrists a little. She whimpered, and I knelt down behind her, sliding my hand between her thighs, instructing her to spread them wider. Feeling my fingers stroking her, sliding inside her wet cunt, she trembled and opened her thighs further, suddenly feeling another dressing robe cord wrapping around her ankle, strapping it tightly to the leg of the desk. She groaned, trembling again, so wet now, feeling me spreading her legs wide, I unlooped the belt from my jeans and used it to tie her other ankle to the other leg of the desk, then standing up behind her again, my hand slipped back between her open thighs , stroking her, thrusting my fingers deep into her cunt. Amy groaned softly with pleasure, trying to push back onto my fingers, but she was strapped up tight now, her ankles tied to the desk, her wrists strapped behind her back, the blindfold over her eyes, unable to see anything.

I looked down at her red bottom, it was burning hot to the touch from the spanking it had received moments ago.  I ran my fingers around it, squeezing the cheeks and then spread them apart.  There was the beautiful little dark flower which was the opening to her secret.  I spat onto my hands, lubricating my fingers as I gently caressed the rosebud puckering there.  She gasped again as I eased one finger in.

“Perhaps I should fuck you here?”

There was no reply from Amy and I repeated my question.

“Have you ever been fucked in there before?”  She nodded.

“And you liked it?  Enjoyed having a cock in there?” I continued.

“It wasn’t with anyone, I, um, I had a, um, a toy.  It was a very long time ago.”

“Oh you really are a naughty girl, aren’t you?  So would you like me to fuck you here?”  By this time I’d inserted two very wet fingers in her arse.  I looked at her, in front of me, tied to the desk, helpless and could feel the rising excitement in my erection.  I spat into my hands and pumped my cock, lubricating it with a mixture of her cunt juices and my spit.

“Mmm I think I shall,” with one swift movement I entered her arse with my cock.  I heard her gasp as I filled her suddenly; startled, she tried to strain away and then I felt her relax.  Stifling her cries, Amy, conscious of the pedestrians and traffic below emitted low moans of enjoyment.  She moved her head nearer to my left hand which was now on the desk for support and began sucking at my thumb which I slipped between her lips.  The sensation of her sucking and licking it somehow connected with my cock and we established a harmonious rhythm.  My right hand was now snaked under her body in her cunt, three fingers inside her this time, my palm pressed over her clit, hooking my fingers, rubbing inside her in tempo with my left thumb and cock as I filled and used this woman, fucking her three orifices at once.  If anyone had looked up they would have seen her bent over the desk, with me looming behind her and would not have failed to recognise by my movements what we were enjoying that afternoon.   I almost did not want it to end but it felt so good when I finally came inside her.

I was sure that I would see more of Amy in future and looked forward to another meeting.

First week back with Max


I drove to Max’s and called him.  He came down to meet me and we walked up to the high street.  We paused outside a few restaurants before deciding on The Black Lion pub.  It had an ornate ceiling painted in dark red and gold.  The windows were acid etched and decorated with hanging lamp shades in various colours and design.  The menu had a Spanish influence.  After ordering we sat down in front of an open fireplace on a sofa.  A picture perfect setting for our date after a 2 week hiatus.

We talked about my holiday and his job offers and his decision to continue working at his current post although on a different project.  Halfway through our meal the people who were sitting across from us left and were replaced by a young amorous couple.  M remarked that here were another pair openly kissing and cuddling in front of us, reminding me of our first meeting when there were also another though more mature couple who were also deeply intent on each other.   We ourselves kissed a few times but in a more restrained fashion, I’d say decorous and mindful of the fact that we were in a public place, until we returned to his.  There he had very thoughtfully put the heating on and some music.  We kissed more intimately on the sofa and then he lay down and pulled me down beside him.  It wasn’t very comfortable and I felt in danger of tipping over the edge so we decided to go to his bedroom.

We got under the covers and he was a little bolder exploring under my skirt and touching the top of my thighs and bottom.

Mm your skin feels silky soft.

I asked him whether most women had similarly soft skin and he thought some softer than others.  He was to get bolder later on when he brought out some colourful ribbons of ripped sari silks and tied my wrists and ankles to the four sides of his bed.  It was thrilling initially and arousing but when he lay on top of me it began to feel uncomfortable and suddenly i developed a stitch in my right side.  I didn’t want to ruin the mood but later it got more painful and I, a little frantically, asked to be released.  M obliged and  I gratefully cuddled up to him.  After that we made love in a more conventional fashion and eventually fell asleep.  I awoke at around one in the morning and got dressed.  Kissing him goodbye I slipped out and left.  We had arranged to meet up again at the weekend and continued texting and emailing each other in between.

There had been a small misunderstanding before Tuesday which we managed to smooth over and resolve.  It was largely due to his considerate nature and quick response which helped to clear up our quarrel and a few days after that I felt compelled to let him know I appreciated his kindness.   There followed more texting and emailing although less excessively than when we were separated by continents.

I had made arrangements to meet up with someone who had made contact with me about the same time when M got in touch this year.  And although I was looking forward to the date I wondered whether to tell M about it.


After the date with S on Friday evening I saw that M had called me.  When I returned his call he was in the bath and asked me what I had been so busy doing as not to have answered the phone.  I could have made up a story but I wanted to be honest and told him the truth.  I think M felt a twinge of jealousy and I offered to drive down to see him.

We watched a programme which M told me might feature a colleague but we may have missed his appearance as it was already halfway through when we started watching.  I was sitting against M and when the programme ended he kissed me and we ended up in bed.  We fucked again in the morning just minutes before he had to leave to meet up with an ex-girlfriend.  I surprised myself by not feeling jealous at all.  This is very much out of character and I wondered at the significance – is it significant and what does that say about my relationship with M?

Kisses from N

“bath run, oven on, music playing in the background”

as i parked my car outside my new lover’s house i looked briefly at the screen on my phone and couldn’t help smiling.  this is someone who knew how to seduce a woman.  we’d met last weekend on the heath, at my suggestion, to walk our dogs together and see whether there might be more than a shared interest in taking long, rambling sojourns on the windswept wildness in these drizzly grey winter months.  i told him that i loved going up to parliament hill and taking in the view over the metropolis and he said that it was one of the things he was going to miss when he moved westward.

at the end of our walk we repaired to the pub on downshire hill and sat by the open fire with a bottle of red between us.  slightly tipsy at about 2pm i walked uphill to the bus-stop.  he kissed me a soft goodbye just as my bus was approaching and i waved to him from the window.  that evening he suggested that he would cook me dinner the following night and sent me his address.

it wasn’t difficult to find his mews house on the edge of north london.  he met me at the door with a large glass of a blended red wine, shiraz and merlot.  barry white was playing in the background and there was the delicious aroma of baked pastries or bread.  sure enough there was a small tray with an ensemble of crudités and vol au vent -ish looking canapés.

i wasn’t sure how hungry you were going to be, he ventured a smile as he waved at the table.

umm, when i saw that you’d run a bath, i wondered what else you had in mind besides dinner.

would you like to see the house?

we stopped outside the bathroom – it was magical in candle-light and the bubbles on the surface of the bath twinkled invitingly.

he bent his head and brushed his lips on the nape of my neck.  i shivered in response.

are you feeling cold?

he was not familiar with my responses and i turned round and looked into his eyes.  they were dark, a deep grey in the dim light.

you’ll find that when you do that, it makes me want you to do more.

he kissed me deeply this time and we both abandoned the idea of dinner temporarily.

as he poured oil on my back in the bath, i remembered his dog – where’s tara?

she’s with my sister and her own sister as i’ve got the move to organise tomorrow morning.  she would hate to have to meet strangers removing boxes and furniture from the house.

and i thought we might enjoy this evening on our own and see how we get on.

His hands were rubbing firmly against the small of my back and then travelling up in sweeping strokes along my side and up to my shoulder where he paused and kneaded the flesh there.  he pulled me against his body and as i pressed closer to him, i could feel his hard-on against my back.  earlier i’d had a quick look and seen that he was fairly well-endowed.  after a diet of men with medium to small penises, his looked a little alarming.

i needn’t have worried as he was quite assiduous in ensuring that i only felt pleasure and not pain.  the positions we took up and the shallowness of his penetration at the beginning was a prelude to later ecstasy when i had warmed up sufficiently and was able to take the fullness of his tumescence within me.

our lovemaking lasted a whole two hours which included his licking me and causing me to orgasm as his fingers thrust deeply into me even as his tongue and lips flicked and sucked at me.  it was the first time that i had actually managed a clitoral orgasm without the use of any toys.

it wasn’t merely his technique but his reiteration and appreciation of my body – you’re so, so sexy, your body is beautiful and gorgeous.  i love how wet you get.  i can feel how much you’re enjoying this.

and when i offered to return the favour, he was in turn vocally appreciative of my efforts.  later when we were both utterly spent on the bed, we both fell asleep for a short while.  it was late and i had to leave my lover but he tried to make me take home with me the baked pastries.  ordinarily, i would have given them to tara, but i won’t see her until next weekend – he reasoned.  give them to your removals people – i can’t possibly have them all, it’s far too many.  in the end he gave me a small number and i felt it would have been churlish to carry on refusing.

strangely it made me reluctant to want to continue the liaison.  on the drive home i tried to put my finger on what it was about the evening that was so off-putting.  was it really the awkwardness with the canapés?  the episode was enjoyable and more.  and yet i didn’t feel as if i wanted to see N in a hurry again.  i gave up thinking about it when i got home and after giving my dog the bag of canapes, went upstairs, got ready for bed and fell into a deep and sated sleep.

Waterloo Hotel – or how to get over a break-up

The Cook, The Thief, The Wife and Lover – he said referencing incorrectly a Peter Greenaway film.  I tell him that he’d got the order wrong and that it all ends badly.

Tongue in cheek he shot back that he intentionally misquoted the title of the film to see who might respond.  we banter about films and flirt over the message boards of the dating website.  he then boldly suggested that we ought to meet up and if our stars aligned he might make me an indecent proposal.  i playfully asked him how much was at stake.  two hours later i was driving into town.  parking was a tad tricky despite it being the weekend.

It was a busy sunday afternoon at the royal festival hall.  i walked past him as he had glasses on unlike his picture on the dating site.  he called out my name and i laughed my hello.

i look geeky in my glasses don’t i? – he gave an endearingly self-conscious wave with his hand tapping his fingers on the frame.

geek is the new black and i tend to have a thing for nerdy men – i replied, wanting to put him at ease but also sincerely.

there’s a fine line between geeky and nerdy – he smiled ruefully.

i usually like both – i countered.

it was a promising start and we went inside and found a table just as it was being vacated.  he got me a tea and some cake and a coffee for himself.  we carried on talking about our experiences with the dating website.  he had a warm bedside manner i found, as he told me that he was working in the A & E department of the local hospital.  after half an hour or so of pleasant conversation he announced that he’d booked a room in waterloo hotel so that we might have more privacy there.

i told him that it was too sudden and i felt the need for some dutch courage, so we stopped at a pub en route.  he had a rum and coke whilst i had a glass of red wine.  2 more glasses of red later and i began to feel that i just might like to see what he was like in bed.  i explained that i’d never made an assignation such as this before but that i was very much looking forward to it.

it had got quite dark when we left the pub and he took my hand as we walked to the hotel.  when we got into the lift he leaned over and kissed me.  his lips were warm and soft and just as the doors pinged open he darted the hard tip of his tongue between my lips and withdrew it quickly.  it was a startling experience and i realised that i’d had my eyes closed mid-kiss when my lids sprang open at this quick jab.  he was already out of the lift and i followed him rather foolishly into the corridor.  he opened the door to a room and i was surprised at how small it was.

as the door closed to he moved to the window and drew the curtains.  i kicked off my shoes and watched as he began to undress himself.  i removed my coat and jacket but was suddenly paralysed with embarrassment.  what am i doing here?  do i really want this?  these questions ran all over my brain and i suddenly wasn’t sure.  but a large part of me was very curious about the experience and i knew that really i wanted to see it to the end – an uncomplicated coupling with no expectation of a relationship and no regrets.

when he was down to his vest and shorts he came over and asked me if i would like a cup of tea.  i laughed and shook my head.  he sat me down on the bed and held the sides of my head in his hands and kissed me again.  this time his tongue softly explored the inside of my mouth which i found incredibly arousing.  he pushed me into the middle of the bed and slid his hands under my top.  he bent over and took my right nipple into his mouth, lightly flicking his tongue around it and then he turned his attention to my left breast and sucked on my left nipple.  eventually he pulled my top off over my head and ran his lips and tongue over my belly, my wrinkled, wobbly middle-aged saggy belly and further down between my legs.  he slipped my knickers off and licked me with his pointy hard tongue.  mm you’re very wet and slippery – he looked up at me and i thought how dark his grey eyes were in his pale white face with very short greying hair, a salt and pepper hue.  i stroked his head and marvelled at the softness of his hair which looked as though it should be hard and bristly.  what was hard was the tip of his tongue as he flicked and jabbed it at that part of me which wanted to feel softness, the softness that i knew it was capable of turning into as it had done when he had plunged it relaxed and warm in my mouth earlier.

he got onto his knees on the floor and pulled me to the edge of the bed and continued to pleasure me, hard and then soft in turn until i felt i could not take anymore.  i wondered at my boldness when i asked him to insert two fingers inside me.  as i gripped them i came over and over in waves.  when i had stopped, he withdrew his fingers and i watched him lick them with sensuous deliberation.  he knelt over me and slid his cock out over the tops of his shorts.  it was very hard but not overly big – i reached into my handbag and took out a condom.  it was better to be safe as we did not know each other very well.

when we had had our fill of lust that afternoon we both dozed off in exhaustion.  i had a quick wash and got ready to leave my replete lover.  he made me promise to text him when i got home.  i did and that was the end of it – neither of us has contacted the other since.

There will be others

November 2014

I am sitting at my desk at the back of the house overlooking the garden.  It is damp and grey with a thin drizzle hanging in the air outside.  The weather is a reflection of my mood.  My summer love has left me because he couldn’t forget the one that got away.  I would never learn her name or anything about her except that 2 years after she left he was still unable to forget her.  He had shown me the place on his body where he had had himself marked to remember her by – a tattoo of a ring with a simple design set in a swirling pattern, not unlike the swirls in a Van Gogh painting.  It is nothing short of remarkable for a Japanese man to ink his body – only the yakuza do it and they are the pariah of civilised society.  I’d had a sense of foredooming about our affair but not been able to trace it accurately or identify the reason for my fears.  And when I let myself believe too much that I might fall in love again, Tetsuo had let me know how much the girl who got away was still very much in his heart.

The events which led to our break up are still an embarrassment for me to recount – suffice to say it did not end well and included a firm closing of the front door and henceforth to this day I have not clapped eyes on my lover again.  What began as a light hearted romance continued in two separate trajectories for us – in T’s case it must have remained a dalliance all the way to the end; for me, the affair became something overwhelming to the point that I had been unable to consider that my lover might not have felt the same way as me.  The scales very rapidly began to fall from my eyes one evening and painful as it is I realise now that our affair really has come to an end, confirmed a few days later when my lover finally wrote to explain why he was letting me go.

The following is a diary of happier days – those moments two people share at the beginning of a budding romance.

How it began

The day I met him was one of the hottest that year.  We’d arranged to meet at Kenwood House at 3pm and promptly on the hour he arrived soaked in perspiration having traipsed across the Heath from Hampstead station in the south.  I think he didn’t feel too comfortable about this and when I made a few jokes about it I’m not sure if that only  made things worse.  We sat down in the shade of an abundant  jasmine in the corner of a cafe patio with my tea and his coke.  He soon got over his nervousness.

Mostly we talked about films,  books and poetry and the time just flew by.  When we were sufficiently refreshed we decided to walk up towards Parliament Hill.  On a bench overlooking London we continued our conversation.  I told him about a few of my unsuccessful dates – men who did not set a good impression simply by their malodorous presence.  He must have realised that personal hygiene was one of my deal breakers.

He was charming and amusing and I’m left guessing at the end of this meeting if he would want to see me again.  He did walk me to my car even though it was at the opposite end to where he needed to go, but he declined my offer of a lift to his train station.  We said good bye without touching.  Perhaps I’d intimidated him with my talk about not tolerating unpleasant odours …

The following morning he sent me a text message:


(back at work, boo!) Thank you again for a lovely afternoon yesterday. It was great to meet you and not notice the hours flying by. I’d very much like to see you again (with a fresh batch of questions, uncomfortable or otherwise) and hope you would too.

And throughout the day we sent messages to each other.

It all culminated with an invitation to dinner.

The First Date – Rasa N16

This was a very pleasant evening with a lot of banter and more freely flowing conversation. At the end of the meal we went for a walk, carried on talking light heartedly until eventually it was time for me to get on the bus to go home.

There was a palpable air of expectation while we waited in spite of the bright lighting from the kebab shop with its numerous staff and customers looking directly onto the bus stop where we were.  Still,  I asked him what  might be on his mind.   He said he wanted to kiss me but wasn’t sure of my reaction. I urged him to boldness and we kissed – many promising, sensuous, soft kisses which caused me to miss not one, not two but several buses.

I went home with a spring in my step.   On the bus we texted each other:


Just saw all these texts from you. Thank u!! And thank you for a lovely evening.

I especially enjoyed saying goodbye


Thank you too for another lovely date. I also very much enjoyed our goodbye and look forward to our next hello x

The Second Date – Eat Tokyo

I rushed my toilette to meet him.  So eager was I that I forgot ear rings and watch.  Dinner went well, we laughed over my taking a picture of him having his first meal with me and the evening looked promising.  I invited him back home and we were a little self conscious in my room as we undressed each other.  He warned me half a second before he removed his shirt, asking if i minded a man with tattoos.  I was a little startled as he didn’t strike me as someone who would be tattooed!

I’d so wanted the sex to be good but the first time left me thinking that perhaps I don’t turn T on as much as he me. Even so the man has a sexy way with words and I’ve just wasted some more time this afternoon thinking about him.  I think we deserve a second chance.

The Third Date – Before I go to sleep

We met at the foyer of the cinema – I was really looking forward to meeting my date again.  We said our hellos and I was mildly surprised he didn’t offer to kiss me since at our previous meeting he’d greeted me with a kiss on the cheek.  I wondered if this was going to be the run up to the end.

I wouldn’t blame him – my entire way of living is the opposite to his.  He leads a most ethical, vegan and unimpeachable lifestyle whereas I have a few fur-lined coats and at least one sheep skin jacket!  I now see all the animal products in my house through his eyes and wonder how he manages to bring himself to visit me.  It is no small wonder that he has not managed to have an orgasm in our last two attempts at coitus.  Despite this I thoroughly enjoy his company and I hope he mine.  But I’m quite sure that it is only a matter of time before he bids me farewell and finds a worthier companion.

All the same I have learnt some new things from T –

I discover that I’m turned on by how he smells naturally compared to the mask he applies.  When he kisses me it makes me feel warm and smiley and then as his tongue grows bolder and plunges into my mouth I find myself completely aroused with the rush of anticipation.

He also makes me laugh a lot.  It has been a very pleasurable way to spend the weekend – sleeping, waking to kiss and more, falling asleep and repeating it all over.  Eventually I returned him home in the late morning and finally said goodbye.  I know that I have been slightly thrown off my emotional balance as I quite forgot how to operate my car on trying to drive away.

The Fourth Date – A most wanted man

I met my lover last night at a cinema in Angel.  Later that evening, (after the film had ended and we were recovering from the shocking denouement – at least I was), he tells me that the tube station was named after a pub – the Angel, which in turn was so called because of the angels of the night, the prostitutes who frequented the area.  He is a mine of information, this man.

We kissed our hellos, smiley kisses on lips and kiss some more later at bus-stops and other public places.   I think later and still do, that I can grow too fond of him.  We go for dinner and the time flies by unnoticed – he tells me a little about what he does.  I hoped that he’d ask me back to his and he does.  We get on a Boris Bus, my first time on one, a no. 38.  It’s new and clean and climate controlled, although the windows don’t open – he tells me about a ventilation failure one hot summer’s day on the way home from work when it had got unbearably stifling.

At his, we lie together in the front room and enjoy listening to some music on his playlist – a female singer on an acoustic guitar.  Who knows we might never have got off the sofa if my legs hadn’t felt cold.  In his bedroom he has a painting of a nude kneeling, her face averted, a cloth modestly draped across her body.  The background is in hot orange and red;  his bedcovers too are in the same hues, and redolent of bodily smells.  It takes me a while to get used to this and it must be a testament of how much I am already a little in love with him that I’m not completely put off.  In fact most things that would ordinarily put me off – sweating in buckets for example, don’t at all!  I’m a little amazed at how drenched in sweat T can get.  We kiss a lot and  he likes how wet I get, tasting me on his fingers.  We rather tentatively tell each other our preferences but not everything, as all this is still very new.

In the morning it’s time to go after another cuddle.  We get ready and he walks me to my stop.  All too soon the bus is there.  We kiss goodbye rather hurriedly.  I hope I see him again – he promises one day next week but isn’t sure.

The Fifth Date – candlelit

I invited my lover round for dinner and at the last minute decided to light all the candles and tealights in the dining room.  The place was transformed!  He was a little overwhelmed and must’ve thought … I don’t know what he thought … but my 12 year old daughter was rather taken aback when she came downstairs and demanded to know who I was throwing a birthday party for.

He arrived early having biked 10 miles from home and was padded out in all his cycle gear.  I kissed him, he smelt deliciously of masculine effort and I would have liked to have ravished him on the spot except that the jealous hound was protesting loudly, my daughter might’ve come downstairs again and the dinner was on the hob.  So I had to content myself with only a kiss.

Tempus fugit yet again – we talked through the night not getting much sleep at all, for the next thing we knew, it was about 3 or 4 am.  Kissing each other good night, I fell asleep almost straightaway.

I can never lie successfully despite not wishing to hurt or upset anyone.  So when T asked if we could meet this Friday I found it hard to smoothly decline.  In the end he realises that I have made a date with another man.

In spite of that I’m invited back and one evening was received on his sofa, he in red pyjama bottoms and a T shirt.

We kissed and cuddled for a bit and it was past midnight when he suggested that we go to bed.   His bedlinen is now a lovely creamy cotton and as it was so late I wasn’t expecting him to want anything other than go to sleep.  I think it was his pyjamas – they had I’m not having sex with you written all over them.  But he did remove them before getting into bed.  I, rather foolishly had kept my vest and pants on prompting T to comment on my being a tad over-dressed for our romantic tryst.

I woke up several times in the night and had lain there thinking amongst other things, of the few times I’d actually slept through the night in somebody else’s bed since my marriage broke up.  I leaned over to kiss him on his back once, just wanting a little human touch.  Later in the morning I took him in my arms under protest.  He seems to think that I deliberately wake him up to keep me company!  I’m sure he’s teasing me again – how can anyone object to cuddles in bed?

We make arrangements to see each other the following week so things appear to be on an even keel so far.   When I drove home the car drives itself back almost smoothly now that it’s learnt this route in such a short time –  but then when he moves house it shall have to learn a whole new route.

Date Cancelled – man down

We were to have met up tonight but instead he has caught a bug.  Or is that code for putting on the brakes …

I suppose it has been going a little too well until now – dates with T.  We’d only stumbled on each other at the end of last month and so it’s still new and exciting with a lot more to find out.  And until we stop enjoying each other’s company there’s no reason why we shouldn’t carry on as we are.  He doesn’t live too far away and all the expectation when preparing for the next date with him is still novel enough to provide a thrill – Casanova springs to mind.  The world’s greatest lover had said that the most exciting part of all his ‘adventures’ was the feeling of anticipation as he climbed the stairs to his ladies’ chambers.

The Seventh Date – gone girl

What started out as another movie and noodles date (with a lot of hand holding in the cinema – delish! and having a laugh on the bus over a confusion about seating arrangements with another couple) ended with a very indulgent morning spent mostly in bed.

Much earlier I’d woken up and left T to catch up on sleep. I took the dog out into a mild morning, not raining yet with the occasional sunny rays brushing the ground and tree tops as the clouds scud across, gathering in the distance into an ominous grey mass.  The dog and I went to say hello to the horses in the field.  The white one is the boldest, leaning his muzzle down for me to stroke him.  The hound went mad with jealousy and so we had to move on.

We didn’t take the turning up to the Darland’s which would have added another hour to the walk as I wanted to get back to my lover.   I peeped into the room and saw him fast asleep still, so tiptoeing back downstairs I slipped out to get a paper and coffee, leaving breakfast to cook gently in the oven.  When I get back I turn off the cooker and go upstairs with the paper and a couple of oranges.  T is awake and smells divinely masculine.  We kissed and in the middle of our romp, I ask him – Would you like me to lick you?  to which he replies – When would I ever say no?

Later, I go down and get the breakfast together, put everything on a tray and we had breakfast in bed.  I enjoy indulging my lover – after all I hadn’t seen him since last weekend and I love having his company this lazy Saturday morning – lazier especially as it got wetter and windier towards midday.  I kissed my lover goodbye outside his place and by the time I got home it was already half past one.

T is in the middle of house renovations, intent on teal for his bedroom.  It also happens to be one of my favourite colours but I send a picture to my lover telling him that besides teal there’s also purple …

The picture had been taken nearly ten years ago at a time when I was getting over someone else’s mid life crisis.  Am I going through a crisis of my own now?  An old friend having read a post in my blog sent me a message, he said he hadn’t realised 10 years ago what I must’ve been going through – I’d put on a false bravura of keeping calm and managing the show then, and remarked that it must have been trying times – a complete understatement!

I know though that I am happiest unfettered – forging new relationships, getting into the stride of singlehood – initially apprehensive, then audacious.  I find that what is fun and pleasurable never seem to last.  People tell me I shouldn’t be so honest – that men don’t like being one of many and I should be economical with the vérité.   I’m sure with practice I can become skilled at this deceit too.

At present I’m quite happy enough to be the object of interest to my current lover, T and don’t hanker after new connections.  I’m rather taken with him and cannot now imagine being intimate with anyone else.

It’s a frightening prospect – giving one’s heart to a single person to hold.  We are all human and can quite conceivably drop even precious things.

An Impromptu Eighth Date – a leg over

My lover tells me that that picture in the last post inspired some salacious ideas, going into some graphic detail and since then whenever T intrudes on my consciousness I too cannot get the images out of my head.

So I sent him an invitation to chat.  He called me on my mobile which rather surprised me as this was something that T isn’t a big fan of, apparently something to do with awkward silences.  To me silences are only problematic if you felt the need to fill them.  When he asks me how I was I suddenly felt uncomfortable, perhaps a little bashful about the lascivious mental pictures earlier.

After about 20 odd minutes of this my lover said that he still wasn’t persuaded phone conversations were his thing, that he much preferred face to face contact.  I seized my opportunity and suggested that I could drive over for just such contact.  He thought I wasn’t being serious although when he realised the offer was genuine he readily acceded.

I drove to my lover’s and had my leg over.  I’m sure he quite enjoyed it too.  I was sorry to leave him but he must be grateful for an uninterrupted night’s sleep and after all we’re to meet again mid-week although there may be some doubt about this, some urgent matter to do with a competition involving pastry.  Que sera sera …

The Ninth and Tenth Dates – at the mercy of the weather

We went out on a wet autumn evening, hair dripping, coat soaked.  We were to have met at the theatre bar and saw the text from him – theatre bar not open. Would I go to the pub round the corner – The Marquess of Anglesey, an Anglicized version of the French/European Marquis.   He was drinking a fairly dense red on the bright side of refreshing so I thought I’d join him too.  We were both rather tired but the play was hilarious and I laughed myself almost hoarse.  After that we went to grab a bite at a vegetarian Indian.

I haven’t been myself all week – we had met on Friday evening previously at Manna – a vegan restaurant in Primrose Hill.  T was more than delighted at my choice of dining venue, having been there once before.  Later he’d come back to mine and we went straight upstairs for a slow cuddle which became a lot more.

The morning after had seen a repeat of the previous weekend – papers, more kisses and cuddles, breakfast and then it was time for him to go.

I’ve had a lot on my mind this week and I guess so has he and so the dates of the last few days have seemed a little off.  I think we were still very happy to be in each other’s company and the sex is now very good.  I’m not seeing anyone else anymore and perhaps it feels a little scary putting myself in a position of exclusivity – this is of my own volition, not anything asked for or expected by my lover – I just felt that it would be the right thing to do almost instinctively even from much earlier – not wanting my lover to think I was a complete tart.

My heart sings that he wants to see me again next week – his busy week of house moves &c..  and on his birthday too.  I was inspired to write the a silly poem about love and kisses.


He said – I got sprung

in the context of my sending him a photo of me in a fleecy pyjama top and knee high socks to prove how unsexy fleecy jammies are; I’d thought he meant he was surprised by the text pic.

I should just ask him what he means but I fear that would be too close to becoming one of those where are we at type of conversations which always spoils things.  At the moment this guessing and hoping adds a frisson of excitement to everything we do.  I think I too might be a little sprung.

He texted me later that he meant the crude version of the definition.  I felt mildly ridiculous but then he said there was nothing wrong about romanticising the crude, which made me feel slightly better.

We couldn’t meet up on Tuesday but he called me in spite of his headache and nightmare dealings over house purchasing.  At the end of the call I felt as if I would burst with emotion.


The Eleventh Date – half a century

T celebrated his birthday today.  Last night I went round to his new home – he’d warned me about the state of it, except of course i misunderstood his messages.  I have this tendency to overthink plain statements like this one:

This is NOT me trying to get rid of you, but you may want to come over tomorrow evening and then retreat to more comfort at home. I would not be offended! (The floor sander guy is coming around   at 8am…)

I wondered if he actually meant that he’d rather be on his own and was trying to put me off – he’d already cancelled our date last Tuesday after all.  I tell myself that it would be all right, I can try to understand his wanting to be alone; and even as I do this there is that familiar nub of despair that gnaws at your insides – in the pit of your stomach, because the truth of it is that the sharp pain of rejection is always at the ready to strike.  I try to be level-headed about it and sometimes logic prevails eventually, but never without the initial pang of uncertainty.  He patiently explains himself that he really would like to see me but was conscious that his place was not at its most comfortable.

Even so, as I was driving to see my lover last night, excited on the one hand, I continued to feel a tinge of sadness.  I’m not sure why.

I found a diary entry I’d scribbled down a few days ago:

It’s now a part of me that I obsess and enthuse over a new connection.  I know I’m not so good at making it last.  My life is littered with good beginnings, but nothing really finished.  My intentions are always pure and selfless but things become difficult.  I don’t know when awkwardness creeps in but gradually it spoils the initial passion and we’re all left to pick up the pieces all over again.

So although I feel myself infatuated over T, I am also afraid that it may not last and we’ll end up a few years down the line older and none the wiser and separately alone again.

When we met last night I was honestly delighted to see my lover – we had a delightful but exhausting evening – some pizza was eaten, a lot of alcohol was also consumed – 2 bottles of champers and one of red, a bit of Scrabble was played.  I stopped the game when it appeared that he was not going to win, although I may be a tad unfair on this; he opened some of his presents, a lot of kissing and heavy petting were also indulged in, and I only remember exclaiming at the lateness of the hour when sleep began to tug at my lids.

We had a very satisfying romp in the morning – both not entirely disrobed, my lover rather fetchingly with his jeans around his ankles, boots still on, and despite the racket of floor sanding going on in the room above.  The air mattress added an interesting bouncier dimension to our lovemaking!  We took some very intimate photographs, at my instigation and then my lover insisted that I sent some of them to him.  I was initially reluctant to do so but was persuaded when he gave his word that he would keep them safe.  I trust that he would not share them and I also felt that I could not deny him on his special day when he begged for a record of it spent so satisfyingly.

I am my lover’s first visitor to his new house and one of the people he shared his birthday with.  I sometimes feel though that he doesn’t think I’m good enough, that he’s keeping me apart – it’s as if I’m a naughty secret he is unwilling to share with the rest of his life.  He asked me if it bothers me that he hasn’t accepted my friend request on facebook and I shrugged.  It really depends on one’s perspective of social media: I for one am comfortable about revealing most aspects of my life on it and to some extent we all edit out the bits of our lives that we deem as socially unacceptable.  I know though that ordinarily, ie without the dating website, we might never have met and perhaps he feels that there would be a clash if the two things he’s keeping apart were to come together.  I quite like the idea of being his dirty little secret though, maybe I was a concubine in another life.

The Twelfth Date – more coitus interruptus



I’m going to have a bath.  Ping me when you’re setting off to make [sure] I’m out and can answer the door for you


How long u gonna be in there??


Until you ping me



I’m only just walking the dog now!!


Setting off likely to take 35 mins xx



The above exchange is open to two different interpretations apparently!  His version is that I meant setting off *is* likely to take 35 mins, ie I’ll be walking the dog for another 35 mins.  My version is setting off *now,* likely to take 35 mins.  In any event he was out of the bath in time to let me in, although I wouldn’t have minded being greeted at the door by him solely clad in bubbles.

There was another awkward moment – involving observations and throw away comments – we don’t seem to speak the same language except for kisses and cuddles which smoothed the wrinkle away so that by morning all is forgotten (despite a very restless night of a noisy air bed with a voice of its own).

Like the weekend the morning frolic was fraught with the possibility of interruption by workmen.  In the end I left my lover to come home after more kisses and promise of another date soon.  I don’t know whether this will last as I remember all the other failed relationships in my past.

T and I had a short break of not seeing each other, not by design but simply a clash of work and personal life schedules.  I distract myself by going out for drinks with an old friend, someone I’d dated previously.  We ended up talking about relationships in general, amongst other things and how at the early stages there’s a tendency to romanticise and forget that we might all have feet of clay until the day comes when they are revealed and it may be far too late – hearts get broken or we become too old to do the dating rounds again – to protect ourselves we might put obstacles in the way, or only engage purely at a platonic level or date many at the same time – the last tactic had been working really well for me until this lover came along.  I’d stopped going out with the few who had been lurking on the scene at the same time as T.

My friend observes that I appear to be putting obstacles in the way of my relationship with T by my constant doom-casting.  It hadn’t occurred to me.  He thinks that I seem more miserable dating one than when I had stories to tell him about  the many and that I was being disingenuous about my feelings even to myself!   His implication was that I was deliberately trying to sabotage this relationship when I should simply let it run its course.  I point out that he is not the most reliable of observers given his own track record and I should know my own heart better than anyone else.  He says perhaps he envies my very obviously infatuated state claiming that he’s never ever felt that way about anyone before.  I’m afraid of losing T and yet I sense the inevitability of its ending.

And T continues to lust after my body I discover one afternoon as he sends me a suggestive message – relaxing and having some horny thoughts about you.

The Thirteenth Date – The Judge

We met, saw a film, ate too much for dinner, made love and fell asleep.

We have another little cuddle in the shed when we go there later in the morning to get something for his painting and decorating.  It starts with him kissing the back of my neck which can always be guaranteed to get the appropriate response in me. We don’t have our talk of where we’re at until it was nearly time for him to go.  He tells me that he is all right about my dating others at the same time.  Of course the same would apply to him too.

At the moment things are sweet and very easy with T and I should just enjoy it for what it is.

We have a few more dates and then one Tuesday he sends me the following text message while I was out:

Hey you, hope your day has gone well. I’ve been thinking about us meeting up again and the limited options I’ve got this week: I’m out tomorrow and Thursday with ex-colleagues who are passing through London and, in the spirit of openness and transparency, I have a date on Saturday night with someone from Soulmates (I’ve not been actively looking for anyone else but she contacted me and I’m intrigued to meet her as she works for an organisation that is very close to mine: could be strategically useful 😊 ). So I don’t know what your schedule is like, but Friday and Sunday evenings work for me, and there’s always Saturday and Sunday daytime if we wanted to branch out and do something during daylight x

I tell him that I’m ok about him seeing the other woman, but I couldn’t help feeling that gnawing-in-the-pit-of-your-stomach feeling.   I push it away by telling myself that I’d be all right. I couldn’t also help feeling a little hypocritical as I’m still seeing someone else although we don’t indulge in much sex – it’s a more platonic relationship and I enjoy the social aspect of that connection more than the physical.

So T and I arrange to meet up on Friday evening.

The Seventeenth Date

T is in the wars again – an old injury from a cycling accident of several years back when he was run over twice.  He is quite fortunate to have survived at all.  But it means that he suffers from chronic pain in his right foot.  in spite of this, we managed to have a pleasant supper which he’d cooked in the afternoon.  Between us we had two bottles of red wine finishing the second in front of a film my lover had downloaded.  It was fun and action-packed with lots of charm and silliness.  I was tired and I can’t imagine how much more uncomfortable T must have felt with his sore foot.

In the morning, despite the agony my lover valiantly made love to me.  I couldn’t help feeling an overwhelming warmth and tenderness towards him and wondered if he returned my feelings.

As I was leaving, T suggests that we meet up midweek.

Events leading up to the break up

The sweetness doesn’t last.  I am so embarrassed by my own actions and feel as though I could never see him again.

T was due to come to me this evening at his own suggestion but at the last minute he puts me off with one reason or other – this time it’s Skype calls with work colleagues which turned into floor/household renovations.  I don’t know what it is except that clearly he didn’t want to meet up.  Instead of cancelling with honesty he makes up these reasons and I, still blithely unaware, said I didn’t mind going over to his.

I make my way over but discover that my lover was not really keen to see me after all.   I left when I realised this and cannot believe my own foolishness.  My pride was hurt but my heart will recover because it’s learnt all these years from all failed past relationships that it was time to leave when you are no longer the one treasured.

This is confirmed by T’s email to me


So after an affair which did not go beyond eighteen dates it was finally over.  Getting over him was very painful in the first weekend but I can say that with time the pain fades and being optimistic about what the future holds certainly helps.

What to do with the present I’d already got him?   I wrapped it up and stuck a post-it note on it to remind me not to be so silly over the next one – but where have I heard that before?

lilith’s sultry song


Three Lovers by Theodore Gericault

i had him before you and i know him well

he’ll soon tire of you and where will you go?

come to bed with us, and i’ll keep you safe

lovers us three, you, with soft milkiness

drink the honey that pours ‘tween olive lips

of darken’d warm desiring – like heaven

on this earthly bed we can re-create

pools of liquid rapture, embalming love