Cultivation

Good heavens, is the "Wobble" post the one I've left up for nearly 3 weeks? Meh - life continues. 

I've been on what might be considered disturbingly close to "a proper date" with the Ciderman. Since then he's been out of the country & its been a long week. I've missed him quite a lot, but its given me a chance to reflect, to try and separate out what I hope he's like from what he might actually be like and most of all to get my head around the fact that I really could risk getting involved again. Whatever that means.

There's been an "opportunity" with D, which was enjoyable, but necessarily brief as the hotel was crawling with the rest of the department. However, that has now got to the inevitable difficulty where any progression involves an increase in intimacy, and there's no point. Sometimes the futility of it makes me sigh, but he's nice, reliable and takes me out to dinner, so, one evening at a time. And he does do a delicious job of biting my nipples. However, its difficult to relax when my gasps & moans of pleasure might be overheard by my department director, my line manager and 3 dozen assorted others. 

Further, a new situation has arisen with... lets call him S. S is another, younger, work colleague who has developed into a very good friend. However, he has some bedroom issues, and we have discussed a type of Mrs Robinson scenario as a confidence boost. He claims that apart from having zero experience (which I'd guessed) due to confidence issues, he had also, until this week with someone he's interested in, not kissed a girl for over a decade. Surely not! Despite his obvious heterosexuality, he's very in touch with his feminine side and would hate to put any woman in an awkward position and generally impose. Perhaps a mature, experienced, unfazeable older woman is precisely what is needed to administer a short sharp metaphorical slap round the head to move things along. Of course, it could all go horribly wrong, we could regret it bitterly and generally make things worse, but hey, I think "Ah fuck it!", and he is slowly starting to be less risk adverse and take a chance. So we'll see. 

And that's about it from the world of the hair monster. I still haven't solved my lack of pub-mates, but more violin-playing opportunities are slowly coming about. The garden is slowing showing the benefit of a bit of TLC (that's the back yard, not the lady-garden!) I guess one might say that the lady-garden is having a better time of it than my brain at the moment. Training up young S could be amusing for it, but might screw me (& him) up. But well, this is the year of doing things differently, so bring it on. I hope Ciderman rings next week though.

The Seduction - Part 2

In the story so far of how I came to be having this sordid little affair with D, I've mentioned in Part 1 how, as Hot Chocolate said, it started with a kiss. Well after this episode, November came and went, as did December with nothing more than blushing smiles and the sort of terribly mild flirting that your maiden aunt couldn't object to. But the idea was out there - floating between us, invisible but tangible. Come the start of the New Year, following a Christmas card and a NYE text, I thought the time had come to move things on a step or two. Christmas had convinced me that I was up for an affair, and without a doubt I found the thought as exciting as I did scary. So I ensured I was booked into the same hotel the night before a department meeting, and mentioned it in passing. The information definitely had an effect - he jumped and stuttered.

There were a number of us staying there and we'd agreed to meet in the bar at 7:00pm. Shortly before 7, the room telephone rang - it was him. He offered to escort me down to dinner and mentioned that his room was handily just across the corrider. Come on over, I said. A minute later came the knock. Pretending I wasn't deeply nervous, I opened the door and played it cool. He strolled straight past me and took a short tour of the facilities. I watched him with one eyebrow raised in a quizzical smile. I was taken aback and a little scared by his air of insouciant confidence. He looked like he spent most evenings walking around women's hotel rooms, and my conscience gave a twinge. That little voice of common sense that we all do our best to ignore started whispering that he was probably a total player who might have shagged every woman in the company. Still, we were only going down to the bar together, right?

During dinner, first his foot and then his thigh pressed against mine. Hmm, this is quite nice and not too scary, I thought. I generally relaxed and the evening passed pleasantly with the anticipation held level. A few glasses of wine later and I was ready to stroll back upstairs. His arm round me up the corridor, I wondered how you negotiated the etiquette of suggesting something improper, and if he would, or I should or what. To my relief, he asked if I was going to invite him in for a cuddle. YES, I thought, that's perfect. A nice, non-threatening way of suggesting something. I mean, as much as I might fancy doing it doggie-style in front of the mirror, no-one is going to condemn me for agreeing out loud to a cuddle! Gentlemen readers - remember this.

So it was that I found myself, for the first time in ten years, engaged in a passionate kiss in a hotel room with a man who was not my partner. Worse, a work colleague. Worse still, someone else's husband. At this point, my resolve began to waver. My thought processes went something like this:

"Ohhh, I really shouldn't be doing this! I work with him and its all a bit close for comfort and when work affairs go bad it can be hideous. What if anyone finds out? My reputation at work will be shot. Oh this is so not a good idea. How do I get out of this? I can't really without making a total scene and I really shouldn't be doi..Ooooohhhhhhh GOD that felt good...... but what was I was saying? Oh yes, I met his wife at the Christmas party the other year and she seemed really nice and I really should not be doin.. OH MY GOD - HE'S JUST UNDONE MY BRA STRAP WITH ONE HAND - HE IS A PLAYER!! I bet he does this all the time!! I don't even know if I really fancy him, I mean it seemed like a good idea earlier but now I don't know if the reality is really what I want and I really shouldn't be doin.. AAAAAHHHHHWWWWWwwwwww CHRIST that feels fantastic.... yeah where was I? Oh yes but that's not the point, I know K and I haven't been getting on, but this really isn't going to help, and I know what I'm like, I will give up on trying to make it better with K and sort out our problems, if they can be sorted, if I've got this distraction but this is so not a good idea on so many levels an..... OOOOOAAAAAHHHHHHHWWWWWWWW....oh, fuck it - I've got a live one here!" 

And the rest, as they say, is history.

The games we play

Now I have blogged before on here how I (somewhat irrationally) cannot sleep with two men concurrently - that if I start anything with someone new, it marks the end of an old relationship. But I've never been a married man's mistress before (at least not without any expectation of that status changing). 

Last week was a funny one - a situation arose at work which I was getting very wound up about. Frustratingly, if I hadn't been screwing D, he may have provided a practical solution, but we had both previously agreed to avoid any situation in which he might become my direct manager again, for reasons of ethics. Or morals. Or whatever. However, a resolution that involved him was almost so obvious it was starting to raise eyebrows that it hadn't happened, and that was starting to reflect badly on me professionally. Typical - I knew this liaison would not improve my career, but I didn't think it would negatively impact it, even without being discovered. How naive.

So in the hotel after work, my heart wasn't in it. And worse, he noticed. Worst still, he understood, listened to me and sympathised. We have our boundaries and that crossed mine. Someone actually caring about how my day went and listening is alien. It makes me realise that there's something wrong with a life when a woman gets to the age of 40 without having experienced that before. That makes me feel sorry for myself and that makes me absolutely furious. I hate any suggestion that I might by wallowing in self-pity - I am not a victim. So I got up and left; drove home illegally fast, listening to Marilyn Manson. The one thing I wanted more than anything that night was not to spend it alone. The one thing I refused to do was admit that fact, even to myself.

But my slutty guardian angel was looking over me. Shortly after I got in, I got a text from one Cider Man - did I want to meet him for a pint and a round of pub games? Yes - yes I did. Lager & pool was just what I needed. He's going through some changes himself. So I got exactly what I needed: a warm body to curl up with, a chance to sooth my own soul by comforting someone else. All without having to admit to any emotional vulnerability myself. I rock!

Oh and today I charmingly knocked sufficient heads together so that the difficult situation at work has hopefully been resolved. Its just best when everybody does what I want!

The Seduction - Part 1

I have been poking around the blogosphere this week and am particularly enjoying RiffDog at Ashley & Me. His writing is very accessible - humourous and addictive. It's seriously making me reconsider my writing style & content - more sex required? His descriptions of his various first dates reminded me fondly of the first night with D, and perhaps you good readers would like more detail of what happened.

As a recap, D is a married man with whom I work. Last November, in the bar after a departmental awayday, he unexpectedly kissed me goodnight. On the lips. In my natural surprise and confusion, I pinched his bum. Rewinding further, he used to be my direct boss. I really enjoyed working for him - he was relaxed but totally professional. The sort of boss that you want to work that bit harder for and I was rather in awe of him. In fact, when the reorganisation was announced and he told me I would no longer be working for him, a look passed between us - a complicated look, perhaps speaking of thoughts that were less about manager to subordinate and more of one adult the equal of the other. But the moment was fleeting, departmental lines were redrawn and for a year or so, we had no reason to be in contact.

Another reorganisation later, we found ourselves in the bar at the end of a long boozy night. Not even alone - a couple of others were there too. Which is why his kiss goodnight so totally confused me. We work in quite a macho, conservative industry - not a touchy-feely media-lovey-type world, so this was definitely not normal. I floated back to my hotel room like I was being borne along on a cloud. Did he mean it? What did he mean? Was I mis-interpreting it? He surely wasn't making a pass, was he? Yes - I know the blokes reading this will be thumping their heads against their screens screaming, "Of course he bloody was!", but you have to realise. I'd been in a committed relationship for nigh on 10 years. In all that time I'd barely looked at anyone else (apart from Cider Man here) and certainly no-one had made a pass at me. In fact in the previous few months, as things went downhill between K & I, the realisation of this was starting to grate. I wondered out loud to friends if this was because:

a) I'd been giving off "I'm taken" vibes,

b) because I was so out of practice that I didn't notice subtle indications, or

c) was the problem in fact that I had the body of a teletubby and a face like a smacked arse?

So that's my excuse for a grown woman lying awake wondering if the man who kissed her full on the lips liked her at all. Honestly, the thought seemed so bizarre and unlikely - I'm still laughing at my innocent bewilderment.

So after a good half hour's thought - I'm blushing here - I sent him a text of "Nice bum". And felt terribly shocked at my behaviour and instantly embarassed and convinced I'd made a total fool of myself, that I'd utterly misinterpreted an innocent, friendly kiss and I would probably be formally reprimanded for it. Breakfast was a trial. We studiously avoided catching each other's eyes and I decided that if confronted I would plead alcoholism. Or something. The conference session the following day was mercifully short and we left the hotel without a further word being spoken. The following day I got to work to find a short email from him: "Sorry - I should have said something yesterday. I'm out of the country, back Wednesday week." Well what did that mean? Did that mean that I would get the formal dressing down when he got back? Would we both draw a discreet veil over an embarrassing yet minor incident? I decided that least said was soonest mended and resolved to put the episode out of my mind. Which worked, until the day he got back. He came round to my desk, stood in front of me and eventually looked me directly in the eye. I looked at him.... and as the huge, goofy grins simultaneously hit our faces, I knew that whatever happened between us, things would be alright....

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?

Crossing the Rubicon

I have stepped across the divide, swum defiantly & purposefully to the other side. I have crossed the Rubicon - I am 40. Although it feels odd seeing it in black and white, mentally I'm fine with it. I celebrated with the offspring. Tonight, we're off to eat and drink with friends before ending up in a club to dance like diseased monkeys. Ah, one of the many advantages of having been a teenage mother that the reactionary rag, the Daily Mail, forgets to mention!

I said goodbye to my thirties in style. D booked into a country house hotel and to continue the incapacitated animal similes, we fucked like crazed ferrets for hours. Then we went for a stroll round the grounds, laughingly considering patches of long grass for privacy and daring, had a drink, had a meal, and did it all over again.

The last month has been an extended dry patch. Holidays interfered with our usual arrangements, which was tortuous. I'd forgotton how randy I get in the sunshine and there was nothing I could do but lie semi-naked on the sunlounger and fantasize. So a proper reunion was highly anticipated. I'd had the chance to warn / titilate him with tales of my near all-over tan, hard fought through sessions of topless car-washing, gardening, pool-cleaning and shed painting. 

I was starting to get anxious that the tan would fade before it had the chance to be shown off, but I was able to parade; naked, laughing, brown and blushing for my lover. I told him that I hadn't been able to sleep the night before through anticipation, but I'd solved the problem by fantasising that he was licking champagne from my breasts. So he obliged for real. 

Its soooo pleasurable to touch, feel, stroke, rub my cheek against his stomach, feel his cock in my cunt, his teeth on my nipples. To touch someone, to be touched. To fuck and be fucked. The end of my thirties was spectacular. Can my forties live up to it?

Sweet Seventeen

This week gift to feature writers and bloggers is the publication of Mira Kirshenbaum's book, "When Good People Have Affairs". From the reviews I've scanned, the thrust of the piece is the argument that extra-marital affairs are so widespread, that it is ridiculously simplistic to label adultery (and by extension, adulterers) as bad. Rather than the certainty of black and white, it might be better to take a slightly more shaded view of the motivations, reasons and explanations for affairs, and avoid the knee-jerk, "They've cheated so its over" point of view.

Ms Kirshenbaum lists 17 reasons why people cheat. For ease, these are: Break-out-into-selfhood, Accidental, Sexual Panic, Let's kill this relationship (and see if it comes back to life), Mid-marriage crisis, Trading up, Heating up your marriage, I just need to indulge myself, Ejector seat, See if, Distraction, Surrogate therapy, Do I still have it, Having experiences I missed out out, Revenge, Mid-life crisis and Unmet needs.

She further suggests that you should stay with your partner if your affair is a heating-up-your-marriage affair, let's-kill-this-relationship-and-see-if-it-comes-back-to-life affair, do-I-still-have-it affair, accidental affair, revenge affair or midlife-crisis affair. However, she says that you need to think carefully about whether to stay with your primary partner if your affair is of the following kinds: the break-out-into-selfhood affair, unmet-need affair, having-experiences-I-missed-out-on affair, surrogate-therapy affair, ejector-seat affair.

Now whether this taxonomy of reasons is completely exhaustive, I don't know. Where does, "Well, he asked and I was a bit pissed and quite flattered" fit in? And the categories are obviously not mutually exclusive - my affair with D ticks several boxes, both for me and for him I imagine. Still, most of the ones on my side are in the "split up" category, and a number of his are from the "stick it out" side of the fence, so there's a nice bit of post rationalising.

Further the author is wholly convinced of the wisdom of NEVER confessing the affair, perhaps a route that Titus, the Lazy Philosopher wished he'd taken in hindsight. Still, if the affair is of the type to give the marriage a kick up the arse, how do you establish that yes, you really are that pissed off and things really must change if the other party is blithely unaware?

I find the entire subject quite fascinating from a philosophical stand-point. I was quite flabbergasted to read in the Guardian this particular quote: "'Adulterers are neither kind nor good people, so what sort of sympathy are we supposed to give them?', said Leila Collins, a psychologist who has given relationship counselling for 15 years. 'A good person doesn't betray their loved ones. A good person who is unsatisfied in their relationship ends it before starting a new one.'"

What? Are you barking?? And what exactly qualifies Ms Collins to go busybodying around in other people's lives? I'm not talking about the bit of paper she may have tacked to her office wall, I'm talking about some tangible life experience, wisdom and compassion. Are you telling me that one placement of a penis negates a lifetime of selflessness, devotion and duty? Total bollocks. But yet, the pain, hurt and devastation that the discovery of an affair can have is not to be denied. But to read that a bit of dissatisfaction is apparently sufficient reason to jettison the other parent of your children and doing so in pursuit of a new relationship makes one a "good" person is not only ridiculous, but both naive, dangerous and destructive.

All-male brothels for women

I was reading a commentary by Ariel Leve from the Times earlier, on the subject of Heidi Fleiss' new venture in the Nevada desert - a brothel for women. Her column, although amusing, missed pressing most of my recognition buttons. Perhaps its because she's from New York. Apparently, she can't sleep with someone without wanting to talk on the phone afterwards. Talk? To someone you've just slept with?? Christ alive, we're British, don't you know. We don't talk - we go to the pub, we get pissed, we pull, we sleep with someone, we bump into them again, stuff is repeated and sometimes shuffles in embarrassed fashion into something resembling a relationship. Certainly no talking involved though.

There again, women from across the pond seem rather hung up on "dating", whatever the hell that is. Some Canadian bint was slagging off British men as "too polite, too repressed and too misogynistic" and has written an article called "The Tragic Ineptitude of the English Male" implying that British men are drunken women haters. Despite not actually ending up in bed with one the whole time she lived here (surely frigid?), she is cashing in on her lack of first-hand knowledge, xenophobic misandry (yeah the irony completely passed her by, but then Alanis Morrisette highlighted that Canadians never really had a firm grip on the concept) and general cultural missing-the-point to turn this drivel into a TV series. I'm sure the Canadians will lap it up.

Personally I know nothing about this dating malarkey; my history is all around long-term serial relationships. They all started with a shag, because then you both know where you are, and assuming neither of you actually blow your nose on the curtains, it then morphs into a relationship, (because you didn't chose a flaky feckwit to start with) and its just less trouble to carry on with the one that's there & willing, rather than cast about for someone new. Its not clever, its not exciting, there's a high percentage of danger of ending up spending your Sundays in B&Q, but hey, at least you get laid and the opportunity to go halves on a curry on a Saturday night. Perhaps I settle for too little, but many of my friends seem jealous of what I had. 1 marriage, 2 long-term relationships, 1 one-night stand that dragged on for a week (damn I'm good!) and the current entanglement. And not a single date.

But one thing she said did pull me up: "If I announced I’d like to have sex with no expectations, demands or agenda - I’d have to turn men away." That I suppose is exactly what I am doing currently - I have no expectations, demands or agenda in this fling with D. Why would I? He's married and staying that way, with my blessing. But according to her I should be beating them off with a shitty stick, as the saying goes. And I guess if I advertised the fact that I was that accommodating, I would be. Somehow though, it is a bit sad though that I have given up articulating even to myself what an expectation, demand or agenda might look like. It seems so fantastically pointless including someone else in your plans, even a hypothetical person. Is that just giving up?

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.

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?

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.

Communication

Time to be honest with myself - is this affair doing it for me? Am I hiding behind my determination not to appear clingy and vulnerable? Is it stopping me from pointing out that a fortnightly shag with minimal contact in-between is not making me feel better about myself? The problem is, I can rationally understand that using work email or comms is stupid, that affairs limit contact time and points, but nevertheless....

Part of it is my history - I seem to have ended up with the sneaking suspicion that every man will treat me in a way I feel is crap, unless I intervene and have the difficult conversations, which, being a coward & unconfident, I don't, til far too late. It seems unfair to suspect everyone's motives as being negative, and of course the possibility exists that they don't see it as crap at all. I'm not specifically referring to D here.

Still, Tuesday night, I was in the mood to take it slower, as I hadn't seen him for a week. He was eager to go straight to it, and I can't blame him as the week before, the roles were reversed - he'd been surprised at my urgency. His ebbing jetlag this week meant it would have been a cruelty not to have dispatched him back to his own duvet as soon as I'd finished with him, but something's missing.

On the other hand, I see the way he looks at me in the office. Before his recent trip, we had a conversation, mostly about my career, and it was so damn inspiring (temporarily - the effect has worn off now!) Verbal communication is so complicated compared to sex - the latter is so bloody easy, its a shame its not the be-all and end all of life.

Entitlement

The quality of the writing on some other blogs: The Naked Truth, Bittersweet-Me never fails to impress me - how they manage to capture a moment in time, freeze-frame it, spin it out microsecond by microsecond, describe and make explicit the implicit, the subconcious with clever metaphor and simile and I tried to mentally photograph moments to describe here, but its no good. I get lost in the moment too completely and it slides through my mental grasp like a wet paintbrush over the bit of carpet you didn't cover.

Alas, the discreet hotel was full, so his secretary booked him into the usual, goldfish-bowl one. I bowed to the inevitable, and got a different secretary to book me in too. Despite the fact that I have spent less time thinking about him this week, seeing him occasionally during day between meetings made me realise that I was absolutely gagging for it.

We rushed away from work to check in early - to get a couple of hours' peace and quiet, and we made good use. Orgasm followed hard upon orgasm but as the count rose higher, so did the emotional overload. Too many hard orgasms can make me cry even at the best of times, and this is not the best of times for me - vulnerable, rocky and unstable are all words that wouldn't be out of place to describe me at the moment. At least I didn't break into full-on, snot-snorting sobbing; let's be grateful for small mercies, but it was touch and go at one point. I was so pathetically pleased to be with someone, for a touch, for a conversation, for him.

"Has it been very quiet indoors?", he gently inquired. He knows the offspring are away, to return on Friday. What could I say? That, yes, it has been, and sometimes that's ok and sometimes it isn't. Again he mused out loud on how long I will want this reality, how long it will be enough, how long I will want him. I wonder too - the stubborn, invulnerable, fuck-em-all part of me thinks that I shouldn't settle for the precarious state of mistress for a second longer, that I should need nothing and no-one unless they are prepared and free to court me fully and properly, and that I should demand nothing less for myself. But the human, vulnerable needy me that I don't like to admit exists realises that as little as this is, its a precious something, and its removal would leave a gaping void. No promises, no expectations, I told him. One occasion at a time - that way there's less room to get hurt, even though we all know I will be.

I want to say to him that I was touched that he'd bought champagne the other week, even though we didn't get a chance to drink it. But if I did, I might go on to admit that I was so touched, because no man has ever bought me champagne before, and fatally, go on to wonder out loud if that was because I wasn't that sort of woman, or because I don't attract that sort of man. I can't decide which answer is more depressing.

Oh I have the grots tonight, it must be hormonal. I promise in a day or two, I will post happy, positive posts. My ceanothus bushes are poised to burst into glory, the Mexican Orange Blossom is pregnant with budding beauty, the aquilegia is verging on colourful delight. The occasional snow-flurries can't stop the march of Spring and now the decorating is finished and BST-lit evenings are here, fresh air and exercise will prod your blogger into better moods, I promise.

Expectations

After a couple of days characterised by frequent episodes of "Angry & Bitter 10 Minutes", accompanied by spontaneous sobbing fits, I woke this morning feeling much calmer and more peaceful. Yesterday evening I was full of self-pity and dramatic internal declarations that I would not stand for being ignored and that I would not be at D's beck and call, pathetically waiting for crumbs of attention.

And this morning, when our paths crossed at the distant office, I was cool, possibly even frosty. I put him out of my mind for the rest of the day, but bumped into him later. I knew he was staying over tonight, so was prepared that, despite Monday's stammered excuses that there would be a lot of people at the hotel and he would need to entertain, he might have a change of heart and invite me back. And of course, he did. Did your intrepid blogger crack? Of course she bloody did, the pathetically easy tart! I thought about the state of the motorway at that time of day and considered the pleasure of a stop-over of a couple of hours with benefits, and smiled, "Ring me when you're leaving".

Ring he did, but to apologise that he had been called into another meeting. I said I'd give him half hour and if he wasn't out, I'd go, which is what I eventually did. He rang again when I'd been on the road a while, hoping to persuade me back and apologised again. I mentioned that he'd seemed much more distant since Easter, and I had been wondering if he wanted to continue our arrangement. Again, more apologies, but more interestingly, the promise of a night next week in a more discreet hotel. We shall see.

In a comment, Akrazael wrote that she was grateful for being in a relationship herself as a guard against how possessive she might otherwise become. I am utterly useless at caring for 2 people at the same time. It would be helpful if I could, but I have failed to achieve this state on a couple of occasions in my life. I'm astonished that I waited as long as a month to ask K to leave after sleeping with D. If it had been a ONS, then perhaps, but knowing that I had every intention of doing it again put the mockers on continuing the relationship - what was left of it - with K.

Which begs the question - how long will I be happy being the "other woman", and how will I transition from that state to a more conventional relationship with someone who is free to form one, when I'm ready to? Why have I finally decided to stand up for myself against what I perceive as K's inconsiderateness and lack of appreciation, only to form a relationship of sorts with someone who can only spare me specks of time? Well I think the answer is the heading I've given to this post. A full-time, serious, one-on-one relationship carries huge expectations with it, and if there's one thing I think my life has taught me, its that putting expectations on the behaviour of others is a waste of time. Or maybe that's a self-fulfilling prophecy, I don't know.

I do know however that in contrast to the complications of negotiating wants, needs and expectations in a full-time relationship, having a fling is wonderously, seductively simple. The unspoken expectation is of pleasure, for a short, allotted few hours, and nothing else is promised. It might be implied, it can be bargained for, but the bottom line is that you meet, you have a great time, you part, you have some good memories, and if all else is equal, you do it again. I like that, I understand that and right now, that feels strangely honest for an activity derided as cheating.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Addendum
Reading back the first paragraph, I think I need to clarify that my misery and bitterness were caused by mulling over the gap between what I had hoped from a long-term relationship with K and what I ended up with. Yes, I wanted to guard against being pathetic again, but I wouldn't want anyone to think I was gnashing my teeth that an inevitably short-term affair might have already reached its conclusion!

Up, Down and Sideways

I have no idea how I feel today - at any given moment I am seconds from either tears or laughter. K is just plain miserable - i got 15 texts in 12 hours from him over Saturday night/Sunday morning. I am giving him some support, but I need to keep back some energy for me. I miss - if not him - then the security of a relationship, of a future. And of all things, I'm mourning the lack of holidays - 10 wasted years with him - what was it for?

Then there's D. He's been elusive, to say the least. Over the Easter weekend, his wife accused him of having an affair - obviously he denied everything. Apparently his 'performance' takes a while to recover after I've finished with him. Also I'm sure there's more to it that he hasn't said. So, due to my schedule and his, it was only accidental that we ended up in the same place last week, and he has declined a possible opportunity this week. He mentioned a chance the week after, and I was ambivalent. I'm currently feeling rather like an unpaid prostitute, on the basis that, as we all know, they are paid not for sex but for going away afterwards.

I want to crawl under the duvet and hide away, but I can't even close the curtains in the living room, til I've finished painting and put them up again. Its taken 5.5 days just to strip off all the bloody woodchip wallpaper, and there seems a mile of glossing to do. Sigh. On the day he left, I told K that I intended to start decorating. He looked around and admitted that we could have done it together years ago. Then he hit me with, "You should have nagged more." Sheesh - and they say there's no pleasing women - shame he didn't appreciate my numerous wonderful qualities when he had the chance.

Curry & Chocolate

Last night marked the first hotel-based escapade I've managed with D in a couple of weeks, what with the moving out of K. There have been a couple of car-seat shenanigans, which makes one shake one's head with minor embarassment that all these years further on, you're still acting like a randy teenager. But there's nothing quite like a full-on, mattress-enabled hotel-room fuck to remind you that age has its compensations.

The entrance and egress to the hotel was complicated by the fact that half the senior management team were staying there again, and at some point someone will twig that D & I keep shuffling off to dinner by ourselves. As I pointed out, after a staggered, comedy-routine escape, we were either going to have to pack it in, get a bit smarter at booking hotels or just take out a full-page ad on the company intranet and have done with it. As it was, I had to smuggle out the gift of the chocolate egg he'd bought me, if only because he'd been out at lunchtime and met a colleague who'd stayed with him while he bought it. Eventually we escaped, for a pie & a pint for him, shiraz & curry for me.

But the necessary irritations of the mechanics of work affairs aside, the compensation is the moments of time-arresting pleasure. The countless orgasms are delicious, the novelty of cumming through having my neck kissed, my nipples pinched, helped along with penetrating fingers, tongue and cock is joyful. The memory that sticks with me though is D falling asleep; two fingers still buried deep in my warm wetness, head resting on my breast where his teeth had been teasing my nipples. Pulling him to me, cradling and rocking him to temporary oblivion makes me wistful - that urge to protect, tend and nurture is so strong. I have to remember that like a library book, I'm only borrowing him for a few hours - I have to give him back.

Still, back indoors for the long Easter weekend, I'm embarking on that enterprise that traditionally marks the time of year or the end of a relationship - decorating!

Waiting...

In deference to the current situation, I didn't stay away the night before today's monthly meeting that has become a bit of a regular fixture, but got up at sparrow's fart to drive there instead. D was there, of course, and the challenge of touching each other with a room full of potential witnesses was the name of the game. On a tour of a new facility, he managed to sidle up behind me, and I rubbed myself against him in passing a couple of times. The most fun was in the lift - squashed in at the back gave us 8 floors-worth of opportunity to touch, rub and hold hands.... childish, but amusing.

However, his faced dropped when I mentioned that I have tomorrow booked off. Its the final packing for K & I said I'd help out. But next week, I will be free to pursue this affair to my heart's content. I hope I have more sense than to sit around and wait for opportunities to do just that - but if the alternative is "speed-dating", I may take up hermitry full time.

Thank Feck it's Friday

A busy day today.

I got up early to beat D into the office to leave him a card and a pressie for his birthday over the coming weekend. Obviously I had to get in before anyone else or the office feckwit would comment long and loud on why I'd bought D a present, where was his, blah, blah, blah. And what do you buy the married man you've been seeing for only 2 months when you think its probably not just sex but neither of you have explicitly confirmed otherwise? A chocolate sportscar of course - a token of a mid-life crisis from a token of a mid-life crisis!

As we were chatting, I thought I'd better drop in the news about the split from K. He'd gathered something was up and asked me out for a drink after work - conveniently our company still honours the tradition of POETS day. Surreptitious arrangements were made and we convened at a suitably remote hostelry for a pint of shandy. It was a relief to just sit and chat in comfort and relative privacy. When you're in a hotel*, its a wicked shame to waste the bed-time and although you think you remember that this person is someone you could have a conversation with, its nice to have it confirmed. After we finished our pints, he suggested we go for a "walk in the country". Too bloody perishing - we'll go for a drive.

I know you're supposed to find a hidden lovers lane under the cover of darkness, behind high hedges, discreet-like. But hey, I have needs, it was his birthday and the countryside offered nothing but endless open fields. So we pulled onto the verge.

• The thing about which I am most smug: this morning's classy decision to go with the matching knickers on the off-chance I might get some action.
  
• The thing that took me most aback: he said he wanted to arrange a night away next week, and the week after, and the week after that, and the week after that, and the week after that....
  
• The thing that made me most impatient: his repeated fear that I would find someone younger and leave him.
  
• The thing which most made me catch my breath: His admission that as soon as he got near his office this morning, he knew immediately that I'd been there as he could smell my perfume; that he could always smell it for a day after he'd had me.
  
• The thing that was the best: feeling his teeth on my nipples again. It still works.
  
• The thing that was the close second: hearing him gasp as my lips slid over the head of his cock.
  
• 
  

So the day was generally lovely, and then home to K. I made what I thought was a reasonable offer of more cash in order to keep the bedroom furniture. In fact, not all of it, just the one chest of drawers I use. He replied that he wanted it all and felt he was being "done over". This irritated me beyond belief. I've subsidised the git for 10 years on living costs - his quid pro quo was to provide the big ticket items. Anyway, I'm pissed at myself for getting riled, and I'm reminding myself that at least I was smart enough to make sure his name isn't on any of the bills, or it could all be a lot worse. Deep breaths, deep breaths. Roll on Saturday week.

Oh, and even if that trip to Australia is off because I can't afford it, I'm determined that this will be the year I finally do that weekend in Amsterdam, perhaps for my 40th in the summer. I've got my girlfriends lined up to go with me, it could be great!

* Nearly forgot to mention, the incredibly talented Z describes moments in hotel rooms so perfectly here that I find myself screaming, "yes, Yes.... Yes, oh fuck yes, God Yes, OH. GOD. YEEEES!". Its all so true, and wonderfully written.

Hurts so good

Ok, so I've always "got" bondage - the mental power exchange of restraint, of control, of dominance and submission, but I was never a pain freak....or so I thought. The very first moment of the first time D & I got into bed together he confessed that he had a fetish for having his nipples bitten. And so I obliged, but I was worried that I was hurting him. Last night he admitted that it was never hard enough and demonstrated on me. Oh Christ, I'm a convert. Yes, I was imagining my wrists fastened behind my back to stop me pushing his teeth & nails away, but just a look from him froze me to the spot as his head went down and his lips pulled back. Who knew I could orgasm just from having my right nipple bitten? Not me - took me totally by surprise. I'm purring now!

Oh, and the best version was Susan Cadogan's.

Thoughts

Today's behaviour - totally out of character? Can't really say that, can I. When I said that I first snogged Cider Man a couple of years ago, it was in reaction to the first time I caught K lying about keeping online relationships online. I was so angry that he'd lied. If there was nothing to it, why was he ringing her 8/9/10 times a day? Why was he sitting outside the house in the car to talk to her when he got home from work instead of coming in?

From his phone bills, I discovered that he'd rung her from the hospital the day his mother died. That hurt - I was right there. Was the emotional support I was providing not enough? All wrong?? I tried to hold it together for him through that time but it was difficult. My mother had died at the same hospital 4 years earlier. Except in her case, they didn't lay her out afterwards in a nice, large side room with a red rose in a vase. They shoved her in an oversized cupboard where I had to clamber over spare drip stands to get to her body. With his mother, the staff tried everything, with mine, they'd given up long before. K had the opportunity to be with his mother when when she died. Mine died alone, in the night, undiscovered til the following morning.

Whatever comfort I tried to offer never seemed enough. He was distant, brushed me off, but I didn't expect him to have an affair. Which to his mind, he wasn't as they had never met. But he was acting like he was, and that shook me. I knew the signs, having been his other woman. It made me question the emotional investment I had in him, which was why I ended up snogging CB- the only time since I started seeing K that I had done any such thing, or wanted to until this year.

I kid myself that I'm a one guy woman, so what was today about? Mentally I've moved on from K - I'm just too cowardly to tell him. But there's no point directing all that attention on D (yes, that's the code letter I've gone for), and I have to be careful that I don't do it simply through force of habit. I've had a series of long term relationships; which means that I unwittingly think along certain paths, without realising that I'm making certain assumptions. But then I think D does too - he has never made any noises about just wanting a quickie fling, he's not the type. He's been married forever, and he's doesn't seem to be wired for short-term assignations either. He's a rubbish liar - if he says anything that he feels remotely guilty or ashamed about, he looks straight at his feet. Although thinking about it, it's interesting the times he doesn't do that.

But today: partly I was innoculating myself against caring too much, but on the other hand, a blazing illustration that I can do meaningless sex. It also spells out unmissably to me that D isn't meaningless sex and I'm kidding myself if I try to pretend it is. Also I'm feeling randy and yes, the attention from D has made me realise that perhaps I am generally attractive. A bit. But what was I thinking of?