19 Days

I am 19 days away from reuniting with JB. 19 days, by which time it will have been 5 months apart. Five terrible months where, as my aunt recently said, "life lost it's colour".

Being apart is not so much difficult as it is terribly dull. I occasionally feel the desire to go out dancing, but more times than not I can't think that it would be at all interesting without him. I've lazily daydreamed about going out to pick someone up to get the energy in my body dealt with, but more than that I crave a night alone with JB. There's some change that's happened here, I was sure you weren't supposed to find your partner this attractive. This consistently arousing after 18 months. But I do.

I've moved into a new phase of my sexuality. I've spent 5 months alone, so have well and truly used the time to get reacquainted with myself and with what I find arousing. My fantasies now involve bareback sex, impregnation risk and definitely, definitely JB. I have no real explanation for this, other than perhaps I've decided that I want to surrender my body to him, not in a possessive way (that couldn't be further from reality) but in a way that pays homage to the union between partners. In the way that recognises the love that passes between people who want to have children together. I love him, and I want to have children with him. More to the point, I want to practice getting pregnant with him!

It's a weird sensation. I wish he would get here!

Hello Again S

If I'm honest, I was avoiding him intentionally. I'm drawn to his energy, his magnificent interest in sex, an interest I take the credit for igniting. 

My old flame S has been back in touch. I find him hard to resist, but resist I have - answering his texts with sympathy, but I will never give in to him the way I did before. I simply have too much to lose this time around. I have a relationship I'm not willing to risk losing. 

He's lost his old pictures of me, can't he just have one for old time's sake? No. I wish we had been able to have just one whole night together. Me too, but it's not going to happen now, it just won't. 

I feel excited by it, which is pretty tame considering how insatiable I've been feeling in JB's absence, but very uneasy. I feel like I wouldn't want JB to see these texts, and so that makes me feel that I shouldn't be involved here. That unease is definitely not even polyamorous, so it's certainly not monogamy.....

I care for S deeply, and am so grateful for the time we had together. There was some pretty excellent sex had. But now, now that I've moved on at last from him, I find that he hasn't quite let go of me. Yet.

Keep it in your fucking pants lady!

JB and I have been apart for reasons beyond our control for six weeks now.

I am dying for some sex and it's making me go a little crazy. Sex dreams non stop and I just want to go out, get drunk and go home with someone. Not for the romantic part, but for the fucking human contact part.

But I won't do that, because that's not the promise I've made. I've got to keep this promise, I just have to.

I'd forgotten how vital it makes me feel to be regularly fucked. I feel as though I'm sleepwalking without it.

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.

J from Cambridge

As I pounded the pavements in the rain this morning, for some reason my mind wandered to J. 

Lovely, wretched J who I knew was wrong for me from the beginning, but with whom I had the love affair I'd always wanted. 

We fundamentally wanted different things. I was looking for a way to ease myself out of a relationship where I was no longer happy, and the more I think about it the more I feel as though he was looking for a way to block the loneliness out. It ended in pain, for sure. Definitely mine, but I cannot say if he hurt at all. 

I've been so mad at him for not letting me into his life. For saying he "didn't see a future for us". Ouch. But now I just feel sad that the time I spent with him I also spent fantasising that it was something different, rather than really taking on board how lovely it was, right then. He definitely spoiled me with gifts. That was rather nice.

But then I also often felt low in his presence because I had no fucking idea what was going on. Just as the sex was fantastic and intimate one minute, he would switch and become very distant the next. 

He also liked to lick my teeth when we kissed. How in god's name do you actually tell someone you love that you find it utterly repulsive when they lick your teeth? Not just lick, either, but full on stick-your-tongue-in-my-mouth-and-swirl type affair. Shudder at the memory.

But still, now with the distance of time and a new love, I think what a shame. What a shame I didn't squeeze all the love out of that relationship when I had the chance. What a shame I didn't let him just be...what a shame indeed. 

I’m a silly cunt sometimes

I’ve fallen for my housemate. I’m a total idiot, and should have known better. He’s called JB, he’s lovely, and had I met him in a different life, who knows? It could have been different.

The night I came to look at the house was so much fun. I wasn’t exactly sure how to find it, but I knew he was at home waiting for me, and in the quickly darkening evening I could see him sitting on the sofa  playing on an ipad and drinking red wine. All the signs were good that this was going to be somewhere I’d be happy living.

I can hear his voice so clearly, welcoming me. “Hello”. He was excited and nervous - we’d met once before at a mutual friend’s birthday party, and as we all left, JB and I danced to the train station. I found him on facebook, and found his art blog. He remembers me as his first following. We seemed to be quietly noteworthy in each others’ lives.

He showed me the house. A study (yay), with room for my sewing machine. filled with books. Heaven. A lobby, beautifully decorated to exactly my taste. A lovely bathroom and a new kitchen, just put in. He showed me the room, it was great. We went to the kitchen, and he gave me the key. It was that easy. He poured me some wine.

We chatted. We talked our way through three bottles of wine, and I was having a great time. We agreed on so many things, and agreed at how stupid those who didn’t agree with us were. I told him I was polyamorous. We watched Youtube clips and laughed together on the sofa. We let our bodies touch. I don’t really remember saying this (although definitely not out of the realm of possibility) but apparently I said “so is fucking part of the deal?”. Ugh

So we kissed, we really made out. He took me upstairs, I ripped his (and my own) clothes off. We touched, I sucked his cock. I remember a hazy and not very enjoyable 69 (those things scare me - too much chance for a nose up the bum) and then him not being able to keep it up. I remember waking up a lot, and feeling very thirsty. It was a little weird.

A few days later I came to show my four year old nephew the house. JB thanked me for being cool. I felt cool. I like fucking people and although it wasn’t my most successful drunken fuck, I had enjoyed myself. I moved in.

We started a weird friendship, a slight romance. We enjoyed each other so much, and began to fool around most weekends. I was fine - I was really ok with it all, and JB was so clear that a real relationship between us wasn’t really an option.

I ignored him. I wondered what it would be like if we were together. I thought if I pretended hard enough, he’d change his mind. He kept saying how excellent I was, and I thought that meant he wanted to be with me, and was coming around to the idea.

He wasn’t. I know that categorically, after starting to cry when we agreed we should probably stop the kissing, the fucking and the cuddling up to watch TV, I confessed I was upset because I loved him. Accidentally loved him. He was (is?) shocked, and as gently as possible told me that I would never make it into his heart.

I’m retreating now, trying to get some distance without being mean (although my lesser self wants him to be as hurt as I feel), but I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.

I want him.

Bye Bye Blackbird

J is gone. It is done and over with.

He returned from a working trip and when we spoke it came out that he doesn't think about any sort of future with me. I'm tired of being with people who don't want to be with me. Or who make no effort or room in their life for me to be. I won't be the one who always bends. I am resolute.

The night that I ended it I sobbed like a child. I've been more ok about it than I really expected, but waves of grief was over me a few times today, and I feel myself on the edge again.

This morning, as T and I were making gentle Saturday morning in the sun love, I was near to climax when I realised I was supposed to be with Cambridge with J, and I almost wept right then and there. Not fair for T, I know, but I don't consciously seek these thoughts out, they just hit me.

I am so sad.

Coming up Roses

I've been reading over these posts, and despite the deliciousness of all of them, the ones that burn are the ones about S. I don't know what it is, and I certainly don't feel the way I used to about him, but still, I guess he was a catalyst in my life for a hell of a lot of change.

We've settled into a comfortable friendship with benefits now. He has a new girlfriend, but we still see each other. I've made it clear I don't want to get involved in something that's deceptive, but he's assured me that it's sufficiently casual between them that our continued fucking is acceptable. I trust him, and trust that he'll tell me when it's not ok anymore.

A few months ago he came to the new flat to check it out. T was still at work and likely to be so for a while. We made out a little, before he undid my dress and began to caress my breasts. He sat on the sofa and I snuck in between his legs before undoing his trousers and fishing out his beautiful cock.

That's really what it is - beautiful - it's very large, long and thick, but it's pretty and definitely not a violent cock. I put my mouth around it (just!) and began to suck him off. In the early days he told me he was mad about head, and back then I was so nervous about giving it. Really worried about my teeth...but I'm more confident now, and enjoy the process more. It has to be really varied with S as he's so big and it hurts my jaw if he fucks my mouth for too long.

His hands were in my hair, gently pressing me on to him. He's shy about expressing pleasure - I think I frighten him a little - and so I'm always surprised when he comes. He fills my mouth, and it tastes so good. I swallow, and we kiss before laying back on the sofa and chat.

I'm so surprised this time, about how tender he is. I realise how much he likes me, and how different his  liking me feels. It's not a passion for me, in the way that I wanted in the beginning, but it's a gentle affection and slight surprise that he knows me. I lay back in his arms and he stroked my body, my breasts. It's was lovely.

We dressed, and T came home. It was the first time they'd met in over a year, and in that time S and I had fucked. It could have been awful. It wasn't. They laughed and hugged, and S left. I was so pleased that everything seemed to be coming out ok.

Paris, France

J took me to Paris last weekend. I had been looking forward to it for months. All over Christmas, almost all I could think about was going to Paris with J. It just seemed like the most romantic thing in the universe.

We left on the Friday of my first week back at work. From about 12pm that day I'd begun to feel terrible nervous and excited, almost nauseous, which is pretty unusual for me. On the train to London I felt so fucking anxious I could hardly stand it. Couldn't read. Couldn't do anything except sit there and fucking pine away, waiting to see him.

He had sent this text:

"You get 3 spanks for every minute late you are after 1730. I want to kiss you. Xxx"

When the train pulled in I felt shaky with desire. I called him, and he answered "Nine minutes late. That's 27 spankings." Once I'd heard his voice I felt ok, and as I wandered through the train station to meet him I felt positively serene. Then all of a sudden there he was. Real as fuck. It was all I could do to stand there in his embrace, and not fall to the ground and weep with relief.

As we travelled through England and then into the North of France, we talked, chatted about life, about his friend who had died, about my Christmas trip. We made it into Paris quite late, then couldn't get a taxi and took a fraught Metro journey to our hotel. He seemed distracted, but it was ok.

The view from the Hotel

We made it to the room, and we kissed. He took my clothes off, I took his off. He ate me for a long time, but for some reason did that thing that T used to do, which is not listen to me saying "don't stop" and he kept on changing his pace. Fingering me too hard, and too deep. I'm being spoilt now, but it was so GD annoying that I kept being distracted. When I finally came it wasn't great, and I barely felt it.

He hadn't fucked anyone in six weeks, so he fucked the absolute shit out of me. He came quickly, had tried to slow down, then suddenly stopped and looked so intensely into my face before shooting himself into me with an anguished cry.

The scene of the crime

The next day he taped my arms together and fucked me from behind as he pushed my face into the bed. The me flipped me over and pressed his glorious weight into me from on top. My arms hurt but I loved it. I loved it when he came in me. I wanted it to be for real.

Saturday night changed everything though. He'd been a little distant in the afternoon, and as I generally let him set the tone I let myself get totally thrown and began to doubt myself. It was really my fault then for the rest of the weekend, as I couldn't feel happy unless I thought that he was. So I wasn't very talkative, felt shy.

We spoke about his work over dinner and when I made a foolish mistake over something quite key he'd been explaining he gave me an exasperated look and a sigh. I almost burst into tears. I felt mortified, humiliated, stupid and playing out of my league. He asked if he'd upset me but it was all I could do to shake my head and deny how easily wounded I was.

Sunday was fun. We walked around the Musee D'Orsay before a walk through the Tuileries and a crepe on a Ferris wheel. Another exhibition had too long a line and he was disappointed. We then went to Champs Elysees and wandered through some shops. He likes to buy me things. We went into a store, and he bought me some delicious boots. I adore them:



We then went to an early supper at Terminus Nord. I had onion soup and lobster. He had soupe de poisson and steak. He was quiet, I was sad and frightened. He seemed cross and I didn't know why. I don't even know if he was actually cross or just distracted.

We went to catch the train and the snow had thrown the system into mayhem and there were hundreds of people queueing for the trains. We made it onto the last two seats of the earlier train (which nevertheless running 300 minutes late) but did spend a couple of hours waiting. He was so anxious that he kept marching off, trying to find a better place for us to sit. Always trying to be more efficient. Not telling me what is going off. Walking off when I was halfway through I sentence. I know he didn't hear me. He should have been listening. I want him to be the kind of lover that is listening.

I had a cry, and told him he'd upset me. He was totally shocked and oblivious and I thought I saw a flicker of him being sad that I was upset. I don't know if that's the case though.

On the ride back we chatted, sometimes it was intimate, some times it wasn't. We spoke about life, and about sex, and he said to me:

"if you follow me into the toilets I will come in your mouth"

So I did. I've NEVER done that before, but he fucked me from behind in the Eurostar toilets, and before coming he spun me around, sat me down, took off the condom and pressed his lovely cock into my mouth. He came with a sigh into my mouth for the first time, and it tasted wonderful. He was shocked that I'd done it, and frankly so was I.

We tried to find our way back home. He booked a hotel, I thought I was invited, but I wasn't. He got me off the train a stop early and left me to make my own way home. I was devastated. He had the fucking audacity to tell me he missed me and wished I was at the hotel with him. I sobbed the way home.

I need to stop letting him treat me like a fool.

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: 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.

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.

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.