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.

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.

The Good-Mood One

The hormones have delivered, I'm cheerful today! The offspring are back from their two-week jaunt: tanned and exuberant, babbling in Italiaise and bearing gifts of food and wine. Sometimes I sit back and marvel that I; a short, round, antisocial, misanthropic Hair Monster managed to produce two such sophisticated, sociable, culinary-enabled polyglots. If it weren't for the obvious height genetic influence, I'd assume a mix-up at the maternity ward.

Anyway, they've swept off to play with their little step-brother & sister for a few hours and I plodded off to the shops. I live at the bottom of the hill, at the cheaper end of town - to get anywhere interesting on foot, one has to perambulate past the posh houses and tackle the gradient. A couple of years ago, this was a challenge to which (to my shame) I was unequal. Attempting the hill would leave me breathless, panting and with stabbing pains in my shins. Eventually I decided that if that was the state I was in in my mid-thirties, how much pain and discomfort would I be storing up for myself come retirement? So although Hair Monsters are not gerbils, and the treadmill is not their natural habitat, a gym membership was lashed out for, and some determined exercise and stretching routines mean that I can at least now nimbly nip up the hill. Still. But only just, 'cos that membership has been collecting dust for the last 3 months.

I'm in a money-spending mood, unfortunately. This isn't fantastic, considering my newly straitened circumstances, but occasionally, needs must and in celebration of my newly single status, some new makeup and extra perfume was purchased. This is in addition to the £100 frittered away over the web at Figleaves during the week. Those little scraps of silky nothingness arrived this morning, and are delightful. I have a major presentation coming up at work in just over a week. We each have our own version of smoke and mirrors. Mine will be to distract the audience from criticism of my proposal with subliminal consideration of whether I'm actually wearing suspenders under my new dress. Oh the delights of working in a male-dominated industry!

Whilst in town, I scoped the coffee-shops for pulling potential. I chose one on a corner, with plenty of windows for people watching opportunities and ensconced myself at a window seat with a cappuchino and a book. This is part of my longer-term plan for the single life - become a regular and force myself to talk to people. There were a couple of blokes there together, obviously there to pass the time and watch the world go by. I was idly wondering if they were straight, mentally discounting the one with the facial fungus, despite his rather dishy bum, when a woman in a wheelchair manoeuvred her way into the cafe. She charmed the staff, clocked the other one as someone she recognised from her gym and chatted them both up for the next half hour. Well, if she can do it with gammy legs and a speech impediment, I've really got no excuse. Its humbling when a cripple is doing better at pulling than I am! So on the mental checklist - make the cafe a regular stop, and go back to the gym.

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.

The Cheek!

Well, the slightly-more-observant-than-I-give-him-credit-for K has accused me of having an affair on the strength of finding some new lingerie in the dirty clothes bin. Well, technically yes, not that I was going to admit it so I leapt for the moral high-ground on the basis that his further evidence is that I haven't been going to bed at the same time as him for some months. Well that's because a) he goes to bed exceptionally early and b) he will want to attempt unsuccessful sex. Again. He claims that "normally", I show him the things I've brought. In answer, I pulled out various items of clothing and grilled him on whether I'd shown it to him before it saw the inside of a wardrobe or after. He had to concede. And I certainly haven't been having an affair for months!

Then there's the small matter of the number of times I've caught him on the internet chatting up women. Now I'm a relatively easy-going person, not out to stop anyone's fun and I took the line that as long as it stayed as online fantasy, then fine. But I caught him ringing up one woman 8-9 times a day, and 3 months ago, directing another one to our local train station once I was due to be safely out of the country. He claimed that he wouldn't have gone through with it. We'll never know because she bottled it. But for 3.5 years, I haven't gone on about the lack of full-on activity, he's been (not very) secretly attempting to find out if the problem can be solved with a different shag, can I be blamed for cracking and getting some attention elsewhere?

Meanwhile the other lover is agging for a replay. Perhaps once more....