Arrival Party

I've returned to my home country for the year as I finish studies and sort out visas for the UK.

JB came out a few months ago for a few weeks visit. What heaven it was. My father and I waited for what seemed like an age at the airport, anxiously keeping an eye on the arrivals board, while ducking in and out of convenience stores to keep ourselves occupied with the odd magazine cover scan. 

The passengers finally came...not him...not him...not him. Him. I shit you not when I say it was as though my favourite actor was strolling towards me. It was like greeting a movie star. Body filled with adrenaline and the sheer disbelief that this moment has actually happened. 

He wheeled his suitcase behind him and his now-unneccessary woollen coat flapped as he strode. A warm embrace. A shocked conversation in the car, and suddenly we're alone, together, at last. In the house that is now our home for nine weeks. 

It's late, and we make our way to our new bed. My old bed from my uni days. It's seen some shit, let me tell you. But all of a sudden it's our bed, previous memories overridden by the sheer delight in being back together. We know it's going to be a bit weird. It was always weird before when he would come home from travelling. But we're not prepared for how wonderful it is, how shockingly lovely it is to touch each other, to feel ourselves inside and around each other, for the first time in months. 

I weep as he fills me. I didn't know how much my body missed him.

Making Love

Things had been difficult with T for a while. Let's be honest, things hadn't been perfect for over a year. I don't know that they're necessarily perfect now, but they're getting better. Everything is getting better.

I hadn't seen him for a few days, and so on Sunday morning he came over. I was still in bed, still kind of ill and feeling lazy. He undressed, and came in with me. I had missed him, much more than I was used to missing him and that manifested in desire. His touch on my body was so welcome, so tender and sweet. I wanted him, and I felt relieved when he wanted me too.

His kisses were warm on my neck, and his skin supple beneath my hands. He made me gasp as he entered me, fucking me slowly, familiarly, in the way that he knew I liked. That is such a relief at times - being so in tune with someone physically, that even when that spark of anticipation (fear) is gone, the sex is so fulfilling because it's a song you both know the harmonies to.

God I love this man.

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.

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.

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.

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.