Somebody asked me that today, do I spit or swallow? According to my friend, not many women swallow. I've never really had a problem with swallowing... does that make me a slag?
I haven't really slept with that many people.. in fact, my illicit affair is the sixth person I've ever slept with. And I'm in my mid-twenties (nearer 30 than 20) and I can name every person who I've seen naked and who has seen me naked. Every person who has gone down on me and who I've gone down on.
I know that you should really stay away from dairy products if you want your lover to swallow...
Monday 26 February 2007
Friday
Friday he kissed me hard on the lips, kissed me red-raw so I felt dizzy and my knees couldn't hold me up any more. He looked at me as if he'd never laid eyes on me before, looked inside me and told me he wanted to consume me, suck every breath out of me. I sat on his lap, felt his erection through his jeans, wiggled my ass and felt him grow under me. I let his hands slide under my t-shirt, under my bra, the cold fingers on my nipples made me gasp. He bit my neck, pressing his hand against my throat as he kissed me so I could hardly breathe. I could have fucked him there but instead I dragged him to the toilets where on my knees, I took him into my mouth as he watched me with wide-open eyes. I'd never done anything like this before. Something in me has changed.
Seventh date
Whole night together. We'd managed to get one whole night, a night with no deadlines, a night that would end up with us asleep next to each other. This night began with me walking into another hotel room (this one was much nicer than the previous one, mainly because in the last case, all we wanted was a bed and a door that locked), pushed up against a door and taken without the removal of clothes. The need that we had kept locked up since the last time we slept together boiled over with such ferocity that there were a few bruises to soothe later that evening. An evening of relaxed conversation, a few drinks in the bar, the chance of a shared shower, a chance to go to sleep fingers twined and wake up spooning. A night where we discovered that this may not just be about sex, that this could be turning into something else, something we both could not deal with and so the next morning, the withdrawal began.
A cooling off period when we both realised that what we had done in that room had altered the both of us and now reality was invading. A reality with partners who knew not of the changes we'd been through. I went home that day weeping on the train. The smell of his skin imprinted on mine and the taste of him lingering in my mouth. This, this is the not so nice part of an affair.
A cooling off period when we both realised that what we had done in that room had altered the both of us and now reality was invading. A reality with partners who knew not of the changes we'd been through. I went home that day weeping on the train. The smell of his skin imprinted on mine and the taste of him lingering in my mouth. This, this is the not so nice part of an affair.
Sixth date
The date that was planned in haste, over whispered phone conversations during our lunch hour, plotting ways to finally sleep together. To do what we had wanted to do since the first time we laid eyes on each other but there was never the opportunity.
And if you think the first time was all romance and flowers, think again. The event was mapped out with military precision. We only had a few hours together (nope, not even a whole night, the unfairness of it all) so a room was booked, condoms were bought and we had a couple of drinks to settle the nerves before getting down to things. Thing is, writing about it now makes it seem so business-like and dispassionate, but we had to be cold and cynical and calculated about the whole thing or we would have never been able to get it sorted. Unlike regular couples, who can be spontaneous, everything we do has to be thought out... and although we did try to make the actual act as unemotional as possible, it's pretty difficult to do that when you're both naked together for the first time and all you want to do is grab each other and melt into one person.
And the weirdest thing was that there was no weirdness. It felt like the most natural thing in the world, there was no shyness, no awkwardness. We had sex, we had a chat, we had more sex, talked some more, fell asleep for a little while and then had sex again. And then had to face the check-out clerk downstairs when we fled in the middle of the night... laughing all the way to the trains. It was perfect. Not long enough but it gave me even more of an appetite for him.
And if you think the first time was all romance and flowers, think again. The event was mapped out with military precision. We only had a few hours together (nope, not even a whole night, the unfairness of it all) so a room was booked, condoms were bought and we had a couple of drinks to settle the nerves before getting down to things. Thing is, writing about it now makes it seem so business-like and dispassionate, but we had to be cold and cynical and calculated about the whole thing or we would have never been able to get it sorted. Unlike regular couples, who can be spontaneous, everything we do has to be thought out... and although we did try to make the actual act as unemotional as possible, it's pretty difficult to do that when you're both naked together for the first time and all you want to do is grab each other and melt into one person.
And the weirdest thing was that there was no weirdness. It felt like the most natural thing in the world, there was no shyness, no awkwardness. We had sex, we had a chat, we had more sex, talked some more, fell asleep for a little while and then had sex again. And then had to face the check-out clerk downstairs when we fled in the middle of the night... laughing all the way to the trains. It was perfect. Not long enough but it gave me even more of an appetite for him.
Date Five
And then there was number five… D Day in both our minds. A date that was meant to take place in a room with locked doors and curtained windows, the plan was thwarted by the sudden appearance of my period. A period that wasn’t mean to arrive for another six days. Oh the crushing disappointment of the day. I was ready to cancel but he insisted on spending a stolen day together (stolen because she was away). So off we went to a museum in the far-flung corner of South London, where hidden from the rest of the world, many blissful hours were spent wandering through darkened corridors, kisses exchanged when there was no one looking, fingers twining, breath on neck, filth being whispered in my ears… the need to have him inside me suddenly blossoming so all I could see were spots in front of my eyes.
Fourth date,
First time I met him after work, in a hidden nook of West London where we mortified the rest of the customers at a little family restaurant by making out the entire night (and provided much needed gossip for the waiters!) This was the one spent discussing the logistics of spending a night together, of how we would be able to sort it out so we could finally have sex. Of the excuses we could make to respective partners, of the most suitable and discreet hotels (we had a list, oh yes, like boy scouts, people who have affairs are always prepared) we could go to… of whether we should spend a whole night together or be happy with a few hours.
Third date ...
... a night in Central London, starting off with awkward pauses and a shyness that wasn’t evident during the first two times, the one occasion where I felt a twinge of guilt at what I was doing and was ready to walk out of the bar but the excitement at seeing him again kept me glued to my seat.
Second Date
The second was a day out in a well-known gallery, with an evening spent drinking copious amounts of fruit-flavoured beer in a dark pub with discreet corners. The night we exchanged childhood tales of misbehaviour in between delicious kisses and stroking fingers. The place I ‘accidentally on purpose’ let my hands brush over the crotch of his jeans.
Wednesday 21 February 2007
First Date
So far there have been eight…
Tuesday 20 February 2007
Tube Stop Markers
My memory is signposted by tube stop markers. Liverpool St, the place I walked away from him, engrossed in my newspaper, Baker St, the stop nearest to the hotel where we spent our first night together, Notting Hill Gate, the first time I laid eyes on him... you get the idea.
20 February 2007
Being the other woman has its ups and downs. And the emotional roller-coaster you go on can sometimes make you physically sick.
The situation I’m in is very similar to that of a new girlfriend in a shiny brand-new relationship; so with that comes those glorious feelings of firsts; the first time we held hands, the first time he brushed the hair of my face, the first kiss in a crowded bar, the first kiss EVER, the first time we saw each other naked, the first time there was skin on skin.
But then, in stark contrast, I have to deal with all the times he can’t see me because he’s with her; the fact that there are certain places we can NEVER visit for fear of being spotted together; the sudden silence and movement away from me, when only seconds ago we were superglued together on the tube, because the next stop is where she works… these things all come with the affair territory, and I’ve found, the sooner I get used to it, the better. It doesn’t make things any easier though.
But the firsts are worth it, believe you me.
Because we have to be careful and discreet, because we can't talk everyday or text every second, because we have ‘real, normal’ lives, the firsts hold their thrill for longer.
We had another date recently- still had those ‘first’ feelings in my stomach when I set eyes on him. The shuddering, flopping in my belly, that oozing wetness between my legs, the catch of breath as he leant over to say hello… the fact that we did not kiss until well into the evening, which made the kiss all the better for the waiting.
It feels like being wooed all over again, something we’ve both discussed at great length. We only slept together after five dates. If either of us were single, things would have moved much quicker.
But having an affair is a completely different ballgame… these things take TIME and TRUST.
Laters x
The situation I’m in is very similar to that of a new girlfriend in a shiny brand-new relationship; so with that comes those glorious feelings of firsts; the first time we held hands, the first time he brushed the hair of my face, the first kiss in a crowded bar, the first kiss EVER, the first time we saw each other naked, the first time there was skin on skin.
But then, in stark contrast, I have to deal with all the times he can’t see me because he’s with her; the fact that there are certain places we can NEVER visit for fear of being spotted together; the sudden silence and movement away from me, when only seconds ago we were superglued together on the tube, because the next stop is where she works… these things all come with the affair territory, and I’ve found, the sooner I get used to it, the better. It doesn’t make things any easier though.
But the firsts are worth it, believe you me.
Because we have to be careful and discreet, because we can't talk everyday or text every second, because we have ‘real, normal’ lives, the firsts hold their thrill for longer.
We had another date recently- still had those ‘first’ feelings in my stomach when I set eyes on him. The shuddering, flopping in my belly, that oozing wetness between my legs, the catch of breath as he leant over to say hello… the fact that we did not kiss until well into the evening, which made the kiss all the better for the waiting.
It feels like being wooed all over again, something we’ve both discussed at great length. We only slept together after five dates. If either of us were single, things would have moved much quicker.
But having an affair is a completely different ballgame… these things take TIME and TRUST.
Laters x
Monday 19 February 2007
19 February 2007
Right, that's it. She is me... the other woman. The woman wives and girlfriends hate and spit on, the woman I've bitched about countless times over a G&T in my local with my girls on a Friday night. If they knew I was her, they would publicly lynch me, no lie. And yet, I am enjoying the frisson of thrill and excitement that comes with doing something so scandalously wrong... and to top it all off, I'm surprised at the lack of guilt in my life. Surely I should be having sleepless nights, tossing and turning next to my boyfriend (yes, I have one, does that mean the blame will be halved? Didn't think so), being unable to meet his eyes? Instead, I'm merrily carrying on my way, like there's nothing going on. So I am a manipulative, cheating, scheming bitch... or am I?
Can the fact that my boyfriend hasn't slept with me in god knows how long act as an excuse? Surely that's cruelty, and if we were married, grounds for divorce? There has been no sex in suburbia... so now I've gone looking... and I've found.
Laters
Can the fact that my boyfriend hasn't slept with me in god knows how long act as an excuse? Surely that's cruelty, and if we were married, grounds for divorce? There has been no sex in suburbia... so now I've gone looking... and I've found.
Laters
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