Life Begins

Here I am, a woman in my prime, and you know what? Forty is fab! My confidence in myself is growing by the day. I can wear low-cut tops without thinking I'm being obvious or mutton-like (does that translate across the Atlantic?), simply because it doesn't really cross my mind. I have soft, round, gently tanned, welcoming full breasts - why shouldn't they see some of the light of day in the summer? I smile at everyone I meet, and they smile back. I'm walking around in my own little sunbeam at the moment, and that light is reflecting upon all the people around me.

After my serendipitious meeting with the Cider Man in town last week, we "hooked up" a few evenings later. It was such a pleasant change to spend time with someone different - met a few of his friends, went somewhere new, had a laugh, and had some incredible oral sex. I'd forgotten he had a tongue stud! Trust me - what all your friends say about tongue-studs is true. Every woman should have access to one at least once - and once you do, you'll want it again and again and again.... And he's nice, and he stayed the night and I had a fabulous time. He can come again - fnarr, fnarr. You know, his back had the softest skin I've ever stroked....

I am so unshakeably sure that I don't want a relationship at this point in my life. I want to cherry-pick the good bits: flattery, attention, plenty of sex, and you can keep the dross: Match of the Day, bickering about who's turn it is to go to Tescos (translate: Walmart) and whether his mother's coming to dinner. I guess that makes me perfect mistress material for the time being. Certainly D is very keen to give me my first fuck of my forties this week.

My social calendar is filling up - quiz nights, BBQs, chamber music, rock nights & tonight - the Proms. I'll be on my own, and enjoying it all the more because of that. Beethoven and Mahler, teutonic delights at the Albert Hall. All in all, I feel like the cat that got the cream. Is life allowed to be this good?