I’m getting slightly better at knowing what I want. Or maybe I’m just getting better at projecting my desired qualities onto unknowing and unwitting partners. Whichever way, it doesn’t always work out well and the run of misfits continues.
I’m not sure if I’m physically attracted to him, but his messages are cheeky, charming, and deviant. And he’s older, single, lives alone, and experienced in the swinging scene. It’s an attractive combination, particularly during a current dry spell.
I’ve been sick again and out of action. The bleeding during sex that had been hampering my sexual adventures has been put down to a polyp which has been successfully removed. At the same time, I’ve had a proper clear out and a IUD contraceptive device fitted, both for added protection and to help with my peri-menopausal symptoms. The upside is that my womb is sorted and ready for action. The downside is that I’m feeling exhausted, hormonal, bloated and decidedly unattractive. Perhaps some dating adoration is just what I need to start feeling fabulous again.
He’s the supervisor on a huge building site in the city. I arrange to meet him for a quick drink round the corner from his work on the way to meet a friend. He’s in the whole construction worker gear, complete with flouro vest, big dirty boots, and an impressive shiny helmet. While he’s not traditionally good looking, he’s got the whole rugged thing going on. And he’s cheeky, charming, and confident – I like him. To the extent that I feel an intense tingling when he tells me how much he wants to take me back to his site office and bend me over his desk there and then. In an uncharacteristically sensible move, I politely decline and agree to visit his place the following week.
But when I see him standing by his ute (again!) waiting to pick me up near my house, I wonder what the hell I was thinking and consider running away. He looks completely different in his own nasty jeans and cheap trainers with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. Without the fantasy construction worker think happening, he just looks like a shabby, unkempt, dirty old man.
Everything is lined up though, it’s been a while since I had an adventure, and The Husband is excited about picking me up on his way home from work for an evening of our own. I decide to go with it.
His house is reassuringly clean and he has a beautiful if slightly scary dog. Both are factors that help me to relax reasonably quickly, especially combined with the large amount of wine that I quickly knock back for courage. The place is clearly set up for his sexually deviant lifestyle, complete with large recliner sofas and huge television with surround sound. The screen is still showing his last porn category and I point out to him that displaying a preference for teen porn probably isn’t the wisest move when trying to seduce a mature woman. We share a drink, a cigarette, and a laugh, and before long, he has his face buried between my legs.
He knows that I’m way out of his league, which makes him extra enthusiastic and appreciative, and makes me feel like an absolute porn star. It’s extremely hot. Soon we’re energetically fucking on his massive leather sofa – until he gets his leg stuck and we have to take a break.
Honestly, I’m not always as responsible about using condoms as I should be, particularly when I have a good idea about who I’m with and their sexual history. But this time I am extra careful. His sexual deviancy may be attractive on one level, but from what he’s revealed to me tonight concerning his occasional hiring of sex services and meth-fueled orgies with neighbours, his bare cock is definitely not going anywhere near me.
I’m increasingly drunk and end up on his bed with my legs in the air with him shouting ‘yummo’ and proclaiming that all his christmasses had come at once. When The Husband arrives, I head to the car in a slightly wobbly state to regale him with my tales of debauchery and we carry on the fucking into the night. The whole episode has a uniquely dirty quality to it. But it’s not one that I’m keen to repeat again in a hurry. And nor is my liver.