Hotel

For the first time ever, I’m starting to relate to the frustrations that fellas are always going on about when dealing with us chicks. If The Girlfriend is anything to go by, then there may well be some truth in what they say – women talk a lot, can be unpredictable, and are extremely difficult to read.

We’ve stayed in touch since the awkward ending to our first proper encounter. And the messaging and photos have continued to be extremely hot. Aligning our availability and a venue for us to be able hook up again is proving to be frustratingly tricky. But when an evening becomes free, I enthusiastically get stuck into my other favourite online past time – searching for cheap hotel deals. Two nights before and there’s a flurry of excited messaging to organise the practicalities and The Husband sits patiently on the sofa while I’m glued to my laptop planning my first girly sleepover.

The plan is to meet at the hotel, have a few drinks, then head out to town for fun and frolics before heading back for a night of debauchery. All day, I’m feeling more like vomiting from nerves than getting down and dirty. But where I have The Husband to drive me to the hotel with excited words of encouragement and arrive early to pop the prosecco cork, she arrives flustered, rushing straight from work and sorting her kids. I give her a hug, handing her a glass and waiting patiently for her to relax.

A royal wedding is on the television. I hate the parasitical royal family with a passion. And the wedding is a vile, pompous spectacle of expense to cynically bolster their public appeal while regular families are losing their homes and resorting to foodbanks to feed their children. But then again the frocks are quite nice.

It’s inescapable, my politics play a major role in my sexual adventures – if someone is a right wing dickhead, I just don’t want them anywhere near my genitals. Part of The Girlfriend’s appeal is her open minded independent thinking and I’ve already established that she’s neither racist nor homophobic. But when she expresses her love of the queen and reveals how excited she’s been all day for the royal wedding, I nearly grab my bag and walk out of the room. I have serious doubts that I’m in the right place here, getting steadily drunker with a stressed out jabbering monarchist rather than a saucy, sassy, sex kitten.

But I’ve paid for the hotel room now and continue drowning my sorrows as we check out the frocks. Eventually, the lure of pizza gets us out but it’s already too late and too cold to bother going to the cocktail bar we’d planned on, and we head to the nearest pub. It’s not the most sensible move as it’s where we’re both most likely to bump into people we know – but that’s what’s so good about going on a girly date, just two mates going out for a drink.

After a couple more drinks and more listening to her work woes, I’m getting more impatient by her lack of two way conversational abilities and apparent lack of interest in anything about me. Combined with the wine and lack of food, I’m feeling increasingly cranky.

We move on to the next pub and head to the toilets together where I pee first, lurking awkwardly as I wait for her to finish. I’m standing against the cubicle wall as she kisses me for the first time that night. It’s fumbly and exciting but not altogether enjoyable as she finger-bangs me in the most notoriously skankiest pub toilet in town.

With red lipstick smudged all over my face, and looking decidedly disheveled, I leave the cubicle first. And sure enough, I bump smack bang into someone I know – my neighbour’s daughter who I used to share a yoga class with. I’m awkward with small talk at the best of the times, let alone when I’ve been caught out snogging a chick in the pub toilets, but I brazen it out as best I can until we manage to hurriedly escape, stifling our giggles.

She has definitely warmed up, but I can’t say that I’m entirely comfortable with it, particularly when she grabs my leg and tries to snog me in plain sight in the middle of the pub. It’s definitely time to get that pizza and get straight back to the hotel room.

We kiss passionately in the lift up to the room. We’re getting hotter, and while we’re increasingly wobbly, manage to deftly balance the pizza, jumping when the doors open at our floor. Lying in bed, cracking open more wine, and shoving pizza into our ravenous gobs, she still keeps on talking, this time delving into the darkest depths of her traumatic, abusive,drug fuelled youth. It’s really not sexy and I’m starting to fall asleep.

Finally, she gets the message and shuts up long enough for me to lunge at her. This time it’s much more equal, straightforward, erotic and sensual sex without the sub/dom overtones. We’re both drunk, tired and just enjoying indulging in each other.

For the first time, I’m appreciating women’s bodies from a male perspective, and it’s having a major impact on my own self-consciousness. My belly is my most constant and enduring source of body insecurity but I’m finally starting to see how sexy it can be. I absolutely get it now – she is so deliciously soft and squiggly that I can’t keep my hands and mouth off her, like a fluffy marshmallow. And the two us writhing around together is totally delectable.

We take turns eating each other and she eventually falls asleep. It’s been a very long time since I slept in bed with anyone other than The Husband and I’m not particularly comfortable with it. I’m not the best sleeper and have no idea what to do in this situation, so choose to roll over and spend a fitful night on the opposite edge of the bed.

In the morning, she goes down on me while I slowly wake up. And after another romp, I purposely choose not to shower so that I smell of pussy when The Husband picks me up. As we leave the hotel, he’s standing next to the van, unknowingly parked right next to her car.  There’s an awkward moment when I introduce the two of them – “Girlfriend, meet The Husband… Husband meet The Girlfriend”. They shake hands and he takes my bag while I hug her goodbye before getting into the van. On the drive home, I make him smell the sex on my fingers, telling him all about my night before spending the day hungover and fucking in my own comfy bed.

The horniness effect on The Husband is as intense as ever. But there are some new elements involved that need some different navigation. The first is the sleepover – I have never before spent an entire night away for explicitly debaucherous reasons. But he can sleep through absolutely anything, so it was me that bore the brunt of it more than him. More importantly and quite surprisingly, is the same-sex issue. When we split years before, he explored his bisexual desires with gusto. As I tried to process the impact it had on me, he just couldn’t understand why it was any different to him fucking other women. But in the aftermath of The Girlfriend Experience, he begins to understand. The variations to the jealousy impact are subtle but significant. If I fuck another dude, the rush involves a psychological competition and humiliation. But there’s no competing with another chick, it’s a whole different kettle of fish [pun intended].

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