Tag Archives: older lover


I walked into the busy restaurant, the buzz and warmth enveloping me after the slight chill of the first breath of autumn. The waitress asked if I had a reservation. I scanned the room, my eyes coming to rest on his familiar outline. He sat at the back, in a private booth and waved at me as our gazes met. I walked towards him, smiling from ear to ear, my heart feeling lighter. Buoyed by an excitement I haven’t felt for some time.

We sat opposite one another. So much unsaid, so much to say. I haven’t seen my older lover in over a year. After he left me waiting for over and hour in that pub one autumn evening last year, I told him I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t wait for him. I was angry, I called it off. We didn’t talk again.

Until a few weeks ago when, out of the blue, he sent me an email saying how he cherished our moments together. We arranged to meet. It came at the right time. I have let go of that anger, I feel content in where I am right now. I have fallen in love with my husband again. I’m doing ok.

Seeing him again, felt like that final missing piece. Another layer has been unpeeled. So many memories of our shared intimacies, his writing, my writing. Our incredible physical union. I feel at ease with him. We talked for hours, drank red wine, ate a delicious steak, reminisced, explained, touched, stroked. The waitress smiled knowingly at us as we (he) paid and left. We walked to a hotel bar opposite and ordered a nightcap. Without the table between us and the privacy of a dark corner, we sat facing one another, tracing contours through clothes, kissing, inhaling such familiar scents and getting lost in one another.

It felt good. We parted. I returned home to my husband. He returned home to his wife and children. I think we’ve agreed to see each other again. Cautiously, tenderly, delicately. It feels good.

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Highs and lows

This week has been marked by a series of highs and lows.

One evening spent in the company of Moriarty and my closest female friend, both of whom know about this blog and yet still talk to me. We sat in a room with a view over the city of London, watching the sky turn from pink to violet with golden whisps of cloud and finally black. The conversation was open, sexual, sensual and honest. A rare meeting of minds. Not that we all share the same opinion, but somehow at that moment in that space we were all free to talk. There were moments when I felt suspended, in a glass bubble. Given the topics of conversation I left that space feeling incredibly elated, horny and generally alive.

Picture the same setting the next evening. I invited the economist to join me. He brought the drinks and we sat next to one another looking over the skyline before us. We had briefly kissed on the lips when he first arrived, more out of habit and I tried to withdraw, wean myself off him. It was awkward at first. I think we both knew what the outcome of the evening would be. He apologised for ignoring me completely at the party. I told him it would be easier if we agreed to just be friends. He admitted he wasn’t able to cope with both of us at the same time. It was amicable, sweet.  But I couldn’t bring myself to look into his eyes, and so adjusted my chair and stared out over the cityscape before me. We listened to music and chatted on and off. There were moments of silence, of sadness. I felt a big space inside. It got late and so we left. As we said goodbye outside, we hugged briefly and he asked when I could introduce him to a friend of mine, a possible business contact for him. That threw me. My instant reaction was one of feeling used, but then he continued that it was just another way of asking when he was going to see me.

That cycle home was cold, damp and difficult. I felt as if I had no energy, my legs, head, heart felt like lead. I knew the husband would be at home and so tried to force myself to smile as I reached the house. He was still working and so I said a brief hello and went straight upstairs to bed. I collapsed and fell asleep, the weight of my decision pressing me into the sheets.

Checking my email before drifting off, I saw a message from older lover suggesting a drink next week. Perhaps this lowest of lows will be followed by another high. But for now, I stand below ground.

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Grown up affairs

I have had plenty of time to think about my affair with the economist over the last week. Chatting to him online last week, we agreed to meet for dinner on Thursday.  It will be the first time since we parted company after his birthday visit. Such a magical few days, but also a good six weeks ago. In the meantime, he has continued to ‘see’ a girl in London. Sweetly, he has always told me of developments with other women. And, as I have previously written, I do not think he is someone who is able to ‘cheat’. Therefore, if things get more serious with the girl he is seeing now, I expect he will not be able to cope with the deceit of having an affair with me at the same time.

This leads to a strange dynamic: on the one hand, I feel jealous of this other woman, yet do not want to put him in a difficult moral dilemma. And so, I think on Thursday evening I will do the honourable, grown-up duty of stepping aside. This past week, I have learned to contain my feelings for him, compartmentalising him, closing the lid on his box and placing him on a shelf in my mind. I would rather remain good friends, be able to look at him and his potential new girlfriend without feeling that lurch, that twist inside. It is a slightly painful process, but perhaps one I can distract myself from by finding a new lover or rekindling relations with my older lover. Here’s to a summer of lovers in London.


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The best made plans…

I am a very good planner and organiser. When I decide to try something new, change something old or just shake things up for the hell of it, I will invest 100% of my thoughts, time and energy to get things moving. And so recently I decided to turn my life upside down, change jobs, move countries and start afresh. All in the space of 3 weeks. My new life starts in T-13 days.

The trigger for this most recent shake up was a sudden realisation that the husband wants to settle into a ‘normal’ life. A life where we share a house, our lives, spend weekends on the sofa watching some god-awful Saturday night TV together and, heaven forbid, acquire children, a dog, move to the suburbs etc etc. It was just one comment about moving back to London ‘together’ that precipitated, what I will term, my mid-life-crisis. That same evening, I started scouring the internet for jobs, updating my CV and within a week, I had a job offer on the table. The job necessitates my move back to London, something I have done many times before, without the husband. In the space of a week, I had found a new job, a place to stay and booked my flights. My heart skipped a beat at the prospect of a summer in London, a place of my own and catching up with numerous lovers. I was on a high.

Then the husband said he is coming too. He is going to come to London for some months. I couldn’t mask my disappointment when he told me. The walls suddenly closed in on me and I felt suffocated, claustrophobic, in need of an escape route. I have spent many a sleepless night trying to understand my reaction. In theory, as a married couple, I should be thrilled at the prospect of spending more time with the husband. However, I fear my own space and privacy has become more important. Reading Jenni Murray’s article ‘Sleep apart, stay together‘ I realised that perhaps my relationship is the same – ‘Live apart, stay together’. I worry that a summer together, with no escape, no weeks or weekends apart will spell the end.

And so, already my brain is processing ways in which I can ‘escape’, create my own private sphere in London, outside our ‘marital home’. I fully intend to see the economist, my older lover, find some new lovers and possibly dabble in taking on a man servant as a sub. I foresee many a hotel stay, secret rendezvous in inconspicuous restaurants and groping in dark corners of bars. And to top it all, I now have a ‘friend’ I can play with. Moriarty and I have plans to explore some of the clubs in London together. There are so many experiences to taste, try and delight in. This particular challenge is going to test my planning and organising abilities to their limits. But I think it will be worth it.

Here’s to a summer of fun.

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One year older, none the wiser

I have just realised my blog turned one this week. It has been an interesting journey writing about my adventures in adultery. In fact, I can’t imagine not having this blog to express my thoughts, feelings and ideas. It has become my companion, my sanctuary and strangely, this is where I feel most comfortable, most like ‘me’.

One year on and these things I know:

– I love my ‘secret’ life. It is a part of me that no one else can influence, a statement of independence, of my own identity. I often wonder whether I would choose to live my life differently and every time I come to the conclusion that I would not. I simply cannot imagine it. This little sliver of my life is what makes me feel alive.

– I know that every adventure will end in a little heartbreak. They will always stay with their wives, be consumed by their responsibilities as fathers, husbands or find new girlfriends and not wish to betray them. And so I write about them, our shared moments, the frustrations, the feelings I cannot express to them. Because of course, I would not want them to leave their wives and families for me. Every new affair has a natural end, every lover a different chapter.

– I love learning a new lover’s touch – the initial infatuation, the tingle of anticipation, the pain of separation and the thrill of new physical sensations. Every lover has a unique touch, every lover draws a different climax, every lover consumes me in a different way.

– I am glad I ‘outed’ myself to Moriarty and grateful to him for being non-judgemental about my little adventures. It has been wonderful to talk openly with someone who knows me, to share thoughts, ideas, experiences with someone who leads his own double life. He has opened my eyes to a world I had no idea about. And he has made me incredibly curious about delving into this world.

– I miss my older lover. I miss his scent, his taste, his incredible touch.

– I wonder whether my marriage will last. The more time I spend as the ‘real’ me, the wider the gap between the ‘married’ me becomes. I wonder whether that gap is one that can be bridged, or one I want to bridge.

– I do not regret anything.


This is who I am.



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Mortality of the older lover

Over the last few weeks, I’ve had a surprising number of emails and texts from older lover. This comes as some surprise, given he was evasive and non-commital to meet when I was in London over the xmas & new year period. In my mind, ever since our last meeting I had begun to let go of him as a lover. Replacing him with the economist as my primary focus and resigning myself to the idea that I may never again feel his tongue on my sex or smell his warm, intoxicating scent. And to some extent, I’ve been successful in ‘letting go’. Surprisingly so.

And then his accident. Out of the blue he wrote to me from hospital where he was being treated for a motorcycle accident. A number of emails followed and I’ve been trying to understand why he suddenly feels the need to write to me. I think he is shaken up, certainly. His stable world of husband, father of three and professional career suddenly at risk as he realises his own sense of mortality. So why write? Is it that he feels he can confess his weaknesses, his doubts, concerns to me? Is he searching for sympathy he cannot get from his daily life? Is it a cry for help or a sense of regret that we have ‘lost’ our closeness, our ability to talk, to confide in one another?

On the one hand, I feel the urge to take him in my arms, cradle his head and kiss his forehead. To be there for him. But on the other hand, I am not sure I want to place myself in a position where I am vulnerable to the disappointment of second place when he gets his life back on track. I know that as a lover, you will always come second to the wife (or husband) and children. And that is my choice. But perhaps in this instance, I will choose not to be second.

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London lover odyssey part 3 – older lover, new sensations

I’m on a roll today and so will continue with my odyssey. If nothing else, it gives me a chance to sit in the sun some more and indulge in some delicious memories of my older lover.

Day 3 of my trip and I had arranged to meet my older lover again that night. During the day I met some friends for lunch. They work with him, my older lover. And so, when after lunch they invited me into the office to say ‘hello’ to a few others I climbed the stairs to the first floor with butterflies in my stomach. What if I bumped into him? I knew I’d be seeing him later that day, but it was an unexpected excitement that gripped me. As I reached the top of the stairs and my friend walked me to his desk my heart skipped a beat. There he was, sitting opposite looking intently at his computer screen. I will never forget how incredible he looked. His silver hair silhouetted by the window behind him, his dark grey suit and, most sexy of all, he was wearing his new reading glasses – the trendy black-rimmed type. As I approached his desk he looked up and our eyes met. I could see him blush slightly and he smiled at me. My body was pumping with adrenalin and I felt slightly lightheaded. Trying to act normal, I said the usual ‘hello, long time no see’ in front of everyone else. I couldn’t stop looking at him. He was so sexy, I could have jumped over the desk and fucked him there and then. Naturally, that would have been a little tricky in an open plan office. And so as I said my goodbyes to everyone, I consoled myself with the thought that i would have him all to myself that evening.

It has become almost tradition that I prepare some sensually inspired nibbles and white wine for our rendezvous. And so he arrived at my flat that evening to my blini, smoked salmon and prawn special. We sat at the table and ate some food, drank a couple of glasses of wine, chatted and laughed. I told him what I had wanted to do to him that afternoon in the office. He smiled mischievously and I got up, walking to his side of the table and stood behind him, letting my hands feel his torso, his thighs and finally his crotch. He was erect and we moved swiftly to the bedroom.  I have never met anyone who is so gentle and sensual, yet at the same time consumes me entirely. We undressed each other and he took control, pushing me to the bed and parting my legs allowing his tongue to find my sex. As I sit here reminiscing and writing, I feel I could not live without him in my life. His touch makes me tremble, I crave him constantly, I am lost without him.

He licked my cunt, slowly, slowly, increasing the pressure and rhythm as my body arched with his movements. He kept me on edge for a long time, alternating between vertical and side to side motions with his tongue. When I could feel myself letting go, my head emptying of all thoughts and feeling ready to throw myself off the edge, he inhaled deeply and moved from vulva to clit in his mind-blowing unique fashion. I came again and again, not wanting to leave that moment until my body could take no more and each touch of his tongue seemed to touch my core, a rawness usually masked. We lay side by side for a moment, catching our breath and then he turned me over onto my knees and thrust his erect cock inside me.

I notice my breathing becomes shallow as I write and I long to feel him inside me again. Right now.

Our bodies moved in unison, his hands gripping my hips and I savoured every thrust, still enjoying the tingling sensation of my orgasms. He withdrew his cock and held it over my ass. I felt his warmth as he came over my back. I love that feeling when both are spent and you lie there together his arm cradling my head. We drank our cool white wine and chatted naked on the bed. Then an idea occurred to me. Ever since the tall guy had suggested a blindfold, I had been in the mood for a little bit of experimentation. And so I asked him if he had ever tried sex tied up and blindfolded. Apparently, even in his mid-forties he had not yet tried it. I grabbed one of my scarves and tied it tenderly around his eyes. He was reluctant to be tied up and so I ordered him to lie still, he was not allowed to use his hands. I wanted him to be completely focused on the physical sensations.

I started by touching and stroking his body, running my fingers gently over his arms, chest, legs. The lighter the touch, the better the feeling, especially when the limbs are hairy. It is the merest hint of touch that turns you on. And so he lay there, naked, blindfolded letting me stroke him. I could see his arousal immediately and watched as his cock became incredibly erect. Then I straddled his body taking his cock in my hand and stroking my wetness with it. Gently, touching his most sensitive part with my lips and allowing it to slip an inch inside me before withdrawing it again. I reached for the cold white wine and took some in my mouth, then kissed him letting the liquid trickle into his. He was in the moment. He had let himself go, abandoning his body to mine.

I told him to stay where he was and grabbed a selection of food left over from dinner. At first I took a prawn and slipped it into his mouth. I could see this took him by surprise and he was trying to figure out what it was through taste alone. While he ate I stroked his legs, drawing circles around his sex, never quite touching it. I could see he longed me to touch it. Then I fed him a blackberry and then a strawberry. At first he confused by the different flavours but smiled as I gave him some white wine to drink. I used the cold glass to touch his torso, making him shiver suddenly. Then I took him in my mouth, licking his shaft and toying with his tip. His body arched and I could tell he wanted to touch me with his hands, but I told him not to. I mounted him, allowing his dick to plunge deeply inside me and fucked him. When his breathing and sighs told me he was about to come I withdrew and took him in my mouth once again. He came, in short, sharp spurts. I swallowed and stroked his belly as the aftershocks of his orgasm gripped him. Finally I took off his blindfold and gave him his glass of wine to sip.

We sat on the sofa part-clothed talking for a long while. He had his legs on my knees and I stroked them. His legs are incredibly strong – a long distance runner’s legs. My fingers ran gently up the inside of his thigh and I could see his underwear straining as he became erect again. I love touching him. I began giving him a foot massage, pressing the arch of his foot and using my thumbs to circle my way across the soles of his feet. As I did this I bent forward and kissed his shins, ankles and took each toe in my mouth, gently sucking and nibbling them. He lay back and sighed, his cock getting harder with each toe. Finally he got up and took me to the bedroom where he threw me down and fucked me again.

It was a night of new sensations, for him and me. I will never forget it.


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