Tag Archives: M&A

Interesting insights – a night at home

Last night I saw the economist. We met in an anonymous pub near his office where we chatted briefly over a couple of drinks. As his flatmate (yes, he has a flatmate at the age of 39!) was still away for xmas, we agreed to seize the opportunity and traveled by tube to his less-than-salubrious part of town. We walked arm in arm to his flat. I felt safe with him.

The light in his stairwell was broken and so I had to hold onto his shoulder as we climbed the to his apartment. He let us in and turned on the heating. The flat was minimalist, bare walls, leather sofas, huge TV. A true bachelor pad. He took me on the grand tour, ending it in his bedroom. I removed his clothes, one by one, keeping eye contact. When he went to lift my cashmere sweater, I pushed his cold hands back and threw him on the bed naked. Fully clothed, I sat astride him and examined his nakedness. We had said very little since entering the flat. The polite chit-chat of the pub now far away. We both knew why we had met that night. We both needed a release.

Enjoying the feeling of power, being the one on top of him and still wearing all my garments, I knelt lower and took him in my mouth. I could sense he just needed to let go and lose himself in sex. His relatively recent breakup has left him lost. I know how that feels and how sex with a relative stranger can help. Seeing his spartan flat and talking to him about his ex made me want to take him in my arms and stroke his hair, to love him unconditionally, even if only for that night. It is not that I feel sorry for him, that would be patronising. I just sense his deep melancholy and I wish I could help release him from that. He came in my mouth relatively quickly. I had warmed up by then and stripped, lying naked next to him, letting him hold my breasts and tug at my nipples. He was so gentle with me. I felt both close and very removed from his bed. He moved his head down, pushing my legs apart and began to lick and suck my pussy. It was a delicate sensation, timid even. Then he found his rhythm and I felt the tide rise within. When he could sense I was close to coming, he inserted two fingers into my cunt and touched that sensitive spot whilst continuing to lap at my clitoris. I came shudderingly, the heat rushed through me and he didn’t stop until the aftershocks had ceased. We lay naked under the covers breathing heavily. It had been a craving we had fixed.

We chatted naked in bed for a good half hour. His eyes occasionally showed his sadness and I began to realise that I was the first woman he had slept with in his bed since she had left him. I lay on my stomach, propping my head up on the pillow and looked at him intently. He ran his fingers up and down my spine. Silence. We were there together, quietly. His hand traced the hollow down towards my rear and slipped further down, finding my wetness. He pushed his fingers inside me and began to slip them in and out very gently whilst massaging my clit with his thumb. I let my head rest on the pillow and enjoyed the sensation of him touching me like this. Then he mounted me from behind and slipped his cock inside me, fucking me as I lay quite still. I could feel his balls beat against my clit each time he slid in and out. He was in control now and I let him be.

We ate a late dinner together and shared a bottle of wine. When it was time for me to go, he walked me to find a cab. He is sweet. He is a bit of a mystery. So gentle, calm, yet also unhinged in some ways. Perhaps I sense a similarity between us – a double life, a feeling of being lost, of wondering what the point is, of not really knowing what to do with this life that we have. I am not sure. But, seeing him in his home gave me a different perspective on him. I like him. I just wish I could have stayed and let him sleep in my arms.


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Little Christmas indulgences

As the final turkey leftovers are thrown out, the decorations packed away and the new year settles in, I am usually grateful that the festivities are at an end. Though I like Christmas and all the family get togethers, I am usually left exhausted, recovering from the seasonal bout of flu. And so this year is no different. I lie in bed, awake far too early for a public holiday and my mind begins to wander to the precious days before the festivities began. To that afternoon spent in a hotel room with the economist (formerly M&A).

We had agreed to meet before he flew out for the holidays and so it was the last day before Christmas when I made my way to the five star hotel in central London. He had chosen the hotel for its proximity to the Royal Opera house, which is where I was meeting my husband and family later that evening. He had checked in first, texting me the room number and so I walked confidently into the lobby, smiling at the receptionist and striding into the lift, trying not to look like a woman about to commit adultery. Again.

My heart beat a little faster as the lift took me to his floor. The corridor was warm and muffled, thick carpets and heavy wallpaper dampened the sound of my footsteps as I approached his room. I was already dressed for the opera – a black vintage 50s dress, red petticoat, red heels, black stockings and black pearls. I stopped outside the room and drew a long breath, then knocked. I heard movement from within and the door opened quietly. The economist smiled at me and opened the door wider to let me in. He took my face in his hands and kissed my lips softly. My cheeks were still cold and his hands felt wonderfully warm. He looked into my eyes and said: ‘Be gentle with me, I’m terribly hung over.’ I smiled and teased him a little – we had joked that I had only ever seen him hung over, which to be fair, was only three times. We remained standing as we kissed, his hands warming my face and our kisses hot, slow at first, then becoming heated, tongues searching for one another. He unbuttoned my coat as he kissed my cheeks and neck. The coat dropped and I tugged at his sweater, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside. I could feel his firm body through his shirt and a jolt shot through my sex. He fumbled with the fastening on my dress, I unhooked his belt and ran my fingers inside his jeans until I could undo the buttons of his flies. They dropped to the floor and he slipped off my dress, leaving me standing in my heels, petticoat and stockings. He pulled his buttoned up shirt over his head and gently sat me down on the edge of the bed. Kneeling before me, he removed one shoe at a time, keeping his eyes fixed on mine.

I lay back and let him climb astride me. We kissed and stroked one another enjoying the anticipation of our nakedness. I observed his body, his strong shoulders, lean torso and muscular legs. He has the body of a sportsman, yet the palest of skins, its delicacy belying the scars he carries from rugby injuries. I let my fingers find the rim of his boxers and began to slide them down, revealing his straining cock. He dropped onto the bed next to me and I removed his underwear, leaving him completely naked and erect. Smiling up at him, I guided his cock into my mouth and began to massage his shaft with my lips and tongue. He tasted good. I could hear him moan gently as I pressed my tongue to the pulsating vein at the base and traced its flow all the way up to the tip. Taking his balls in my left hand and firmly clasping the base of his penis with my right thumb and middle finger, I began to devour him, sucking, licking, pressing to a rhythm my own cunt dictated. He held my hair as he began to climax and I let him burst into my mouth, swallowing each shot as it came, a warm trickle escaping out of the corner of my mouth. When he was spent, I sat up and looked at him – he had gained some colour in his cheeks, a delicate rash on his chest hinting at the rush of orgasm.

He pulled me onto the bed and ripped off my stockings and petticoat, plunging his head between my legs, lapping at my freshly waxed cunt. I could feel the force with which he wanted to devour me, the pressure of his torso against my cocked legs and his fingers feeling inside me, reaching for that hidden spot of pleasure. I was conscious of how quickly he had become erect again and pulled his head up to kiss him, tasting my own juices as I did so. Deftly, he put on a condom and positioned his hips above mine, slipping deep inside me. A wave of delight washed over my body as we thrust into darkness, the red fleshy sea taking hold of us both. His movements had such zeal, such energy, I let myself be carried away to his rhythm, his force. My hands slipped on his back as sweat began to lubricate our bodies. We rolled over so that I was on top, such a perfect view of his face. He reached up and fondled my breasts as I gyrated on his cock, feeling its hardness touch deep inside my womb. He pulled me down to take my nipples in his mouth. There was such a rawness and frantic desire about him. I wanted him to enter me from behind, like animals. Leaning my arms against the padded headboard and kneeling with my legs apart, he understood exactly what I wanted him to do. He grasped my hips, pulling my ass towards him and plunged his cock into my pussy, the pressure of which pushed my face against the headboard as well. It felt incredible, he filled me so entirely. We fucked and fucked, trying different positions, each one was frantically constructed and deconstructed in favour of a new one. The sweat dripped and our bodies felt as if they were on fire. Collapsing on the bed together, I decided to take him once more in my mouth. His cock tasted of me and it felt like there was more cum the second time he squirted his juices into my mouth. As the waves of orgasm receded, we lay there, arm in arm panting heavily. My senses were so heightened, so on edge from the rawness of it all, that when he delicately touched my clit with his fingers, I felt as if I was walking on the edge of an abyss. He kept me clinging on, teasing, as if playing the harp. The tingling was ever present in all my limbs, just waiting for the final release. And then it came. I let him have my orgasm, it came in slow, increasing circles until each touch of his finger was a tremor deep inside me.

We had four hours in that hotel room together. Chatting, kissing, touching; our first foray into the affair. When it was time to leave, I showered, dressed, perfumed and styled myself for the opera. We shared a drink in the hotel bar before he left for the airport and I strolled to meet husband and family for dinner and opera.

The strangest thing happened on that walk to the restaurant: a man in his forties walked past me in the opposite direction and blew a kiss in my direction. Not recognising his action in time to dismiss him or smile at him, I pressed on. A minute later, he tapped me on the shoulder and said:

‘I didn’t mean any disrespect. Can I give you my number?’

I was so surprised by his advance that I just smiled apologetically and told him I was married. He smiled back and thanked me, then we parted. The scenario made me wonder what signals I must have been giving out that a complete stranger would approach me so directly? Perhaps, it is more a matter of when it rains, it pours.


Filed under General, lovers

When opportunity knocks

A recent conversation with the husband has resulted in an extended stay for me in London after xmas. I will be there (alone) for a good two weeks, giving me ample opportunity to catch up with various lovers. This is an opportunity too good to pass up and so, the wheels are in motion and plans are being made.

The first rendezvous in the diary is next week. M&A has surpassed all expectations by booking a hotel room for the afternoon. Originally, I had planned to go to his place, but its location and both of us having to dash off by 5pm means we will have limited time together. I can feel the excitement building and catch myself looking at a photo I snapped of him on a regular basis. I know very little about him, yet am curious about his quiet demeanour and wry sense of humour. The idea of going to a hotel room, dressed for the opera (which is where I have to dash off to afterwards), letting him slowly undress me, kiss me, touch me, has me so erotically charged I am conscious of my cunt as I write.

My mind is filled with glimpses of what is to come. I long to see his torso, his back, to feel his skin against mine, his athletic stature pressing my soft curves. The first time is always special. There are so many expectations, worries and desires that blend together. The touch of a stranger. The sensation of his hand as he searches for my cunt, finds it and glides on my wetness. I want to kneel before him and take him in my mouth. Not in the same rushed way as last time, but to savour each lick and feel his hardness with my tongue. We will have four hours in a silent, private room together. Four hours to touch, stroke and know each other’s bodies.

When we part, it will be with the knowledge of what we have done. We will be bound by our secret. He will leave to catch his flight home for xmas and I will head to the opera. I will still be able to feel the wetness of our afternoon as I watch the performance, be able to close my eyes and see him in front of me. People will think I am closing my eyes to listen to the music, but only I will know how just a few hours before he was inside me.


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Introducing the potential new lover

It has been such a long time since I last felt those initial thrills and butterflies. And I didn’t plan this one at all.

We have a mutual friend, the brother of my female friend (it gets complicated). The potential new lover, I shall call him M&A as he is in mergers and acquisitions, is of the Emerald Isle. He has a satisfyingly uncomplicated physique, a marathon runner and a rugby player. He is neither too wiry, nor too bulky. His face is kind, neatly chiselled and he has wonderful laughter lines hinting at his 39 years. He has also recently come out of a major break-up. She left him. He was devastated and has been self-medicating the Irish way ever since.

And so for that reason I suppose we ended up in a club together, me swallowing his cum in a dark stairway early one Saturday morning. It was not the first time we’d met. I remember him from a previous occasion the year before, when he was there with his girlfriend. But this was the first time we’d really talked. We got on. I liked his acerbic wit, his party instincts, his desire to let go. I think I recognised the need to push the boundaries, to live life teetering on the edge of that abyss. He is there, I have been there and so we took the plunge together.

He complimented me on my blow job and asked to see me again. I fear our mutual friend noted our sudden absence and I am sure he suspects. But the deed was done. No going back, no regretting. A follow up lunch at his club in London and a mutual pact not to tell anyone has meant we move on to the next stage: the affair.

Of course, he is single. That makes it complicated. He does not have the same need for secrecy that I do. He may well also harbour judgemental views on adultery. I don’t know. But, I like him. I am curious about his body. I think both of us need a physical outlet. He needs to feel wanted again, no strings attached. I just need a fuck and the thrill of the new with the danger of the forbidden. And so he suggested meeting for lunch before xmas. A long lunch, at his place, or a hotel. I am excited and apprehensive. A new lover requires energy, time and an emotional investment (however small). It raises conflicts in me about the decision to try for a baby with the husband. I know a new lover would provide the necessary distraction from focusing my attentions on the whole ‘family’ question. But even as I write these doubts, I know full well that in a week’s time, I will be undressing in front of him and letting him explore my body as I close my eyes and succumb to the blackness.



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