Naked as a J-Bird

J and I have spend the last two months falling in love. It's been incredible, and I feel that it really is incredible that I've met him at all. How did it even really happen? How does one actually go from meeting someone for the first time, being a little frightened of them, to loving them? Even after reflection, when I have traced the path back to that day, it seems so unlikely, so reliant on chance that I could weep from the miraculousness.

The visit before last was the one that sealed the deal. Delicious texts, slightly rude (how lovely), let to me saying I totally adore you. I wasn't meaning to say that I loved him, even though by that point I did. But he did what I'm learning is his usual trick of wonderfully seeing right to my core, to my tenderest parts, already knowing what I haven't had the courage to say. Fuck. I totally adore you also. That's got it out in the open xxx Not that it was that well hidden...was his reply. Cue heart pang and melting into the bus seat. I'm like Charles Bingley from Pride and Prejudice - not confident to be fully in love withour proper encouragement - also known as doubting Thomas. I wasn't quite sure if that meant what I thought it did. So I waited until he said it again.

I'm now on the other side of the world, back home with family for Christmas. I miss him. I keep thinking of our last day together before I left. I keep thinking of having his head between my legs and how it was the first time he brought me to climax himself, without any help from me. That's awesome.

That leads me to last night with T, who has come home with me. He was massaging my body, and I knew he wanted sex. The arousal doesn't come so quickly with me anymore. I let him massage me, but told him that it wasn't a definite green light on the sex front (bit awkward at his mother's place) but he was ok with that. He made my body feel good, easing the tension in my shoulders and the pain in my thighs, before brushing his hands against me and massaging my pussy. He did it sweepingly, and I wasn't sure if he meant to do it or not (he totally did - well played T) and then continued to do it, until I was almost weeping with desire, and longing for him to touch my clit. When he did, he brought me to orgasm within about three minutes - my fastest ever!

I wonder whether I'm chilling out more on the orgasm front, and just riding the pleasure plains. Maybe letting go? Maybe somehow finding it easier to fantasise? I'm not sure, but T seemed delighted, and fuck it, so was I!! We finished off with him fucking me from behind and we watched ourselves in an enormous mirror. Hot. I wasn't wearing my glasses so my body was in delightful soft focus (for once), and I what I saw I definitely couldn't criticise! It was joyful.

The Weekend of You: Evening

We made it inside. J pushed me up against a wall, the one with no pictures on. Kissed me hard. Kept kissing me while I fumbled with his belt buckle, then his shirt. He began to unbutton my dress, but I pushed him away, and pulled the flimsy blue fabric over my head. He smiled, surprised at my lingerie, and pushed me into the lounge.

I lay back on his voluptuous sofa and J peeled off my tight jeans. More surprised smiling and my plan of impressing him through matching black lace lingerie seemed to have worked. He took it off, and threw it carelessly on the floor. J nudged my thighs apart and as I sat up briefly in mock protest he exclaimed at the soft roundness of my belly. He ran his hand over it pinchingly, and told me that he thought it was incredibly sexy. We kissed more, urgently, and my protests turned to encouranging sighs and moans. He pressed himself at my entrace and I snaked my moistened hand between him to make myself wet and ease the first heavenly thrust. He pushed inside my warmth, I felt my brow knit and the first sigh escape my lips.

You like it rough, don't you. I am now on the floor, on hands and knees, showing myself to him. He was quick to enter again, thrusting deeply into me. I arch my back and I hear him groan before he runs his hands down my back, tracing me from widened hips to slender waist, up, up my back and neck before taking hold, fingers clasped through locks of hair. Deeper and harder now, yes. Rocking my hips back to meet him I feel myself surrounding him deliciously, no room to spare. I'm pushed roughly up against the sofa, and his force surprises me. I'm hit with the realisation that he is a lot bigger than me, and could hurt me if he wanted to. He doesn't, not really, no more than I want him to. He's the first lover to discover this side of me for himself. I didn't even need to tell him. His thrusts are hard and fast now, slamming my face into the cushions. I like it, I think he comes, but can't quite tell, and soon he stops. He leads me upstairs to his white room with the colourful covers.

I find out later that when he comes, he slams himself into me and growls into my ear. A loud, unapologetic growl that is satisfying to my ears. I get to know that growl much better over the evening.

We lay in bed next to each other, slightly shocked at how much we're enjoying ourselves. Satisfaction breeds intimacy and our conversation become frank, candid. My hands can't keep away from his beautiful whiskered face. He looks back and I see the shy, delighted, naughty, interested boy in him, creeping out excitedly. Oh I do like him.

The next few hours are spent chatting, fucking, giggling. He leaves the room and I sneak his shirt on, a vast tunic on me. It doesn't smell of him. He seems to have no scent, but rather I can taste him when he kisses me. It's familiar. He likes me in his shirt and takes great pleasure in peeling it off my soft warm body several times over the course of the evening.

We try to watch a film, but in reality sit on each other, chatting and drinking champagne. I play him some music, and he plays me his favourite Beethoven symphony. I'm wrapped up in him, and gently drift off, hoping he wont notice. He does, and takes me softly back to his white room with the colourful covers and puts me to bed. He joins me soon after, and as we lay side by side I press myself into his warmth, and his arms snakes around me before holding me at the roundness of my belly.

1am. I'm awake, having not quite shaken off the stresses of the working week. My eyes hurt, sticking together from unremoved (but by this point certainly smudged) makeup. I creep out of bed, remove it and brush my teeth. Laying back next to him, I wonder distractedly if he will smell my face cream, whether he'll like it. He mutters I must pour you some more champagne in his sleep, and I giggle. He's dreaming about me, I like to believe. Sleep reluctantly comes again.

4:30am. The bed is empty next to me. My haziness thinks he's working, but I can't make out which room next to me he is in. I don't like being without him, and feel bereft. Tossing over whether to leave him alone or to join him, a few minutes later I rise, reaching for the door handle and seeing him at his computer. He smiles to see me, and apologises - he's still on Pacific time after a working trip away. He tenderly cuddles me, warming me and sweetly laughing at my blinkingness in the light. He makes tea, and joins me back in bed.We talk til sunrise.

The Weekend of You: Saturday

We arrived at J's house, a former worker's cottage of a nearby estate, and he led me through the garden to the back door of the house. We went inside, I de-coated and de-scarved, and perched on a chair whilst J made tea. The taxi ride to the house had been pleasant, but tentative, and I'm sure the taxi driver thought we were both completely nuts, sitting there and grinning like loons and teasing each other.

J has been calling me The White Witch of Narnia, because after speaking about it together, Cambridge had their first frost of the season. In the car he'd handed me a package, which I opened at his table. Turkish Delight.

We chatted, and grinned some more, before we re-coated and re-scarved and after thrusting a particularly unattractive hat on my head, he led me out of the house and we wandered into Cambridge city. He gave me the full tour experience, chatting confidently about writers who had lived in the villages near him, the history of the place and the reason that so many academics still revolved around this historic place.

He took me inside Cambridge, we saw King's College and Trinity. What heaven, and how marvellous to have studied there. There is a studious air there, and J is right, King's Student Bar was the only Student Bar I've ever been to where everyone is sitting around and talking about their subjects. We repaired to the cafe for a hot chocolate, and I think it was there that the first chipping away at the strangeness of my being there happened. I had to speak to T, and J called out to say hello. I liked it, it was new and a bit scary but I liked it. We confronted the nature of our meeting head on. We're both polyamorous. I'm in a 4 year relationship with T. I didn't really want to go to Cambridge to forget about that, but having said that I didn't want it to loom inauspiciously over the whole weekend. It was ok, J seemed to say. This is ok.

We then started to wander somewhat awkwardly holding hands or walking arm-in-arm. The next day I realised he was nervous and wasn't sure how much I wanted to do that, and at the time I felt the same way. He didn't seem to overly want me to hold his hand, but maybe he was just better and seeming cool and calm than I was. So I just touched him when I wanted to. It seemed to work just fine. Outside Trinity College he kissed me, and I felt my knees buckle with the arousal that come from finally being taken the way you crave.

From then on, I was hazy with desire and my only real wish was to go back to his warm cottage and have him inside me. But there was a whole lunch to get through! We shared a bottle of wine and some pasta at a well known Italian Restaurant in the city centre. We talked and talked and talked. And kissed. He told me who he was and then so did I. We talked about polyamory, and that T might go to see J's other lover. J liked that. He liked the synergy, and that we'd all come full circle. We had the kind of conversation that makes you not want to leave the table, as you know that as soon as the spell is broken it wont be the same when you come back. He told me I had the softest lips he'd ever kissed. I told him that I was so turned on I could hardly stand it. He paid, we left, I got his coat whilst he settled and he was delighted that I knew which one it was.

Back at the cottage he tried to unlock the door, but suddenly it was too much and we stood kissing on his stoop and undressing each other. His warm, wet kisses enveloping my face, his hands touching my breasts whilst I unbuttoned his coat. I stole my lips away from him to whisper open the door. We went inside.

Towards You

I'm now home after one of the most incredible weekends of my life. I don't know that I can explain what happened, but I feel different to the person that I was before, and yet exactly the same.

The train trip up to Cambridge was nothing spectacular, I found myself willing the time away. I made it to King's Cross earlier than anticipated and it gave me time for a quick snap of platform 4 and 3/4 before jumping on the train. A quick call to J to say I made the earlier train brought nerves wooshing into my stomach. To hear his voice again reminded me that he was still very much a stranger, and the last two weeks of crazy pining had been all on my own, and the intimacy I'd imagined was going to have to be created between us all over again. His voice you see, was so incredibly his, that I couldn't quite believe that after all the time I'd thought about seeing him, in 45 minutes I was really going to.

The train to Cambridge was worse. I tried to read, I tried to pay attention to the countryside and failed at both. I ended up just sitting there getting excited for about 25 minutes. For the last twenty, a particularly charming 2 year old played peekaboo with me - I don't think he realised he was actually helping me out more that I was him. We arrived, then the slow interminable walk from the platform to the entrance. Should I carry my bag on my shoulder or in my hand? I don't want him to think it's heavy, and that I've packed to many things, so it should be hand. But it is heavy. Ok so shoulder to the doors, and then you can suffer it in your hand from there. I arrived at the doors, and couldn't see him. Chill. Get your ticket out, and get through the gates. There he is. Don't panic. 

We said hello, then hugged and I leaned in for a kiss. I got it, but it was definitely a little awkward. I'd imagined that it might be, but I had steeled myself to do it regardless as I wanted to be unambiguous as to my feelings. I'd come to Cambridge to be J's lover, something that terrified and thrilled me. He took me to a taxi and we drove to his cottage. The weekend of J had begun!

Saturday Away

Off to go and spend the weekend in Cambridge with J. I'm SO fucking excited. The thought of this mini break has seriously been the only thing getting me through the last two weeks at work.

Somehow J knows exactly what I like best - we're wandering around the colleges before having a cream tea, then reading from our favourite books to each other. Can you believe it? It's my favourite thing! I can only hope that it transfers over to the bedroom....imagine someone who knows your desires before you have them! We shall see...

I might even post some incognito photos over the weekend, so stay tuned xx

Glory Day

A much yearned for email from J today. SO utterly reassuring, and without trying to jinx it, I think he might be right beside me, in the feelings department. I don't know, how could I know?

But this was in the email "I would gladly read you some writing - i might be a bit shy at first - if you hand me a glass of wine one evening next weekend then you can have whatever you want." and it's made me go a little crazy, fantasising about sweet and terrible things that we might do to each other when we see each other next.

He has this incredible and intense way of writing, so much so that if I didn't trust him so much, I'd think he was trying to impress me. I daresay he is, but nevertheless I sense honesty in his words.

I keep replaying our lovely warm kisses over and over in my mind. I also remember the way he leaned in and kissed my neck - how did he KNOW? How did he know that it sends me wild? I could have turned into a puddle of lust right there if I hadn't had him to hold on to. Here's hoping for some repeat moves when I see him next. 

Christ, I can't stop! The thought of his lovely tall body and hands running up me. I can't wait to become lovers. I just want his hands all over me and want to feel what he's like inside me. Whether he's as lovely and as kind, and as intuitive to what I like as he is now.

Who knows? It's all terribly exciting!

Again And Again And Again

I've let myself go seriously cray-cray since the lovely date on Tuesday. CANNOT stop thinking about J, or more importantly, I DON'T WANT TO.

It's driving me slightly mad though! I can't concentrate at work, I'm constantly checking my phone, and mooning at every possible moment. It's tough.

I do feel really affectionate towards T, and being with him this week has been heavenly, although we haven't seen each other as much as we'd like. I told him how I was feeling about J, or at least tried to tell him, as I wasn't at my most articulate. He was lovely, and thankful that I brought him into my world, and showed him how I was feeling.

And I'm feeling weirdly cut up. I feel a bit desperate to see J again, and I think that if he's not as interested I'll be really hurt! I'm used to feeling a little more in control over this! He's flying out for work for a week, but then back next weekend. We briefly talked about me coming up to visit him the following weekend, but I'm not sure if he'll remember. I hope so!

This whole polyamory business is tricky! Even when it's going right!

The Date With J

Well.

I just had the most wonderful date of the year. I was utterly spoilt, and have been on a high since it ended. J is lovely, all my concerns about him have vanished and I find myself quivering like a schoolgirl waiting to hear from him. I totally need to calm the fuck down, but I'm not sure that I really actually want to just yet!

I was up in London for work, and whilst I finished late I still got to the restaurant too early. So I went for a petite meander, both to have a look around and possibly find a cash point. I wasn't expecting to see him on my travels, but we bumped into each other as he walked to the restaurant from the tube. He laughed and told me I was walking the wrong way. I knew I was, but it wasn't worth the energy explaining.

The restaurant was loud and busy. Possibly a more so than I would have liked, as I struggle to hear what people are saying at the best of times! We chatted, we drank sherry (gross - far too sweet), ate Basque ham and figs before ordering a fish pie to share. It was lovely - smoky, but lovely. We talked and talked and talked. There were some lulls in the conversation but I didn't mind them too much. I think we were just nervous. He also does this thing where he looks of into the distance as he's talking, or about to say  something, and I can't quite tell if he's bored or if he's thinking. It generally turned out to be thinking - I think that must be a little quirk. It could be worse. 

I picked a white wine and it was lovely. We had people that knew about the food and the wine (although the wine guy seemed to just repeat the word 'tannins' and I sort of lost interest). No pudding, and after he paid the bill (what a treat!) we left. We walked through Holborn, and he suddenly realised where we were - outside the supermarket where we'd all mucked about on PolyDay. We chatted about that day and how it had turned so silly. We'd both enjoyed ourselves/ 

We got in a cab, and he took me to Milk & Honey. It is a private members club in Soho. I was excited, with just a teensy bit of fear lurking in the background. The outside wasn't marked. We went in, and a lovely vintage lady greeted us. She rang up to The Red Room, where J had booked. This is when I tumbled into 'where the fuck have you brought me' territory. He had a somewhat crazed look on his face and I don't yet know him well enough to judge whether he was excited or about to offer me as a human sacrifice. The lovely lady said 'he's ready when you are', took my bags and we walked upstairs.

Heaven awaited me. A decadent 1930s style bar, with cocktail cabinets, Art Deco mirrors and dimmed lighting awaited us. He bought champagne. We chatted, it was heaven. He'd brought me somewhere he knew I would like and I was flushed with pleasure. Recently I've been feeling a little hard done by, and I felt I couldn't remember the last time someone went out of their way to do something nice for me. I'm sure they do, but to have J treat me so nicely was a real treasure. 

We chatted and chatted. Our hands touched slightly, then more, then more. Then caresses. Then holding hands, then kisses. Lots of delicious kisses. We talked about seeing each other again, and he walked me to the station and saw me off.

An email and a text the next day had me reeling with delight.

J

A couple of months ago, T and I went to an open day on polyamory, which is essentially what we do. Ethical non-monogamy.

I can't even begin to describe how lovely it was. It was reassuring to see all the weirdos I was expecting were there. It was even more reassuring to see all the normal people (like us?) there too. It made me so happy to see that T and I weren't totally alone out there, seeking new experiences together and opening our hearts and lives to others. It has really brought home how tribal humans really are, and how much we thrive when we associate with people who live the same way we do. What better community to be a part of, than one that is automatically accepting of:

1) The people involved are the ones who decide how the relationship goes
2) That you are free to make your own choices
3) That you and your partners can help each other live fuller lives
4) That you live in a way that most other people don't.

There were workshops on tantra, polyamory in academia, troubleshooting, how-to sessions and introductions for those new to poly. We rounded off the day with a discussion on poly parenting, led by More than Nuclear, who is an amazingly articulate woman who discusses aspects of her poly life on her blog. Do check it out.

After that, we all went out for dinner. T had met some groovy guys and gals that he wanted to dine with, as had I, so we parted ways for the time being. I went out to dinner with a most excellent bunch of people, one of which was J.

J is a scientist who was in a new relationship with J2 (who is a lovely excellent winner type of lady). He struck me as funny, but also a little dangerous, and seemed to like to make a point by ever so slightly putting J2 down, or making fun of her. I found that a slightly strange dynamic. We chatted a lot over dinner, and I could feel him becoming interested in me. The whole table was very engaged and engaging, and I had a lovely dinner. That's also where I met G2, but more on him later.

After dinner, we all went back to the hall for the final festivities and booze drinking. I remember quite clearly putting my arm around J and saying what a lovely time I'd had. He agreed. We had both come to polyamory that year and I could feel that we were both still slightly in shock that we'd managed to find something so simple, yet so extraordinarily empowering. It's still a bit of a shock that this is my wonderful life.

Anyway, a couple of months have passed since then and we've recently got back in touch after a short break. We're meeting up on Tuesday for dinner and drinks and I guess we're going to see how it goes! Again, he's quite a bit older than me (ten years maybe?) but I do like that. He's already asked me to spend the night with him in Cambridge where he lives, but I declined for the time being. I know what will happen if I did stay over and I'm not sure I want to keep going down that path straight away. It makes it awfully hard to come back from that place. There is a lesson there re boundaries though!!

I am excited to see him, I hope it goes well. I am also looking forward to going to Cambridge eventually, and having him show me the sights....

They Come Back, They Always Come Back

Time. Time time time. It passes, doesn't it? After six 30% lovely, 70% fraught months together, M and I have parted ways. It was for the best, although that doesn't mean I didn't the odd weeping session or two. I did like him an  awful lot, but I guess I always knew it wasn't going to work. Ever.

S and I have slept together again. Last time was better, but still not great. He lost his hard on, and while that doesn't bother me really (not my fault!) I know it's because we shouldn't really be fucking. T has expressed a bit of angst over it - S and I work together so that's not wholly unexpected - and then I dealt him a bit of a shit card, because I mentioned we'd fucked and T wasn't expecting that. To be perfectly clear, I thought that I had let T know. I'd never expressly said it, but that's because I was trying to be gentle and I thought it was implied. I'd asked for a day when the flat would be free....but lesson learnt. I'm not out to fuck people if it's going to hurt T.

I've learnt the pattern with S though. It used to get me down as I missed him, but now I see the absence is from distraction, or indeed life. I'm more settled now, happier and more solid with T, so I barely notice the time. I've watched S a couple of times over the last few weeks and noted that I had missed our chats, and mentally noting that he looked really hot lately. I'd also noticed that the short-sleeves-and-tie-combo has gone out the window, something I like to think I played a part in. After we fucked last time, I jokingly mentioned that only Real Estate Agents can pull that look off, and I think the poor darling took my words to heart. I'm not really sorry - it's for his benefit after all! (sarcasm font please!)

I literally thought of S this morning, brushing my teeth getting ready for work, and that it had been a while since we connected. Immediately following that thought was a revolutionary thought for me - the title of this post - he always comes back.

The terrible T's

It feels like it’s been months of feast and famine with T.

We’re fighting. We’re not. We’re fighting again. We’re so in love it hurts.

It’s confusing to me. It must be confusing for T. I love him, but goshdarnit if he isn’t the one person that can hurt me the most. The worst bit? He’s not even really trying to hurt me.

We seem to have our shit back together now, but it’s really fucking scary to really see for the first time how bad it can get. How bad it can get in such a short amount of time. With so little effort. I guess the downside of generally not fighting a great deal is that when we fight really badly, it’s such a fucking spiritual shock to me that I don’t quite know how to process it. I just get shouty, then cry-ey and equal parts don’t-leave-me and get-the-fuck-outta-here-boy.

Phew. My life: The Rollercoaster. A new fucking novel.

M2

On Friday night I really had the most blissful time. I met up with a friend, M2, who I’m sort of getting quite close to. I’d felt quite attracted to his lovely quiet beardy amazingness for a while, and then embarrassingly told him how I felt whilst unknowingly forcing him to sit in direct eye-line of a pair of my dirty knickers. That’s how cool I am.

Anyway, we had moved on from that, and he had actually said that he felt the same way, but he has a new girlfriend and it couldn’t go anywhere. That was fine, I mean, I know my relationship is open, but I’ve got to respect that others’ aren’t. With great power comes great responsibility etc. So on Friday we went out for a drink after work. Phew. 

I met him at his offices and we walked about 15 minutes to this completely out-of-the-way-only-locals-go-here-who-the-fuck-are-you-guys pub and talked about our childhoods, and our families and just generally caught up. It was bliss. He’s very good at listening, and also really good at holding back his own opinions. He will form a judgement, and wont tell you when you are most likely to be affected by it and then three weeks later, once you’ve come through it all, he’ll tell you his honest opinion. He just wants you to get there on your own. It’s sort of frustrating/refreshing. I appreciate it most of the time. 

We then headed back to the High Street to meet up with a friend of mine from work. M2 and I had gotten to that lovely 2-pints-in stage of intimacy and I didn’t really want to meet my friend, J. I looked at him and thought ‘I really want to kiss you’. But I didn’t do it (or say it, which is perhaps more remarkable). It was fine though, and we had a quiet drink with J and then 2 very loud drinks before J went home. M2 and I carried on and got a curry (delish) before heading back to his place to partake of it’s deliciousness. 

We ate on his sofa, quite drunk by this point, and then sat chatting. I don’t really remember what we talked about for the most part. He then pulled a cushion onto my lap and put his head there, and we talked about his story. I started to run my hands through his hair. He then asked mine, and I don’t really remember what I said, except for the time my Dad woke me up at about 6am one morning when I was 18, saying that my Mum has asked him to leave and he was going away for a while and didn’t know when he would be back. I told M2 how I hugged my Dad and then he left. M2 said how sad that was and I agreed. It felt so sad. He then took my hand and kissed it. 

I kept running my hand through his hair and he would take my hand and kiss it from time to time. I stroked his face and he kissed my hand again. I felt this enormous tenderness for him, and it felt so intimate just to be sitting there, with him falling asleep on my lap. He eventually fell deep into sleep and I dozed for an hour or two before extricating myself, briefly tidying up and then kissing him on the cheek and leaving. 

I don’t know how much of it he remembers, I hope as much as I do. But I don’t really need it to go any further than it did. It was just the unexpected tenderness I got back, you know? For the first time, I wasn’t even hoping for it and it came my way, from someone I truly respect and have gotten to know the old fashioned way. 

I really think he will be a great friend of mine. 

Memories

M has gone again, and I find myself going over the last time we were together over and over in my head.

T has been unkind to me these last few days, and whilst I don't actually think he's cross with me, he's brought me to tears a couple of times and I tired of his mood. My time with M is a happy escape from that, and remembering it gives me solace and bittersweet pleasure. I wonder if T has picked up on that.

The more I think of Wednesday the less I can remember, which completely sucks but is perhaps my brain's way of forcing me not to dwell. Hopefully I shall see M soon!

He's becoming quite dear to me.

Well Hello M

So out of the blue last week I got a text from M - he had his phone turned off for three weeks because of problems with his ex-girlfriend. It’s a completely bullshit excuse but I was glad to hear from him and I didn’t feel like calling him on it, so I let it slide.

He was heading back to town for a night and asked me if I wanted to get together. Luckily I’ve been on holiday this week and so I was able to spend part of Wednesday day with him, and I cleared it with T so I could stay the night at M’s place. I was so happy to be going - really excited to see him again. I was out shopping in the morning with T’s sister (she doesn’t know the, um, status of our relationship) and M rang so I had to do a coy thing and be dying on the inside from happiness but on the outside seem like I was just having a normal conversation.

I got home just after lunch and M got into town at half two. We decided to meet at four, so I had a frantic de-hairing session and a calming bath to get my proverbial shit together. The texts from M got more frequent and I suddenly got the impression that he was fucking excited to see me too. My heart sang, but kind of in that confused way where I am happy for the attention now, but confused as to why it’s so intense now when for the last month I’ve not heard anything? Heard so little that I believed that it was over between us. I hate to think that his proximity to pussy increases the likelihood of getting attention from him. I hate to think that.

He met me out the front of his house, wearing his lovely cuddly grey hoodie. Happiness at seeing the hoodie again, more grey and cuddly than I remembered it.

We went to his room and he put his hand around my neck and pulled me to him, kissing me hard and giving me the love shakes. We lay down on his bed, and he undressed me, kissing me, and he dove between my thighs and started tasting me. I covered my eyes and let him eat me - it’s hard for me to let go and not be scared about someone having their face really rather close to my cunt. It felt good, no actually it felt pretty great, and I felt the fucking cosmic pleasure of having M eating me out. M! He Of The Distant Nature was licking my cunt and putting his fingers inside me. It was great. I took over after a while because my desire to cum was pretty great. I couldn’t get it together though, and after cramp set it I stopped forcing it.

The heavenly thing was feeling the pressure of his body on mine again. To feel how he was different to T, and just to see his lovely face again, and hear his lovely accent. I had missed him, my body had missed him, and it felt joyful to be right there next to him, surrounding him with myself and being with him.

We talked more frankly than we had last time, and it was refreshing. The nature of our relationship lends itself to intensity I guess. I think that’s quite common. We went to a deli and bought antipasti bits and strawberries and ate them while watching The Meaning of Life. I lay between his legs and the love shakes came when his kissed the top of my head. Which he did quite a lot. I took a picture of him and I have looked at it a lot in the last few days. He’s smiling, and I remember seeing the smile come across his face as I lined up the shot. It’s a pose, but a lovely one and that’s the M I think of, when I remember him.

We slept by each other in the night, and I woke him up for a 4am fuck. He kept saying ‘this is the first time we’ve slept together’. I slept terribly - I tend to in unfamiliar beds - but it was kind of ok, because I was conscious of the loveliness of having him right there.

In the morning he wore his usual face but said a couple of times that he didn’t want to go. It was an insight - I suddenly felt that that is the way M is. Not really one for wearing his heart on his sleeve, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a heart. But maybe I am making excuses.

He’s gone again now, and the wrench is awful. I’m not actually sure if I will ever get better at the goodbyes. I don’t know if feeling this ghastly is worth it. I know that it’s not going to last forever and I know he plans to move far far away. The missing him is exquisite.

Good Friday

So Friday didn’t really go quite as I’d planned. I think the upshot is that I’ve kind of totally misjudged S, and yesterday that became apparent.

He’s actually just someone that is coping with a break-up that has left him a bit shattered. He is non-responsive sometimes, and will avoid confrontation at all costs, but his confidence is at an all time low. Poor sod.

He came over, and we chatted for a little while, before he pulled me over towards him and kissed me. We have really different kissing styles, and to be honest I felt his was pretty tongue-centric. It was ok, just took some getting used to. We got naked, and started fooling around, when he slipped a finger straight in my arse - that was a complete fucking shock! It was ok I guess, but just surprising as I’ve never known anyone that has gone in straight for the kill like that. I had mentioned that I liked it, but I guess I hadn’t really articulated that it didn’t feel that good just on it’s own, more as an addition to regular fucking. Oh well.

I sucked him off for a while - he really has the most tremendous cock I have ever seen. It’s fucking huge and whilst not scary looking, ever so slightly intimidating because of the sheer girth. Far out. Then he went inside me, and it was really really tight. It was hard to feel anything really, because it wasn’t moving around very (due to size!) and then he came after about 30 seconds. I rode him for a bit more and then wanted to change positions, where it then became apparent that he was going to need a bit of a breather.

We fooled around a bit more, and then he suddenly stopped and said ‘I’ve just lost all my confidence - I am really sorry’. I tried to soothe him and brought him into my arms and he started to cry. I felt such compassion for him, it was awful to see him feel so bad. I don’t know whether what we’re doing is good for us, or whether it’s actually hurting him. I’d like to think that physical pleasure would give him succour, and that the friendship would become stronger, so he could then rely on somebody else a bit more, but I don’t know if he can do that. All of a sudden I know that I can, and I know that my emotional state is actually not the problem anymore.

Poor darling, I do just want him to be ok.

S again

So S and I have reconnected. It’s weird but I feel like I can handle it better now, with the buffer of M between us. S seems less vital to me now, and I feel as though I can handle the base pull towards him a little better. I may well be fooling myself, but at the moment that’s what I am feeling and it seems to be working.

S is coming over and this afternoon we’re going to be lovers. I am so crapping myself. I can’t really believe it’s happening and feel frightened that the months of yearning for him will cumulate in nothing very special. I don’t even know. But it seems like it’s going to happy and I am rolling with it. I wasn’t sure it was going to happen until about an hour ago, and shamefully, I took my frustration at the uncertainty of it out on T. I shouldn’t have, and I have apologised for my behaviour, but in the name of openness and honest communication, I should probably tell T why I was acting that way.

I don’t know how this afternoon is going to go, to be honest, it could be great, and everything I hoped and dreamed, or it could be incredibly awkward! So I’ve broken my no-booze rule and am currently enjoying a beer, just to take the edge off. I think it’s working. I wasn’t this nervous with M - in fact I felt positively serene when I went to meet him! I think it’s because of the history between S and I, and the build up. Because for a while, I genuinely felt as though my world would fall down around me if I even looked at him once more. It’s funny that there are people who, through no fault of their own, play a role in your life as The One For Whom I Would Lose Everything.

I really hope I am past that feeling now. Things with T are good, and they type of good that’s just going to get better, and really with the way things went with N, the last thing I need is to feel overly emotional again. I just want some peace. So perhaps introducing new lovers into the scene isn’t the wisest thing in the world. We will see. I don’t know if I am using this new phase of my life to mask another, potentially more secret pain (so secret that even I am not sure what it is) or if I am actually just okay with the whole thing. I think that I am, but if I am not, then I have to trust that I have the skills to get through the hurt and confusion. That’s what this whole journey is about.

March 2012, Never to be Forgotten, Never to be Repeated

I won’t pretend like I’ve not had the occasional thought that maybe I have made a terrible mistake, opening my relationship up. It has really made me realise that we all have this huge capacity to feel. Not even love or lust, but all kinds of emotion. I didn’t know I could feel so much!

I’m feeling a bit sorry for myself right now, because for all the excitement I’ve had in March, I am still on my own on a Saturday night, and just as alone as I was a month ago. I’ve had these amazing and surprising connections, and yet I still feel like none of them have really even touched me. I feel no closer to anyone.

That’s actually not true. The reason I keep coming back to, and that reassures me that this wasn’t a fuckup is that I am closer to T than I have ever been. We’ve been able to share much more than I thought was possible at this stage of our relationship.

I just feel sad right now.

The end of M

I don’t know if I am being melodramatic (I wouldn’t put it past me) or if my intuitions are bang on, again. 

But I have this sense that M is gone. It’s been almost a month now, and the daily texts dropped to every few days, and then a week went by and I had heard nothing. It was kind of ok, until it wasn’t and I realised I missed him, and that it was ok to miss him. He was a new friend, and I fucking care about him, and it’s ok for me to tell him that. He should know that I care for him, and that I am thinking of him. So after playing the game of not-texting-him-until-he-texts-me, which always ends badly, I rang him. I made a deal with myself that if he didn’t pick up, it was over. 

But he answered. We chatted briefly, and it was nice. It was so nice to hear his voice. 

But intimacy breeds intimacy, and that fucker is addictive. I wanted to hear from him even more. So I texted him the next day when I cut all my hair off. The crash from that one hurt. It’s hurting right now. I don’t know why I feel so shitty about all of it. I feel a fool, because I feel as though he would contact me if he wanted to speak to me. He hasn’t so, that means he doesn’t want to. Or can’t - and it’s that ‘can’t’ which is keeping me dragging along. Maybe something is wrong, and he can’t talk to me about it. Or maybe it’s over, and I am just not seeing it. I’m not angry, just really sad about it. I thought we were going to be friends, and I could really do with some of them. 

I also think that a 32 year old man would have the guts to just tell someone they didn’t want to be with them, or didn’t want to hear from them. The worst bit is that maybe he just thinks it’s not that big a deal. That him not responding is not that big a deal, and that when he comes back it will all go back to the way it was. It might, if I’m honest. I really like him and liked being with him. But what I am finally understanding is that he just doesn’t feel the same way. He thinks this is the way he should behave, and that it’s ok. Which maybe it should be, but it doesn’t make me feel less shitty. 

I had to delete his number and all his texts just so that I couldn’t make even more of a fool of myself and contact him again. God, I haven’t even been a psycho bitch, I’ve just been fucking nice, and I still end up feeling like Glenn Close. Fucking hell. 

So if he contacts me, great, but if not, with great sadness, it appears to be the end of M.

Monday Night

So I went to meet N for our tete a tete. The one I had ever so slightly been avoiding, whilst trying to appear casually no-avoiding and just busy. Not entirely sure it works that way, but oh well.

I went to his flat, and N opened the door wearing, surprisingly for him, a t-shirt. He was also wearing his custom black trousers, and braces which he’d left draping, rather than hoisted over his shoulders. It was a sweet look.

 He made me a cup of tea and ask for a hug, to get rid of any awkwardness. I guffawed about, proclaiming there was none, but I’m pretty sure I shot myself in the foot there, because when he went to kiss me, I did the super elegant thing of converting a full on pash into an clumsy kiss on the cheek. Elegant as always.

We sat on his sofa and chatted. We chatted about T and I, and also about N, and what his life was like. He looked me in the eye and said I was the only person he’d been attracted to in the last six months. I swore, and he told me it turned him on when I spoke like that. It was so straightforward, it was shocking. Much more shocking than any of the coy texts or flirting I got from S or M or even T. He told me what he wanted to do to me. He told me he wanted me to go to Paris with him. To stay in his hotel room. He told me he wanted me to call him Sir. That bit made me laugh/cringe, I have to say.

In a way, it was very appealing. It obviously had some appeal, because despite myself I felt myself being drawn into this dream, this fantasy, when if I’m honest I knew I didn’t want to get into even as I walked to his lovely flat. I said ‘yes', when what I really meant was ‘I don’t know’. The deal for me was sealed when he kissed me, and I felt nothing. It wasn’t even horror, or disgust or anything negative. It was simply the pressure of his large moist lips on mine. And that was all.

I haven’t kissed many people but I know it’s not supposed to feel like that. But I was weak, and I let him kiss me and I kissed him back. But down deep I knew I couldn’t give him what I wanted and more to the point, I didn’t want him. In the end, I don’t want a lover that I will never love. That’s not what this journey is supposed to be about.

I don’t know why I find it so hard to follow my own advice, and realise that when it’s not right, it’s not right. When you don’t follow that gut instinct is when you get into trouble. N would never hurt me (at least not in a way that we hadn’t agreed) but I felt the weight of his feeling to be so oppressive. I’ve often longed for someone to tell me that I am beautiful, and attractive and that they’ve never met anyone like me, and that after I leave they say how lovely it was to kiss me. But I never realised how unhappy it could make me, when I don’t feel the same way. It’s only a blessing when it’s reciprocated. How do you tell someone that it’s not you, it’s them? That you just don’t feel the same way, not because of something they’ve done, but because intrinsically you just aren’t attracted to them.

Three days went past, and the more time apart made me realise I couldn’t go through with it. It was making T unhappy, and I felt trapped and scared. I knew the longer it went on the worse it would get, and the more damage would be done to our friendship (in that I would play the avoiding game - that one that I am so good at). So on Thursday I called him and told him that the ‘yes’ I had given on Monday had become a ‘no’. It had always been a ‘no’, but I guess I just needed to work that bit out on my own.

N again

N called. He wants a tete a tete. I felt intrigued enough to agree to a night cap, so I'm on my way to his flat wondering if I feel powerful or out of my depth.

We'll find out!

The one that never really happened

I’d spent the last, lazy half hour of the day pretending to work while my best friend stood in front of me chatting with the man I had once fallen most desperately, painfully in love with. I knew and felt that it was never the good sort of love, the healthy sort of love, but the painful, foolish kind. The kind where you are shown every day that they don’t love you, hell, they don’t even want you, and yet you just can’t let that motherfucker die.

J was giving advice to S about his recent break up. I know. He’d just broken up with someone else, why the hell would he want me? I knew they’d broken up, I knew he was still in love with her but I just couldn't get rid of the feeling. I couldn't work out which was worse, not being able to see him and constantly thinking about him or seeing his goddamn face every day and not be able to get it out of your head. I was sitting at my desk, just behind the two of them, staring at my screen in what I hoped was a focussed way (and yet not-too-focussed way – that would give the game away) and typing made up words onto a made up document so it seemed that I wasn’t listening to every word they said. Which I was.

The worst part was that I had started to be so cold to him. I had to be. I couldn't let him in any further otherwise I thought I would actually break. The coldness was my effort to keep some dignity for myself, and if I am completely honest, to punish him for not feeling the way I do. I wanted him to hurt the way that I did.

It’s a terrible tale, and I’m ashamed to tell it. But there I was, stuck in a fucked up one way love story. It wasn’t always this way. I seem to remember there was a point when I hadn't loved him. When I didn’t even consider him.

We’d managed to work together for nearly a year, eight months or so, when I had a silly dream about him one night. It wasn’t even particularly graphic, we were just pressed up against each other in a bar, in a crowd of our friends. It was the feeling that really through me. I had this incredible sense in the dream that what we were doing was illicit, and that we were both complicit in it. During the day I couldn’t stop thinking about it, and it had felt so real to me that I was heady with it. I went down to talk to our resident agony aunt (the receptionist) J2. Even she had had one, about the most unlikely Casanova in the office. Her advice was to tell him, you can then both have a laugh about it and you’ll be able to move on.

It wasn’t until I practically rammed into him, coming around the corner from the kitchen that I blurted out ‘Oh I just remembered that I had a dream about you last night’ and promptly walked off. I sat down and about five minutes later I had an email from S asking what this dream was about. And that is how it started.

I admit my part in all of this. I am aware that I made a series of choices that got me to this point and that at any moment it could have seriously come back and bitten me on the arse. I knew that going in but I played the game and fell right in. A sucker for the adrenaline. I can’t imagine what else I was thinking. It wasn’t as if my relationship at the time suddenly meant nothing, although perhaps I acted in that way.

It fucked me right up. I had never made one mistake in my life that has made me so unhappy. S and I never slept together. But instead of making love we made intimacy with each other that mutually went beyond the boundaries that either of our partners would have been happy with. So I didn’t tell him. I raised another up to the same level as him in my heart.

After a while I realised I’d actually broken it. What was whole before became deformed and twisted and only selfish. I don’t know what I wanted from S. I wanted sex, and passion, but I also wanted intimacy and a friendship so intense that it would make me forget how lonely I was, and how few real friends I now had. To fill up the part of me that others couldn’t fill. I never told S this, I just became disappointed, painfully so, when he didn’t give it to me.

Our affair was very post modern. Next to nothing of a physical nature but hot as lava over technology. He would text me such things that the memory of them would stop me on the stairs in the middle of the day. I would blush making tea and the sugar spoon would shudder in my hand. Coming to work was a unique mix of pleasure and pain, because just to see him would make me wet, and yet we would barely speak to each other. A month of headiness. Of heightened feeling. Those feelings were so high but the foundations they were built on were weak.

I didn't separate sex and emotion well back then and the passion I was feeling and receiving didn’t satisfy me, it left me craving more. I couldn’t tell if we were just playing a game of if it was real. The jokes and games always continued but they culminated in him picking me up in the mornings. He talked about touching me as he drove. He asked if I wanted to touch him. I felt shy. So he said he would go first. He touched me, touched me on the thigh. Then he pulled up my dress and touched my bare skin. I sighed with shock and pleasure and fear all the while feeling how heavenly it was. Heat rushed to my face and I felt feverish. He brushed his hand up over my thigh, then dipped it in between my legs. He touched my underwear, then pushed it aside to put his fingers inside my cunt. I was wet. He told me to touch him, so I put my hand on the bulge in his trousers. He removed his hand from my warmth and unbutton himself. I placed my hand through the zipper and felt how warm he was. Burning. Then as he slipped his fingers back inside me I realised how large his cock was. My confidence rose and I pushed my hand further inside his zipper until I met with flesh, and my hand surrounded it. It was shocking. He pulled in the car park and we composed ourselves.

I couldn’t stop myself, I didn’t want to stop myself and I wanted more of him. But after that morning it was never the same. A peak had been reached, a line had been crossed and all of a sudden it wasn’t just make believe. It wasn’t a game any more and we had both done something that we not only couldn’t defend, but couldn’t dismiss as ‘just flirting’ or just words. That evening I got the text I’d dreaded, and the beautiful short sweet affair was over.

I was more okay than I thought I would be. Life went on, and surprisingly it wasn’t much different than it had been before. I went to sleep with the person I still loved I woke up next to him. He still made me laugh and I still loved stroking his soft cheek. But now, instead of being whole, these simple things and an undercurrent of unhappiness in my heart. I knew what I had risked, and I knew how capable of hurting D I was. I realised that I had foolishly gambled that for someone who was no longer replying to my texts.

S and I still laughed together at work, but now I looked at him a little longer. I stopped going into the kitchen when he was there because I didn’t want him to think that I gone there to get him alone. I was terribly terribly conscious of myself and forever conscious of him. It was what I imagine having a child is like – a sixth sense for knowing where they are. The days he was out seeing clients was terrible. Empty. What was the point if the only reason I was now here was to see him? Suddenly my life had a new, self destructive focus and that was S.

Then all of a sudden, a text. Out of the blue. It started again. Nothing as passionate as the first time and more cautious. An offer to drive me home. I accepted. I showed him the new flat I shared with Dan. I showed him the whole place and then the bedroom. He said ‘so this is where the magic happens’. Then he thrust me up against a wall and asked me if this is what I wanted. Was this the way I wanted it? Did I like it when he did this? His hand slid up my skirt again and I watched his face discover that I had taken off my underwear at the office. His beautiful large fingers slipped inside and me and he fingered me in a way that D didn’t. I don’t know if I preferred it but I relished that it was different. I couldn’t speak. I felt shy and scared but I didn’t want him to stop. He came closer to me and I wrapped my arms around his neck and felt his burning cheek next to mine. He whispered that he wanted to fuck me. He wanted to turn me around and fuck me with his big cock from behind. I didn’t let him. Jesus Christ I wanted to, but there was something fucked up inside me that said if I didn’t fuck him, then what I was doing wasn’t as bad as I thought it was.  


He told me he cared for me after he came on my tits. It was so foolish. I believed it for a few months longer, and then one day I realised that he didn’t actually want me at all. That was such a painful epiphany. He’d never wanted me, but had just seized the opportunity of me wanting him. 


It’s only the time that has passed now that lets me reflect on this. It was a terrible, foolish time in my life that I will never ever be able to undo.

G, 2008

I met G in a gay bar in my home city. I’d worked late with some pals and my sister, and after the shindig had been and gone we wanted to carry on into the night. This bar was famed in our city for it’s debauchery - mud wrestling and lady lovin’ abounded here. I’d never had any luck there before; one disadvantage of being a femininely dressed bisexual woman is that people assume that you’re there for support rather than as a punter. It could be worse, I suppose.

That night I could have cared less though, and it may have been the wine that made me feel powerful, or the liberation of having cut all my long brown hair off a few weeks earlier. My body started buzzing. It was electric. I danced and danced with my sister on the lit up floor, until we couldn’t breathe and our lips were dry and parched. So many people. We went outside to the rooftop bar.

We immediately saw our friend V, and older guy in our industry who hadn’t really made it much of a secret that he wanted to slip me one. It had been sort of weird between us, and I found him so unattractive that the thought of fucking him took on a majorly kinky not-sure-if-I’m-prepared-to-actually-live-this-fantasy quality that I was still working out. He bought us bubbly drinks, and we all chatted and then we watched him start to really drink. It was eye opening.

Then I saw G. He was standing talking to what I later found out to be his very pretty blonde friend. He was French, and fucking gorgeous. I don’t know how we started talking, but we did, and I remember finding out he was French and just losing my shit. I’m utterly obsessed with France and the fact that he was just so goddamn good looking made me instantly moist up. His English was at the stage where I could work out what he was saying, but not without some effort. He was making my skin vibrate so eventually I straight up asked him if he wanted to come home with me. He was concerned that his English meant he had misunderstood me, but I reassured him - yes, I really was inviting him home to fuck my brains out. He said yes, but that he needed to take his friend home first.

I ran to my sister and told her (totally excitedly) that I was going to get sex! The look on her face went from unbelieving delight to a bit of shock and she said ‘I think I’m going to stay at Mum’s’. Good idea.

My sister left ad all of a sudden I felt a fool, and convinced that G had taken the opportunity to swiftly escape me. I was losing hope swiftly when he reappeared and told me to get my coat stat (obviously not exactly in those words). We took a taxi to mine and I remember his hot mouth bursting all over my lips. It was incredible. We both stumbled up my carpeted stairs and fell onto my bed. As he stood before me I took his tshirt off to reveal a muscular and incredibly tanned body. He came towards me and his skin was so hot it was as if he burned his imprint onto my body. I can still feel it. He took off my black singlet and deftly (miraculously, even) removed all my other clothes without me really realising.

He turned to me and asked me what I did for a living. ‘I’m a student’ I said and he nodded. ‘Do you want to know what I do?’ he asked. Sure. Why not. ‘I am porn star’.

Now I am pretty open minded but I was completely not expecting that answer and I’m sure the shock registered on my face because after a few seconds he laughed, shook his head and told me he was joking. ‘My cock is not big enough’. Imagine a naked man in front of you saying that with a French accent. EXACTLY. Hilarious. ‘I am osteopath.’ Three little words that actually could not have delighted me more. I love being touched and have relatively constant back problems, so it was ideal that after he fucked my back up by fucking me hard from behind, he could readjust me and give me a rub down! What’s not to like?

He bent me over the side of my bed, and pushed the head of himself inside me. That achingly pleasurable first entrance. Christ. I had a full bush at this point and he seemed to quite like it, perhaps a European thing? Embarrassingly, I don’t remember much else of the sex part, other than I enjoyed it but didn’t climax. I do remember being particularly vocal as my sister wasn’t there though...

Around this time, I was starting to realise that even great sex for me was often sans-climax. I just couldn’t seem to get there when someone else was present. After he came, clenching my ass as he shot, he actually did give me a rub down. A full blown, full body massage. It was gorgeous. Afterwards I gave him a beer (!) and we chatted about France, about our families and about our lives. He tried to teach me some French and when we slept he pulled me closer to him and held me there all night.

In the morning, I walked him to the bus stop and he left. It wasn’t until afterwards that I realised how stupid I had been not to get his details. I never saw him again.

Wednesday

T and I are back on an even keel after what was a slightly rocky week or two. Back to enjoying each other, which is a relief.

We went to the cinema last night and I looked at his face, lit up by the screen. It is so familiar to me, almost more so than my own. It's home, and I've been reminded of that a lot recently. He still makes me laugh, laugh until I choke and there's something to be said for that. Indeed there is.

M is still away, and we're not in touch very much. In a way it's a blessing because I've been able to move through the horrible part of him being away and now the ache that I feel when I think of him is vaguely pleasurable, and recalling past escapades with him makes me weak at the knees and brings a smile to my face. I am fairly sure we'll see each other again when he's back, but am now at the point where it doesn't seem so vital.

I reprimanded myself for missing him, because in one way I should just accept it for what it is now. But I realised that I miss him because I genuinely like him on a friend level too, and just when we were getting to know each other he left. Oh well. Hopefully we can pick up where we left off.

N

N is a relatively recent friend of mine that has turned out to be quite the surprising chap indeed. His thing is authority, and after seeing him rather too deftly facilitate discussions I’ve been involved in, I knew that I never really wanted to get on the wrong side of him. He’s very self possessed, with just a touch of arrogance that makes people do pretty much whatever he wants them to do. If it wasn’t vaguely frightening, it’d be quite entertaining to watch him whip people into line.

As I said, I knew I had absolutely no desire to get on the wrong side of N, but as it turns out, N would rather like me to. We’re involved in a project together, and due to my incredibly non-amazing skills of attention to detail, N sent me a text saying I’d made an error that had been published. I tried to make light of it, and was surprised (shocked?) to read his reply involved giving me a rather red bottom. Turns out N is one for a bit of the old spanking, and he made no secret that he wanted me to be the recipient of his authoritative smacks.

I’m by no means adverse to a bit of a blurry pain/pleasure line in the bedroom, but knowing N the way I do I was surprised to find myself the object of his desire. Perhaps it’s because I am so spectacularly crap that he feels justified in doling out punishment? Who is to know? The idea of being submissive makes me a little bit wet and I’d like to know for sure if it’s something I’d like, but is N the person to find that out with? Or is because I’m ever so slightly afraid of him the exact reason that I should try it? I can tell that T is not super into the idea, but he finds N remarkably unattractive personally and he can’t look past it.

What frightens me is that I know N. That path is a one way street and once you drive down it, you can’t come back. Having M as my lover is easy for me, because I have never known him as anything else, but N.....I don’t know. But I should like to find out.

Monday, about 6pm

I had an hour and a half on Monday night to see M. He lives pretty close to my work so it wasn’t unfeasible to squeeze in a little meet up before going to the theatre with T. I felt kind of bad about it, and deservedly so, because I’d planned to see him all day and only discussed it with T at about lunch time. Not exactly great form there, but T was forgiving, as it is all so new.
M asked me how long he had with me, and I got a pang of sadness. It suddenly seemed unfair to ask him to settle for snatched hours here and there with me, but then swiftly following that thought was maybe he only wanted snatched hours with me and that maybe our arrangement suited him just fine. One of my aims of this venture is to trust myself and to trust others. I don’t need to be responsible for what a 32 year old man isn’t saying to me. The look on M’s face when he sees me says to me that he wants me and right now that’s enough.
The hour went quickly, as I guess they always will, and it was a wrench to tear myself away. Another semi-unsuccessful night on the penetration front but the intimacy is growing. It’s so nice to be around him and to feel again that newness, and that the person lying next to you wants you to stay.
I got on my bike and rode to the theatre to meet T. He wasn’t there but another friend, N was. N revealed to me the night before that he quite fancied taking a paddle to my backside, and was rather keen in getting me involved. I wasn’t so shocked at the idea, more shocked that it was me he wanted to take a paddle to, so I am determined not to let it get weird. If I’m honest, N isn’t the sort of person I had ever imagined would take a paddle to me, and there is a slightly weird dynamic in our relationship already - but who knows, never say never. It’s off the cards for the time being.
Anyway I saw N and briefly chatted after a kiss on the cheek. I couldn’t see T and our tickets had already been collected from the box office so was kind of confused. M had also given me quite the hammering earlier, and I had a pain. It felt like my uterus was throbbing and about to fall straight out of me (I’m sure that’s normal -right?) so I was in no mood for shenanigans. I tried to call, to no avail, when suddenly T walks in the foyer of the theatre with A, a mutual friend and the current object of T’s desire. They looked very chummy, and whilst I felt a small teensy pang of something related to jealousy, I reminded myself I’d only just had my brains fucked out by M and so I was one to talk. I like A too, and she’s a bit of a sauce-pot herself, so all in all I would be glad for her to be T’s lover.
As is my style, I fell asleep in the theatre, and woke in time to see the credits roll and a text from M to appear telling me that he was thinking about me naked. It was very pleasing. T, A and myself walked home and I fell into T’s arms in bed, thinking how wondrously bizarre these few days had been.

Saturday, 2pm

Saturday 11am I get a text from M saying ‘Good Morning’. I’m in a meeting at my favourite cafe discussing an upcoming event and I’m trying to secretly reply to him whilst maintaining a look of supreme and uninterrupted interest in what we’re discussing.

I thought I was the scaredy puss one, but it turns out it was M. We’d drunkenly agreed to meet in the afternoon - M had wanted to kidnap me - but I wasn’t sure if it would go ahead. Turns out M wasn't sure either. But fuck it, what am I here for if not to be honest and get something I am looking for? Something I want? It sounds so horribly selfish to put that in words but it’s the truth. I wanted a lover, I wanted someone in addition to T and I wanted to fuck them. M showed up and I liked him, so why should I bother beating around the proverbial bush?

I replied enthusiastically in the affirmative, and we discussed where and what time to meet. I knew vaguely of the place where he lived but hadn’t actually been there. My sense of direction in interpretive at best. We agreed and I pretended I knew where he was talking about and then dashed home for a quick and hopefully accurate de-hairing and effortless make-up applying session.

Choosing clothes to meet your first non-monogamous lover in is surprisingly difficult. I’d mentioned M to T that morning, and he’d okay’d the afternoon meet up, so I was free to race home alone and make the necessary preparations. I thought I would chance it and so wore a bra but no knickers. Then I left to meet him. I got lost on the route even though I’d walked that way a thousand times before and when I saw M and his lovely grey hoodie walk towards me my heart gave a subtle leap into my mouth and I suddenly realised how damn fucking excited I was! We kissed straight away, and although my mind registered that I should be careful who saw me, I didn’t actually care because I knew I wasn’t doing anything wrong. That is quite the best thing.

We made it to his room before ripping each others’ clothes off. The quantity of alcohol consumed the night before had meant that last night’s performance hadn’t been the best for either of us but today was different. I could feel his stubble take the skin off my face, but I didn’t care, I loved it. I loved the roughness of him, the thickness of him where T was thin and his lovely Northern humour that was so different yet familiar to my own. He fucking lavished me with attention and spent most of the afternoon between my legs. When he tasted me he looked like he enjoyed it and for the first time in a really long time I wasn’t afraid of my taste. Or my smell or how he found me. I’ve been so scared of cunnilingus - god knows why when I have a very enthusiastic and kind partner at home - but today it was ok. Although having said that I’m really sensitive there and if I am being painfully honest, the gasps that he thought were of pleasure were sometimes a bit of ‘holy fuck too fucking sensitive!!!’

He seemed to love it though, which relaxed me. He made me revel in my own womanliness and although I can’t think of a single thing M said to make me feel so at ease, they are the exact words I would use to describe how I felt that afternoon. Even awkward putting-on-condom moments seemed fine, and funny and normal and not scary with him. Maybe it’s an age thing, I get the impression that being somewhat older than me (the best part of a decade) and in his particular job role, M has had quite a bit more experience than me. There were some tricky moments though, like when he couldn’t stop his body from freaking out about using a condom and he couldn’t get it up. That sort of sucked but I’m sure not nearly as much for me as it did for him. It must be totally shit to be trying to impress someone with your sexing skills only to lose your hard on. His deftness in the licking-out department hinted that this wasn’t the first time it had happened but who cares. I liked being naked with him and I liked being licked out so it was really him that was suffering.

We worked out a pattern of getting all hot and bothered - kissing and grinding each other and just about getting out shit together, and then taking a break. Getting to know each other in the most obvious way - by asking direct questions. I found myself looking at his face and stroking it with the palm of my hand. ‘So sweet’ I remember thinking. So very sweet.

I left at six, and had walked around the corner when I realised I’d left my glasses in M's room, so had to come back. His grey hoodie walked towards me again and that reassuring feeling of excitement came back as we kissed goodbye again.

That Friday Night, about 11pm

I don’t know what it is with gay bars, but I am seeming to get quite the track record with meeting straight men there who apparently like me.

I’d had dinner with Tom and M2, a friend, and we’d all had red wine and roast beef and listened to music that made us feel happy and giddy and like we didn’t want the dinner to be over. M2 had to leave and after he’d gone T and I looked at each other and sort of did a sighing thing. We had always entertained M2 ensemble, rarely alone and the time we spent with him was like a courtship, plying him with funny stories, food and wine in the hopes of winning him as our friend.

I couldn’t bare it after he left and so told T I was going to meet up with some friends from work who were out for R's birthday. I didn’t have R’s number and although I had the numbers of other friends, I couldn’t be fagged texting to see where they were and assumed I would just make a delicious surprise entrance at the gay bar, where they were sure to be by now. It was a twenty minute walk there and I just fucking knew as soon as I walked in that they weren’t there. I casually looked for them, and then thought ‘fuck it’ and got a drink, sat at the bar and got my frosty bitch face on. I seem to think that ice queen is the look of choice when you’re standing alone at a bar.

The girls next to me walked outside, and soon after, he walked in. M. He looked at the place where the girls had been, then looked up at me. I hadn’t seen the grey hoodie you had asked for (although I have come to know it well now) and then I saw you cheekily sweetly ask the barmaid if it was behind the bar. I said I’d seen the girls leave but that I hadn’t seen them take your jacket. You said you were going to kill them if they’d lost it. They came back in, and immediately one pointed to the floor at your casually crumpled grey hoodie.

I must have failed completely at the ice queen thing, and rather unexpectedly succeeded at the ‘lost lamb who has been stood up’ look (although that wasn’t entirely the case) and your lovely friends started to chat to me, asking what I did and teasing you a hell of a lot. You said you knew me from somewhere and although I know your ex-girlfriend by sight you seemed to think we had had several meaningful conversations which I had conveniently forgotten. We all chatted and chatted, and I thought I got some vibes from you but wasn’t sure. You disappeared and the girls went out for a smoke. I was suddenly bored of the smoke, bored of being treated like a wee lass and wanted my friends. I faked a phone call and told your friends that my friends were walking up the road - when I walked to the entrance they were standing there. I went inside with them and got a drink.

About ten minutes later I saw you again, on your own, and suddenly felt horrible for abandoning you when you had been so nice to me before. You’d made it seem as though it was totally normal to be standing in a bar on your own on a Friday evening. That I was part of the gaggle of women that you’d come here with. I was feeling pretty lubed up from the vodka lemonades I’d been having (why do I even order these? I hate them, I just drink them when I get nervous and can’t think what to order) and so strutted over to you and started talking in your ear. Your friends came to say they were leaving and you stayed with me. We talked more and I can’t remember what we talked about, other than we were laughing and having a good time. You bought me another drink and my friend E came over to do a shot. It was a bit awkward, and I remember not wanting her there with us but also trying to make it look like I wasn’t completely flirting my head off (which I was) because E knew T. But she didn’t know the arrangement that T and I had come to. We did the shot and then blew E off. I knew it was on by this stage and took your hand and pulled you onto the dance floor. Into the dark shadowy bits.

God I am a sass-pot when I am drunk. I sure as hell don’t mess around and I am consistently surprised at my sheer fucking audacity, because I am so scared of repercussions when I am sober. Maybe it’s my authentic self coming the hell out to party.

I told you then that I had a boyfriend, but that we had an agreement about taking other lovers and you were visibly shocked. You were mostly intrigued though, and I remember dancing on my own in front of you and feeling so fuck-off powerful. Not over you, but over myself. I wanted something and I was going after it. You kissed me, and I asked you if you wanted to go outside to make out. You did.

Coping with Not Coping.

On reflecting on my last post, I guess that I am trying to teach myself how to be okay when I don't feel okay. How to be happy in yourself when people aren't reacting the way you want them to or when you feel insecure.

M is away. He will continue to be away and I might not hear from him. Let's just take a breath here and be okay with that.

Sunday, 8pm

M has been away for two days now and I’m finding it hard. Not because he’s away, I can deal with away, but because I haven’t heard from him in two days, and I can feel myself turning into psycho-missing-you-bitch-text-me-you-fucker.

I texted him yesterday morning, and when I didn’t hear back I left it to sit for a while. I’ve gone through the full gamut of emotions these last two days and the weirdness has been heightened by the fact that T and I have had a lovely, loving weekend together. T and I feel closer together than ever before, but there has seemed to be this grey part of me, in the back of my mind, waiting for a time when I’m alone to jump on me and make me miss M. It’s been so long since I’ve felt that way.

M and I have been lovers for a week. T and I have been lovers for three and a half years. I love T, I am in love with T but the brand spanking newness of being with M is just that. Brand spankingly new. I don’t need to be forced to admit that M and I barely know each other. We don’t necessarily have that much in common other than the fact that last Friday night we picked each other, and since then spent a week in his bed.

Part of me has enjoyed the sensation of missing him. I’ve felt his absence after getting used to the piss taking all week. The way he just talks and talks and talks and fills up the silences until he doesn’t need to. How he talks about nothing for 45 minutes and just when you start to lose interest he’ll mention something dark and dirty about himself, to make you wake up and realise there is a hell of a lot more going on in there than you ever realised. I enjoyed the absence of him because it made me remember that I like it when he was here. That this whole adventure that T and I decided to go on together wasn’t some big mistake, and that fun times and meaningfulness and kooky sex could happen and my world wouldn’t implode. But I swiftly stopped enjoying the sensation and now my brain is doing that thing where it plans out the worst scenario and convinces me that something incredibly unlikely is going to happen. Like he will suddenly realise that I am full of shit and the things that I told him I could offer him weren’t enough and he didn’t want to be with me anymore and didn’t care enough to tell me (even by cunting text) and he’s just going to ignore me or worse laugh at me for years to come with all his soldier friends.

I know that it’s not real, these absurd worries. Even more I know that he is thinking about me and that he’s probably playing the same game as me - don’t text and keep it cool - so he doesn’t get in too deep either.

He’ll be back in three weeks or so. I guess we’ll wait and see what happens when he gets back!