My period in exile is almost over. Next week I leave the husband at home and travel to London. Alone.
It has been so long since I had my own life, time to write, time to think, time spent with lovers. Months. Their memories distant, fading. I need to immerse myself in sensual surroundings, overdose on the intoxicating scent of my older lover, drown in the adrenalin of a new lover’s touch.
Soon. Plans have been made. The first night will be spent with my older lover. His family away, we will have all the time in the world. The night will be ours. My days are filled with momentary pauses as my body stops what I am doing and I linger in that place where he and I are entwined, naked, warm, wet. I imagine what it will be like when I see him again. We have not spent a night together since January. The thrill of rediscovering the familiar, to inhale his delicious scent and talk, touch, laugh over dinner, happy in the knowledge that we will indulge in one another for dessert.
My wedding gift is also due and so the second night will be spent in the company of the tall guy, recently returned from his honeymoon and keen to “collect”. A swanky affair, cocktails, dinner, a posh hotel. So cliched but, oh what fun it will be. He says he’ll bring the silk blindfold. I like his sense of adventure. I can’t even remember the last time I was tied up and blindfolded. It has been far too long.
Then there is the cute barman. He wants to fuck me. To give me the “best orgasm” I’ve ever had. Promises, promises. If I’m honest, I’m excited, but also apprehensive. He is the sort of guy to lose interest once he has conquered, and so I’d prefer to flirt, tease, hint, but keep him hanging. He can fuck any girl he wants. He’s a slut. What a delicious tease it will be.
There will be fleeting meetings with others – the horny American, and the chance of meeting someone new… A week is a long time in adultery.