Tease

There is something so deliciously naughty about having a serious, in-depth, work discussion with your lover in his office, whilst wrapping your ankles around his and inching your skirt up bit by bit until sudden changes in his facial expression and his tone tell you that he's just glimpsed a flash of your suspenders. God bless visually obsessed men.

I'm one of them

I have recently been chewing over the issue of part-time lovers. Now it seems eminently sensible to me that in lieu of a full-time lover, I could substitute with enough part-timers to make a full-time equivalent. I have no moral objection in my particular case - I have made no commitment to anyone. It's rational, sensible, logical even, and I am a rational, sensible and logical hair-monster. But unfortuately, I'm just not wired that way. I have NEVER been able to regularly sleep with two men concurrently. I have no idea why, I just can't, and never mind the physical frustration, I'm finding that fact intellectually frustrating! I have managed a one-night stand in the same week as the start of an ongoing relationship, but I just can't ride two horses, so to speak.

However, through some nonsense at work, I dug out my Myers-Briggs personality type. Hmmm. It's like someone has been following me around with a tape-recorder and noting things I've said out loud to include in the profile. It even predicted what CDs I would have in the car. How does my attitude to unexpected invitations so correctly define me as a Vaughan Williams devotee? I'm an individual, damn it, and I took the Shostokovitch out of the car last week, so Ha, you were wrong there.

It said that my type had a similar attitude to music as they did to sex. I have said to D that music and sex are the only times I completely lose myself in a moment. It also said that my type "may analyse his/her own thought processes as if his mind and body were separate from their conscious self". Also that "They seek patterns and logical explanations for anything that interests them". So that will be why, as K was forcing me down onto the concrete path, careless of the cuts and bruises I sustained in his sudden rage, I was thinking, "Aha, this is the second time with me, the third time I know about, and you can triangulate from 3 occurances. Interestingly, the pattern appears to be doorways - each time he's kicked off, it has involved pushing someone out of or through a doorway. What's that about?" Someone more in touch with their feelings may have just thought, "Fuck this for a game of soldiers, I'm off." Funny lot, us INTPs.

But it does say that we are very loyal and faithful and entirely straightforward in relationships - never bother with game playing. See - we're not that bad. What's even better, I've managed to be one of the few INTPs that's not a trekkie - I'm almost human! Don't know that any of this is going to help me solve my shag dilemma though.

Saturday Mornings

As has become the new routine, I am woken by my regular weekend visitor, a fat lazy wasp that never disturbs me on a workday - doubtless it is busy itself. But on Saturdays and Sundays it likes to pay a friendly visit and hovers above the curtains as the dawn chorus breaks, and with a sigh, I reach for the empty pint glass and paperback and hope none of my neighbours are out for an early constitutional as I prance naked in front of the bedroom window, trying not to trap any of its legs against the glass.

Today however, he obviously only had time for the briefest of hellos, before sinking back behind the curtain and according to the diminishing buzz, found his way out again. That left me sleepy but not tired, awake and alone on a Saturday morning. I tensed and stretched, yawning and wriggled sideways to find a cooler bit of sheet. Having a superking-sized bed to oneself, there's always a cooler bit somewhere.

Arching my back, I feel the duvet brush my nipples. Naked, warm, luxuriant, relaxed, one's thoughts turn to what nature intended Saturday mornings to be for, apart from saving wasps from human peril. The memory of teeth teasing that pink flesh is subconsciously echoed as my hands creep towards them, pulling, pinching, squeezing, twisting. The thoughts come thicker, fast, the warmth spreads. Writhing now, I imagine hands, tongues, fingers. Kiss my shoulders, I inwardly demand and twist over to offer an bared blade to my imaginary lover. I stroke my own neck, flicking my hair back to give the phantom easier access. I wonder how wet I am below, but resist from exploring there...yet.

Now the memory of his smell, the rasp of 5'o clock shadow as I rub my cheek against thin air. Leading my my jaw, I'm moving, twisting, rubbing as if I were a pet cat impressing itself against ankles. Flipping over onto my stomach, the ghostly feel of lips on my back, a tongue following the contours of my spine, down then up again. Hands pushing my hair away from my nape as I lift my neck in offering to his touch. Eyes closed, I trace the outline of my own jaw with a thumb, lost in imaginings, memory chasing sensation following fantasy. I am vaguely aware that I gasp audibly as my finger sinks past the initial resistance into a hidden lake of physical response. I waste no time in spreading it over my cunt lips, the tops of my thighs, bringing the finger up to my mouth to taste and savour, wiping fresh juice across my upper lip, tracing out the hardened nipples. Again rising in space so the highest points of my body are those two peaks, and my crotch. Up, higher, more, faster, and on and on. A blur of reality, a kaleidoscope of images and my moment is upon me. It builds and builds, the threat of the orgasm ending mitigated by squeezing my thighs tighter and tighter against my hand, bucking, throbbing, pulsating, a universe of sensation collapsed into a pin-prick black hole of time. Allowing myself to relax, to come down, to smile lazily into space, I replay special moments we've had together, I claim all the mattress, starfished with the duvet cast back. And as my mate the wasp considers another assault on its enemy's base camp, I make a mental note to add bleach and olive oil to the shopping list.

The Dichotomy

Life is pleasant. I have, for company, much of the time, a delightful daughter who is witty, amusing and delightful. I also have, for the purposes of random stroking and fussing over, a fat, neutered, mostly deaf old cat. There are no highs, and the lows are controllable. For amusement, I have a low level affair with a co-worker. Its very civilised, mildly flirtateous when others are present, carefully worded arrangements to meet and enjoyable sex when the occasion arises. Mentally, if one can stay away from obsession, it's all quite pleasant. It gives one a reason to dress up for work, it brings a secret smile to the lips.

So why would I crave pointless obsession, wild passion, hopeless romanticism? Surely that way lies madness. Who would want the dizzying highs, if they are inevitably followed by excoriating lows? Who would need the overwhelming fixation which blots out all other concerns, who would want to be incapable of concentrating on work, hobbies, other pleasures? Who might want to invoke overwhleming passion in someone else? Who indeed, to what end?

All dressed up

A quiet week - I had need to be away 3 nights recently, but nowhere near D. Last night I consoled myself with a spot of retail therapy in a huge M&S - my credit card is still whimpering softly as it cowers in the bottom of my handbag. I took the purchases back to my lonely hotel room to try them on. New lingerie and heels and no-one to parade them for. I looked pretty hot too.

Return of the Jedi

I'm back - after a week of non-blogging. What have you missed? Well, to follow on from my last post, I decided last Friday to take the initiative and plainly ask his movements this week. Alas, there was to be no overlap, but in the middle of diary comparison, he looked up and with a complex sweep of facial expressions, asked "So - you still want to carry on seeing me then?" I stuttered an affirmative, parenthetically checking that he still wanted to see me.

Nevertheless, the weekend was not one adorned with a stiff upper lip. It was probably the lowest I've felt this year. That bloody rollercoaster keeps on trucking. I think it was partially due to the fact that having painted all the walls, there was nothing to do but sit and stare at them. And snivel, pathetically. Also a feeling that I may have screwed it up with D, by acting so offhand, he'd assumed I wasn't interested.

Still, I got it out of my system and I've felt more positive as the week progressed. I've separated out two issues in my mind:

1. My biggest fear is that I become so clingy, craven and omnipresent, the human equivalent of that bit of cellophane that you can't shake off your fingers, that I end up irritating him and embarrassing myself. Currently, in my efforts to avoid this horror, I behave very off-hand to the point of rudeness, especially immediately after sex, when at my most emotionally vulnerable. The reality is that I am so hyper aware of the possibility that it is very unlikely to occur, and this fear is easily communicated if the need arises.

2. I have been recoiling from any D-related happiness with the alacrity of a scalded cat. In my current, isolationist mood, I am deeply suspicious of allowing happiness to exist as a result of this affair. I want, unrealistically, all my happiness to spring from an internal well, of which I am in control, rather than be at the mercy of external emotions. Essentially, I want to be able to make myself happy, rather than let my happiness or otherwise be reliant on someone else (cos they're all unreliable bastards, yadda, yadda, yadda, yawn). However, friends and lovers are meant to make you happy! Its not D's fault if I'd forgotten 50% of this equation. I am simply grateful if a friend rings, I'm not terrified of the subsequent consequences of acknowledging that good feeling. I just go with it.

I'm sure this sounds a little mad. Ok, a lot mad. But I guess its part of the break-up recovery stuff. Anyway, once I'd got this straight in my head, I was delighted to find a "hi how are you" text and to enjoy bathing in the warm glow of happiness. Cos its undeniable, when he smiles at me, or I get an unexpected text, the sun comes out in my little world. And, wouldn't you know it, he got stuck away this evening, let me know, I was due to be driving right past anyway on my way back from a training course, so I invited him out for dinner, and myself in for an appetiser first. Smiling again.