I saw this and thought of,,,

...all the naughty Mrs and Misses who read my blog...



Big LOL. Okay, okay...so it's a re-post. I promise I'll write something big and important soon. Hope everyone's finished their shopping. I have. *Gloat*

Much love and seasons greetings!

Michelle x

p.s - In response to a dear Peter Axtell who commented on my last post - I'm afraid, with one husband and a rather large bit on the side, I really am incapable of accomdating any more gentlemen into my already too-busy schedule. However, come back in a year and I might be available.

p.p.s - And it's Michelle, not Leah. Thanks.

I am in LOVE

With a woman.

Karen Marley, aka Serial Mistress and Downright Dirty Sinner, has done yet another fantastic interview, this time with Johnathan Vernon Smith on BBC 3 Counties. Fabulous. Her argument is very solid.

Have a listen. She's on about 2hr 5 mins in. Don't sit too near your radio though - the presenter does have a painfully condescending voice. Tempting to punch speaker and scream "Stupid stupid stupid".

http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/p005b6q1/Jonathan_VernonSmith_03_12_2009/

x

"Voulez vous coucher avec moi c'est soir?"

Yes, I know, it doesn't really work when you elongate the noun like that. Anyway.

Yesterday evening, I learned something rather interesting. James...light of my loins, master of my mammaries...knows FRENCH. And not just O level textbook French either. Fluent, could-talk-the-hind-legs-off-a-Parisian-donkey French.

During our rather hurried meal out last night (supposedly at Pilate's, natch), he started conversing with our waiter, who, as it turned out, came from the same French town James' school was partnered with back when he was a teenager. Then they raced off into some conversation about the local area, leaving me stranded in my own linguistic ignorance. See, I did study French at school, for 3 years, but the only sentence I can recall is:

"J'habite dans un appartement en bord de mer."

Translated : I live in an apartment by the sea. Great if you do, of course. Not so great if you're trying to interject into a fast-moving conversation on the French school system.

Despite my lack of understanding, however, I can conclude one thing. Foreign languages are HOT. Watching James spout all this vowel-stuffed nonsense, I couldn't help but get a little hot under the collar. Such intelligence. Such experience. He could have been reciting a brief history of early Roman irrigation systems. I still wanted to hump his leg like a randy Chihuahua.

On our way back to the car, I suggest that he perhaps might like to try a little 'Comment va ton père?' in the bedroom. He seemed reluctant. Perhaps worried that this new-found fascination might awaken some dormant yet terrifying sexual urges in me...

That sound like fun doesn't it? Well, if James fails me, I guess I could always spend an evening with an old Linguaphone tape and a bottle of wine. Who cares if the conversation is a little one-sided? I'm a sucker for a cunning linguist...

M x

Feet.

They say that you can tell a lot about someone just by looking at them.

Hm. That sounds a bit like a sweeping statement to me. In some cases yes. For example, you can pretty much guarantee that any man wearing an Italian suit and a Bluetooth headset will be an utter, utter wanker.

But normies like myself, we don't give too much away. Today, I am wearing a nice Primarni blouse and some high waisted Matalan trousers. Which, really, tells you nothing about me. Bar the fact that I am ever so slightly cheap.

No. That phrase doesn't ring too true for me. But I DO think you can tell quite a bit about someone by looking at their feet. I got to thinking this while watching the X Factor yesterday.

My husband's feet are so neglected it's almost funny. I say 'almost' because, when you've been sharing a bed with his eagle-like talons for nearly a decade, the hilarity fails to shine through. You just have to fight the over-whelming urge to attack his tootsies with a pair of garden sheers.

They are the feet of a man who has given up. Who no longer feels it necessary to take care of his extremities. His nails are flaky and curled at the edges. The soles of his feet long to be caressed by the pumice stone.

His are the feet of a man who has given up. Who believes he has no need real need to maintain his general appearance. After 8 years of marriage, why would one need to keep up such petty preening rituals? Why make an effort when you already know you have a wife who loves you, cleans for you, and will provide you with the occasional bit of How's-Your'Father? I'm sorted, they say, I don't have to try.

Mine are a different story. Short, painted nails. Smooth heels. A little bit of Johnson's Summer Skin to give them a bit of a glow. They are the feet of a woman who cares about her appearance. Who goes that extra mile. Who is making an effort - maybe not just for herself.

Mind you, my tootsies weren't always like this. A year ago, the paint would be peeling, the nails would be a little too long. The skin would be rougher. Back then, they were the feet of a woman who was tired of trying. Who genuinely wanted to make the effort, but after years of going unnoticed, was apathetic and uninspired.



...Hubby could learn a lot by looking at my feet. In fact, maybe he'd learn a little too much.

I am convinced...

...the people at Videojug are out to get me. I recently discovered the website while at the office the other day (seriously, who does actual work nowadays?) and now I am a bit hooked. There are basically thousands of little instructional videos on anything and everything, from 'How To Kiss Passionately' to 'How To Make Sure Your Teeth Don't Ruin You Love Life'. Really quite genius - especially if you're too lazy to pick up a book. Condensed wisdom. That's what I need.

Anyway, this afternoon, rather predictably, I decided to search Videojug for any videos tagged with the word 'adultery' (I now do this on any website that has a search function. Any. Website). 8 video results. Great. However, the list of titles was a little disconcerting...

'How to Spy On Your Partner'
'How to Spot on Online Affair'
'How to Tell if Your Partner is Cheating On You'
'How to Tell Your Friend That Their Partner is Cheating'
'Confessing to Infidelity'

The results page resembled a self-help book which had been solely put together to ruin my life. There are tips for my husband on how to unearth my affair. Tips for my friends on how to tell him about it, just in case he hasn't already figured it out. And finally, a rather convincing video by one Sherri Meyers, giving me all the reasons why I should just drop the pretense and confess everything.

Conclusion : Videojug is out to get me.

A note to those of you who are currently having extra-marital affairs. Might want to add this one to the block list. Trust me - they have information...

Probably my only serious post.

It really puts things into perspective, this kind of thing.

Just been reading an article on the BBC site about a Somanlian woman who has been stoned to death in her own country for commiting adultery.

Love really does seem to be one of the only forces that law and legislation cannot contain. It makes me so sad and so terribly grateful at the same time, that I live in a country where I can make my own romantic choices without fear of punishment. Surely these torturous methods exist to deter people, but in the end, there will always be those that will risk everything. Such is the nature of the beast.

Us cheaters in Britain have it lucky. I did a little research. Turns out infidelity is still illegal in some states in the US (you can get a life sentence in Michigan, or be charged with class 1 Felony in Wisconsin). It is punsihable by death across the Middle East - usually death by stoning. In India you get locked up.

So, next time I'm waiting on a wet street corner for James, cursing my unsuitable shoes and the SAD-inducing weather, I will take a breath and remind myself of how lucky I am in my freedom to choose. And it really is luck.

Love Michelle x

The Dilema of Christmas

Oh dear. Christmas is coming. I know this because, unnervingly, Next have started displaying their horrid 'festive' jumpers in the window of the shop near my workplace.

With Christmas comes a logistical nightmare. On the plus side, the holiday season is the only time when I get to take time off from my horrendous job and chill the hell out (blood preasure is a bit ridculous at the moment - fear I may burst before December even gets here). On the minus side, my husbamd does exactly the same thing.

Guess what this means? No no, it doesn't mesn that (rude!). It means NO JAMES. FOR 3 WEEKS.

It's not that I won't be getting a regular dose of How's-Your-Father. Hubby had a little revelation a few weeks ago with a little pill, and now it seems he can't leave me alone (I would like to add that this is not always a good thing. Especially when you've just got home from work, and all you want to do is watch House and eat chinesse).

But it does mean that the quality of Hows-Your-Father I will be getting will be significantly decreased. Instead a making occasional love with a strong, statuest stalion who can lift me with one of his arms tied behind his back, I will be stuck with a podgy little bald man, plagued by an almost-perminent errection.

Might. Go. Mad. James and I will be in touch via most electronic mediums, but that is no substitue for the real thing. Plus, I don't want to keep sneaking off to make phone calls, since the hubster will be around pretty much all of the time. No desire to arouse suspicion.

I am preparing myself for this drought by seeing James as much as possible before the festive End of Days. This, in hindsight, probably isn't the best idea, since my withdrawal symptoms will probably be much worse as a result, but who cares? For the minute, I am letting the good times roll.

This evening, J is taking me for dinner. And if I'm lucky, I might get a quick grope in the fire escape.


Sometimes I sound so sophisticated, I scare myself.

Full coverage

So, have just finished doing an email-based interview with The Bolton News. I know what you're thinking - I have officially arrived. Soon I will have the New Yorker banging on my door asking for my comment on some new infidelity scandal. And I will push them to my publicist because I'm having a manicure with Monica Lewinsky.

This is what I dream about while sat in my sad little office, pasting Philadelphia onto a Sainsbury's own-brand rice cracker.

One thing I do find funny about journos is how they always seem to want you to be fully identified. I had spoken to several over the course of this year, and at some point, the following exchange always ensues:

"So, it would be great to get a picture..."

"Yes, I'm sure it would. Unfortunately I'm trying to keep my affair a secret, so that won't be possible."

"Okay Michelle. Is that your real name, Michelle Sutton?"

"No, no...of course not."

"What is your real name?"

"Why?"

"Well, we'd really like to use your real name in the piece..."

"No, sorry. Like I said. I am married and I do not want my husband to find out about my affair so you won't be getting those details from me."

"Okay. This lover of yours...James is it? What's his full name? Do you have any picture of him?"

"*Audibly bangs head against wall*"

"Ahhh, right. Sorry."


I completely understand why a newspaper want to have a photo and a real name - it makes the story so much more immersive. But, in truth, why would a MARRIED WOMAN, having AN AFFAIR IN SECRET, want to identify herself in a LOCAL NEWSPAPER? Yeah, I don't know either. I put so much effort into keeping James under my...hat. I don't want some local rag outing me to everyone and his wife. And their lover.

I have realised this has turned into a bit of a rant. In order to counteract the negatively of the last two paragraphs, I am going to paste an image of something cute. To reset the balance.


Disturbingly, if you search the word 'cute' on Google image search, the following image is the first result...


I have a lot of words to describe that picture. 'Cute' isn't one of them. I apologise to any arachnophobics I might have unnerved. Nothing in more terrifying than seeing the head of something cute pasted on the body of something terrifying. Like seeing Johnny Depp's jewel of a head on Simon Cowell's high-waisted, smug record-exec torso. Shudder.

In conclusion, any Bolton bloggers out there, keep an eye out for said interview. I haven't got a date yet, and knowing locals, I probably won't get one...so keep your peepers peeled.

I realise my dream of becoming a world-renowned infidelity expert is, at the moment, far from realistic. So in the meantime, humor me.

x

A non-distress call

Hello ladies and gents of the web (of lies and deceit).

I have just received an email from Rosie, at IllicitEncounters.com, asking if I might like to take part as an anonymous case study in an up-and-coming TV show about the site and all it's mucky, mucky members.

Anyway - I said I would pass said request out to cyberspace. Because I'm nice like that. If you're a married lady (or, indeed, a mistress) who would be happy to talk anonymously, silhouetted on camera, about your experiences of being a play-away Paula, then drop Rosie an email at

presspr@illicitencounters.co.uk

Look at me. I am SO their bitch.

Seriously though. It should be fun, and I'd quite like a chance to meet some fellow adulteresses for a drink and a giggle.

Chow chow (I think that's a dog),

M xxx

My Darling Husband

Was listening into an interview Rosie from IllicitEncounters.com did on BBC Covetry (I am 'in' with them now...not sure how positive that is!). They gave her a pretty hard time I must admit, which I guess is fair enough, but there was one thing that really pissed me off.

At one point, the presenter (irritating little man, didn't disguise his polemic very well) mentioned the wedding vows. He said "But what about the promises you make when you marry someone? Don't they count for anything?"

You know what, Mister Radio Presenter? Since I began my affair, I am more capable of looking after my husband, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, than ever before. Because the stress I used to feel about our sex life has finally gone, I am able to support him better than ever. My perspective is clearer. I know now, better than ever, that we are made for one another. And, as a secondary point, our sex life is MUCH better.

To those non-cheaters, this may sound contradictory. But my relationship with James, although intimate, is functional. If James stopped being able to provide me with the things I need, then I would stop seeing him. I hope that he feels the same way about me.

I wish there was a way of making people understand that convention does not always dictate the best way. A faithful mariage is an ideal, but I genuinely believe it is not always posible. Maybe if everyone took a second to think about this, there wouldn't be as many unhappy marriages in the world.



Okay. Rant over. Sorry about that folks. Next time I'll post something funnier. In the meantime, here's a joke to lighten the mood...

Guy goes into a bar. Big guy, but his head is the size of an orange.

Goes up to the bartender, orders a beer. Bartender serves him and asks why a big guy like him has such a small head.

So the guy tells him his story: He was stranded on a desert island. He hadn't seen a women in weeks and was beginning to think he might die out there alone. But one lonely day he stumbled upon a genie lantern. Out comes this beautiful genie who says, "I'll grant you one wish . . . what will it be?". The man thinks, then asks "Well, it's been such a long time, and I don't know how long I'm going to be stranded here - I wish for you to make love to me". The genie shakes her head. "I'm afraid I can't grant that wish."

The guy says, "Ok then, how 'bout a little head?"

LOL.

The Realisation

Finally, some positivity.

Yesterday, prior to my revendevous with James, I was stood in front of my full-length mirror in my bathroom, stocking-and-suspendered up, checking the shock-absorbing qualities of my new basque.

What a nice image.

So many of my friends complain about their bodies, their saggy bingo-wings, their alopecia (thankfully that one bypassed me). But honestly, I think it's about the way you see yourself. For example, I am a healthy size 12. Many of my fitnnes-freak friends find this a little appauling, force feeding me rice crackers, or encouraging me to swap my muffin for a granola bar.

I think it's a bit out-of-order. I am not fat. I am curvy. In fact, I think a fuller-figure is an asset, rather than a draw back. (However, I must stress, when I say a 'fuller figure' is an asset, I do not mean the kind of 'fuller figure' which proves problematic in doorways.)

After sometime of embracing this rather anti-women ideal of the skinny minnie, I have decided to give my friend's prejudices the boot, and am feeling much the better for it. So much so that yesterday I donned my underwear in a pre-date rehearsal, and danced rather vigorously around my room to an old Alisha's Attic album. Like a banshee. Maybe even a wailing one.


New M&S super-bra and suspender belt. He is not going to know what...

...hit him.

Tiptoe, tiptoe

Since 'The Big Panic', I have been extra-extra-cautious about things, and vow never to log onto IllicitEncounters from home again. Still temptation is there.

Last night I was lying in bed with hubby. I got up to go to the toilet, him sleeping deep beside me, and that nagging little thought came into my head. "He's far gone", it said "You can go and get your rocks off downstairs, it's safe."

No, little devil on my shoulder. Be quiet.

I am learning to control the voices. Well, voice. It is the same voice which tells me to buy a Burger King on the way home, when I know they're be a nice healthy stir fry waiting for me. It's the voice that, when I'm lying in bed with James, tells me to call in sick. "*Cough cough*...swine flu."

No. Bad Michelle. Control yourself.

It is so easy to be bad, and so hard to be good. So I guess the only way to survive is to be good at being bad. Or something like that. Cheater's logic. Gotta love it.

MSN nightmare

Something very, VERY bad nearly happened last night.

I stupidly (stupid stupid stupid) left MSN logged in on our home computer. Hubby and I have seperate log in bits but he logged into mine and started surfing the 'net.

15 minutes in, a chat box pops up with 'Hey, wanna chat?' in it. Hubby shouts into the kitchen to tell me I'm being spammed. I walk in, and when I notice the dialog box open I nearly have a heart attack.

I laugh, and ask him to tell me what the email address is. Hotcrossbuns69@hotmail.com. Thankfully, most IllicitEncounters members (regardless of whether they are 30 year old playboys or 50 year old sugar daddies) have ridiculous, porno-sounding email addresses. I tell Hub that randoms always add me on there, even though I only use it to talk to my cousin in Austria. He seems amused, and logs me out.

If he'd have bothered to open the MSN window he would have seen the hundreds of ridiculous male email addresses listed in my address book. He didn't, but that's not le point. I don't really want to experience a closer shave than that...might just get cut.

Have made pact with self that I will not use MSN from home, and will only log in to IE from work (if only my boss could reasd this). Phew. What a scrape.

Rumpy, pumpy.

So James and I met last weekend. Relief flooded over me when I realised that he didn't have a box of my stuff with him. He's not going to leave. He just needs a little space.

Funny how, after you agree not to see someone for a while, you end up accidentally having a week of non-stop sexual shennaigans. Many an excuse was made. Seriously, two nights ago I swore I heard my foo-foo say 'Please stop'.

Despite this, I am back on IllicitEncounters this week. Not that I'm actually DOING anything. I'm just...dipping my toes in.

Stop tutting.

Also, have got completely re-engrossed with Heart and Bones, this superb drama that was aired in 2000 on the Beeb about a group of couples. Lots of infidelity, so good watching for IE members. The main storyline evoked a lot of empathy. Well, as much empathy as you can have for fictional characters.

It's all on YouTube. Here's the link. Some lovely lovely lady uploaded the whole thing...

...aaaaand Damian Lewis is in it. I love a buff ginger.

That sounds like a biscuit.

It's okay...It's alright...breath...

Y'know when you're not talking to someone you care about and every second you're not in contact feels like you're struggling to breath? No. Oh. Just me then.

Everything's okay. At least sort of okay. James texted me yesterday without prompting and apologised to me for being 'off'. I was going to reply, "Damn right you should apologise you bastard", but I feared that may agrivate the situation somewhat. He wants to see me this weekend (Hubby's away with some friends so I'm off the hook). Usually I would be panicking in anticipation of being dumped and preparing my "You can't leave me, we're meant for each other" speech, but he pre-empted my fears and has assured me it's nothing like that.

Unless he's only saying that to put me at ease, when he really is thinking of breaking up.

STUPID brain. Shutupshutupshutup.

Recipe for an Adulterous Married Woman
1 x pinch of dellusion
1 x teaspoon of guilt
1 x knob of husband
2 x tablespoons of schoolgirl ecstasy
3 x tablespoons of paranoia

Mix all ingredients. Leave husband aside (for basting). Cook slowly. Serve over-cooked.

*Chews nails*

I think James is going to break-up with me.

Can you break-up with someone who is already with someone else?

We were sat in the car yesterday after a meal and we were just about to set off for the hotel and he was just staring at the steering wheel. Like he was imagining a car crash. I've never seen him look like that before.

I asked him what was wrong. He said "nothing". And that's how I knew something was up. Normally, we are very honest with each other. Painfully so. If I'm feeling trapped or he doesn't want to see me for a week, we tell each other.

But this was different. We drove in silence to the tube. His gaze was empty and when he hugged me I felt like I was hugging a life-size polestyrine model of him. We didn't arrange to meet again and once he'd said goodbye, he just closed the car door and drove off, leaving me stood on the pavement.

I am so sad. This is the kind of pain I last experienced at 15, when I realised my sixth-form crush had told his friends I looked like a donkey. It is strangely exciting to feel so deeply upset about someone. But James isn't just another relationship. He is a whole new life for me. Loosing him would leave a void which could make everything implode...including my marriage.

I have to find a way of keeping this together. There have been no texts as yet. If he doesn't contact me in a week I will suggest we meet up.


I hate how, only a few months ago, I was comtemplating leaving him. I never noticed hwo much I needed him in my life. 'The Illicit Lover'. I guess Joni was right, eh?

Horny Housewives 2 : The Michelle Sutton Chronicles

My life is becoming increasingly x-rated. Oo-er.

Last night, rathr naughily, I jumped back on the IllicitEncounters horse...just for the evening you understand. After all, Hubby was out. I kind of told James I wasn't going to use it anymore. But what the hey.

Anyway, those of you who have read my blog for a while, will know I have only had one 'cyber' encounter, which ended rather badly. Partly because the gentleman participating was two biscuits short of a Hobnob. A minus-biscuit, if you will.

Over the last couple of weeks I have been in "conversation" with a rather nice gentleman via IE. Turns out, in fact, that he is not so much nice, as completely and utterfly filthy.

Yesterday evening, in traditional fashion, I stayed up past my bed time and logged on to chat. There he was, his handle a refernece to an early Ian McEwan novel, swanning around online like some 18th century cad (this is what I imagine he looks like. To be honest, he's probably no better than the illiterate BigGuy69 who contacted me all those months back. Still.).

Little chat window appears.

"Hello, hello, hello. Didn't expect to see you here." says Cad.

*Squeeeek!* Correctly punctuated!

"Well, here I am, Mister. How are you?"

I won't bore you with the details, but somehow, in the space of about 20 minutes, we got from polite introductions, to this...

"I want to put your ________ _____ inside my ___ _______ and ______ you _____ until you _____ in my ______"

I trust you all have minds filthy enough to join me in my little game of Blankety Blank.

I never knew cyber-sex could be so enjoyable! The man was like a walking dictionary. No adjective unturned, no euphimism unused. We drew the line at cooking analergies (never thought it was particularly hot to imagine someone pounding my dough). Helps when youve got a little plastic friend to help you out, too (note to female readers; I should clarify hear that, although they look a lot of fun, Trolls and My Little Pony's are entirely unsuitable for this time of activity. If you're out of batteries, I find Weebles are quite good.).

If you haven't tried it, I suggest you should. But only with someone who is not completely devoid of creative writing skills. Perhaps a frustrated journalist. Or a blogger. Hey hey hey.

Read all about it.

I was in the sodding Independent! Look!

http://www.independent.co.uk/life-style/love-sex/men-women/true-wife-confessions-how-womens-reallife-stories-became-the-new-internet-sensation-1757228.html

As was my good (virtual) friend Karen, serial mistress, who I keep hearing on the radio. Good on you woman.

Bought the Indy on Saturday as the Guardian was out of stock at my local corner shop (for some reason I feel it is important to point out that I am a Guardian reader...smug smug smuuuug). Hubby chucks me the supplements and I nearly choke on my Tesco croissant. Of course, Hubby is none the wiser - in fact, it was rather thrilling to see him reading the article later that evening, salivating over the details. Lets just hope he doesn't log on, eh?

James doesn't know about my blog and I think it's probably best to keep it that way. After all, I feel the painfully narcissistic process of reading about oneself in what is essentially a diary would do nothing for the boy's already-damaged sense-of-self. We haven't seen each other for a while...I think it's best to take a genuine break from your lover every now and then. Let's face it, familiarity definitely breeds contempt.


At work, currently. Andrew has turned his attentions back to the younger in the office, and is currently terrorising our new intern, Jessie May. I think I just saw him deliberately walk in slow-motion past her desk, like some displaced Baywatch lifeguard.

Twatter

I'm sorry. I don't get it. Twitter? Why?

I joined about three montsh ago and since have told the world what I am up to 22 times. A pathetic number of Twitters compared to some. Here are some of the fascinating highlights...

MistressMich...is having a Gloria Estefan moment
MistressMich...has bitten all the nails of on her left hand
MistressMich...is probably going to unsubscribe from RadioOne

FASCINATING.

In an attempt to find meaning in Twitter, I found several celebrities who I thought might have something to say for themselves - since this is apparantly the PR tool of this century. And they're all media whores. I was left, however, deflated. Take a look at these...

Britney Spears...had dinner with my dancers last night.
Denise Richards...girls are at camp..I'm catching up on emails, phonecalls.....
Moby...is in Helsinki, eating carrots.

Entries seems to fall between dull and absurd. But all envoke the same question, which rings out into the street now as I scream it at my monitor, after reading another painfully smug post by serial Twit Steven Fry...

"WHO CARES?"

I don't. Evidently. I am commiting Twitter suicide. I have the mouse ready. Don't try and stop me.

OMFG

That's aparantly what the kids are typing these days.

Anyway. Something HILARIOUS happened to me today - something I could only tell my IE friends. Sal at work forwarded me an email entitled "Shocking". In it was the following link, and underneath it, the words "What is the world coming to?"

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/finance/personalfinance/pensions/5769370/Cheating-husbands-and-wives-spend-more-on-love-affairs-than-pension.html

If only you knew, I thought.

Chai Latte

is my new favourite beverage. Why had I not previosuly tried it? It is officially the best drink ever. Still, makes you feel a bit nauseous if you drink it too quickly.

I am hoping there is caffine in myy Latte, because, as usually, I am almost falling asleep at my desk. I'm impressed at how I have managed to not get sacked these past few months, after sexing my way to an almost perminant catatonic state. Probably best not to question these things.

James and I appear to be in our second flush. I think the key is to not see them very often. At the most once a week. Otherwise you end up spending as much time with them as you do with your hubby. And, apart from the glaringly obvious problem of raising too many questions, spending too much time together is probably the reason your hubby iritaes you so much in the first place. I did not decide to take a lover to become more irritable than I am now, IYKWIM.

New abreviation I'm trying out. Maybe a little clunky.

So things are good. We made nookie in the car last week. Started out awkward. Became very comfortable. :)

Happy

Thanks for the sweet comments left on my radio post. I must say that my decision to join IllicitEncounters was possibly one of the best I have ever made. I am perpetually amazed at how people from the site are so mature and understanding. Those that make this bold decision to take matters into their own hands are often portrayed as reckless or stupid. I have found the opposite to be true. In fact, most of the people that oppose the existence of websites like IllicitEncounters come across a hell of a lot more stupud that its members, generally because their criticisms are badly thought-through and their arguments are full of holes.

Things are great with the boys. Things have cooled down with Andrew, things are hotting up with James, and as always Hubby is as attentive as ever. I will update you soon properly.

S x

p.s - POSH!?? Hahahaha. That's probably just my radio voice ;)

Radio Michelle

http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/p003fxss/Charlie_Crocker_23_06_2009/


I was on the radio. 32 minutes in. Listening back I'm not too sure how well I cam across. It was actually rather nerve-wracking.

Oh, and half way you can here my phone going off. lol.

The Buzz...

This week I decided to give both boys a rest and took a trunk full of books to a B&B in Dorset. Fuck work I said.

I actually ended up having a particularly enjoyable time thanks to my little plastic friend, the Rabbit. Or, to be more acurate, the original Rabbit's bastard cousin which was half-price in Harmony. That'll show you, Ann Summers...if that is your real name. Am reading 'What Was Lost' by Catherine O'Flynn, which is fantastic. Highly recomended. Also read 'Lunar Park' by Bret Easton Elis. Less recomended due to strange tagent into sci-fi/horror territory and absurb episode with toy bird. All I gathered from that book is Elis is a very strange man.

Came home to chaos. Man left sink piled up with dishes because he'd forgotten how to use the dish washer. Turned phone on to find 3 increasingly concerned messages from James and one very rude one from Andrew, who I think can only be described as a bad, bad man.

I got back yesterday but took today off to. Because I can. Hah!

Dumping for Dummies

I suck at dumping people.

James and I met yesterday after work. I told Hubby over the phone that I was going out with colleagues.

The plan was to take him somewhere unromantic, tell him in my softly, softly voice that maybe we should cool things, while making it clear to him that this was final and I didn't really want to see him 'like that' anymore.

Phase one of the plan failed immediately. After walking around the city trying to find somewhere that wasn't rammed (the weather was beautiful) we ended up at Butler and Crosby, sat on a balcony with a bottle of Granache and a sunset.

As if this wasn't a bad enough start, when we sat down James pulling out a little box from his bag and put it on the table. When I opened it there was this beautiful pearl necklace staring back at me. Guilt ensues. James looks expectant and I think I am going to cry, so manage an "It's lovely" before excusing myself to go to the toilet.

When I return his is still there with the same sweet look on his face. I want to put a gap between this moment and the planned dumping, so I ask James about work. Not good. Marriage isn't good either. "Things have been really difficult recently. She seems to be angry at me pretty much all the time - all the little things like ignoring the washing up and forgetting to recorded some program on TV. It's really getting me down". At this point I look at him and realise, yes, he does loom pretty unhappy. Unfamiliar bags have formed under his eyes, and he's looking skinnier than usual. My instinct is to grab hold of him and cradle him, but I hold back. He continues...

"I've really missed you recently. I thought that you might be cutting me off, but I know since you decided to meet with me you're not" (Shit, I think, was I supposed to do this by phone?) "But I just wanted you to know that I love you. In fact, I'm completely in love with you, and everything about you. At the moment, my marriage is so grim. It's really all about surviving, and you help me survive. You make me so happy."

Jaw inside my head drops. I was not expecting such an admission of affection. So, contrary to my plan, I do what any self-respecting rom-com addict would do. I swoon. Then I jump him.






Sorry Officer. I promise I won't do it again. :(

Food for thought.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mmz5qYbKsvM

This video is pretty great. The one thing that stuck out for me, though, is that statistic about dating sites.

It's funny how, 10 years ago, telling someone you met your partner on a dating site would probably be met with lots of whispering and sniggering. But look! We're no longer saddos! In fact - it turns out that meeting people over the internet, despite previous worries about safety, is actually a bloody good idea.

Take that, critics. We were ahead of the curve. *Smokes imaginary cigar*

Off the boil.

How odd this is. James and I seem to have slowed down. We have been seeing each other regularly, but since things with Hubby have been better, and Andrew and I have been having the odd casual shag after work, I have begun to loose interest.

Is this wrong? I'm starting to see that, although James and I get on, it is Hubby who is my true love. Andrew is new, and thus exciting, but things have settled into an strangely stayed routine with James and now I'm realising that this is the beginning of the end. Not that I mind - it was fun while it lasted, and our relationship made me realise a few things. First, that my husband really isn't the boneheaded, lazy oaf that I had begun to think of him as. Secondly, that, however true this may be, the happiness of my marriage is directly related to how much good quality loving I'm getting, and although I love my husband dearly, his efforts are unlikely to ever be enough.

It is probably that I will continue to have these kind of relationship throughout the rest of my marriage. But, soon, I think I will be having "the Talk" with James.


In other news, I think I might be hosting my blog on IE soon. Will keep you posted...

If donkeys could type.

Spent the morning half working and half cheekily browsing IllicitEncounters. I'm just about to log off when one guy pops up on my messenger...

"Hi sexy!" he says.

I dispute this immediately. My photos on the site are password protected, and I doubt I would have accidentally given my combination to man called 'MrBig69'.

"Hi." I reply.

"Fancy sum fun?" he says.

"Of what variety?" I ask.

"I want 2 touch ur boobs and lick ur nipples" he says.

For a second, I feel the conversation has been hijakced by some giggling 16 years old. Boobs? Who on earth uses the word 'boobs' in a seduction attempt? Breasts, tits even...but not 'boobs'. I feel it is time for some mockery.

"Yes, that sounds like jolly good fun. How about you put your joystick in my fun hole, and we can play musical bumps all night?"

"You're making me hot, stop" he says.

MrBig69 actually typed "your making me hot", but the language fascist in me had to correct him, for fear of being smited (smiten?) by the Grammar Gods. Real pet hate of mine.

"I'm glad", I say. "I'd love to watch you butter my muffin with your huge tub of marge. Maybe even eat some of my raisins. Do you like raisins?"

"Yes" he pants, virtually.

"I bet you do, you naughty boy" I say. "I want you to hit me with your rhythm stick. Tune my radio. Service my boiler. Preheat my oven to 190..."

"Wud luv 2" he types. Possibly one handed. Ergh. I get bored with inuendo and decide to express my sheer agony over the depth of the conversation.

"AARGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH" I type.

"Did u cum?" asks MrBig.




At this point, I log off.

Pussy.

I knew that'd make you look.

I am in fact referring to myself. I am, ladies and gents, a pussy.

Quiet in the back!

Anyway. This last week has been mad. I have been running around like a blue-arsed fly, trying to attend to my three lovers, while leaving enough time for breathing and eating. Sleeping hasn't really featured.

I saw Hubby all day Saturday. James really wanted to see me in the evening so I made my excuses and we had a brief meeting from 7 to 9 (passed it off as dinner with a friend, as usual). When I got back, I had a quick shower and rolled into bed. Hubby woke me up at 2 in the morning for another session.

On Monday, at work, Andrew keeps giving me the eye. We take a sneaky lunch break and make out like rabbits on the fire escape. He starts saying he wants to see me somewhere other than work, so we arrange something for Wednesday evening. On Tuesday after work, James picks me up after work...he actually picks me up in the next road because I deliberately go to Tesco. Can you imagine if James found out about Andrew??? Disaster.

Without anywhere to go, James and I find a quiet countryside lane way out of town and spend some "quality time" in the car.




...hang on. Out of sheer narcissism I was browsing through my first couple of posts. I don't even sound like the same woman.

Wow. This lifestyle really has changed me. For better or worse? All I know is the bags under my eyes are much bigger, and I own way over the recommended dose of kinky undies.

LOLZ

Rosie just sent me this. Nice one girl. Haha.

Very helpful...

Obviously has particular resonance for me, but applicable in lots of situations. I'm sure some people in IE could do with watching this.

http://www.videojug.com/film/how-to-have-a-secret-affair-at-work

Worn out.

The last week has been a bit mad.

Since my little moment with New Boy on Monday, it feels as if I have been tossed between lovers like an catamaran in a tsunami.

Told Hubby that I was going for drinks with Janine from work (my terrified colleague has become quite the little albi), and snuck off for a few stolen hour with James. Decided it was best not to tell him about shagging Andrew, as that might paint me as a bit of a hussy. I obviously am a hussy, but forgive me for not wanting to look like one.

2 hours of slap and tickle later, I'm back, squeaky clean from the shower and in bed, when Hubby rolls over (a rarity).

"Call in sick tomorrow" he says.
"Why?" I say.
"Just do" he says.

So, at 7 in the morning I call in saying I'm feeling fluey and need to stay at home. Swine flu pandemic means they can't really say anything (handy). At 9.30, Hubby wakes me up with full English breakfast and a bunch of flowers.

"Thought you might need a pick-me-up. Eat that, then get ready. And wear something you can walk in" he says.

Where has this man been all my life!? I think Hubby must have put my tiredness down to over-working (which is sort of accurate). Anyway, he took me to the zoo! It was a bit of a dull day, but we had lots of fun. Particularly amusing was the llamas mating. I imagine that's what it looks like when two supermodels have sex- all jutting limbs and awkward thrusting. Hilarious.

At home, he prepared a meal (again, a serious rarity) of steak and tatties. Yum. And then (shock horror) dragged me off to bed for some exhausting love-making.


Maybe he can tell that there's competition afoot, but this was truly the most romantic, passionate day I have ever spent with him. Crazy. I woke up this morning hung over but happy, and trudged into work looking like a bit of a skank. I have a feeling this is going to become a regularity.


As I type, Andrew is peering at me over his laptop. Swoon.

Hot Secretaries, Vol. 2

My life briefly resembled an 80's porno.

On Monday evening, Andrew (aka New Boy) and I were working late. I'm not sure if, in Blog on the Land's words, we "engineered" it...we probably did, even if it wasn't conscious.

Anyway, I've been trying to implicate this new filing system in the office which has taken me days to do. Boxes all over my office, regular trips to the store cupboard.

Andrew has been walking around the office moving things and sorting pencils, but I'm pretty sure he doesn't have anything to do. His laptop is running but when he sits in front of it I have the distinct feeling he's on Facebook. So Shelly does something very un-Shelly like...

"Shouldn't you be off home? You've obviously got nothing to do."

"Oh, you noticed", says Andrew, getting up. He comes round to the front of his desk and tries to perch casually (hilarious).

"Well, you can either go home, or give me a hand." I say, picking up some files. "There's a box marked F-H over there. Grab that and follow me"

As soon as the words come out of my mouth I know what I'm doing. I walk towards the door, and down the corridor. My hands are shaking and I've got the strange mixture of excitement and peril in my stomach. Everything else happens like I'm watching a late-night movie about my life. Like I'm sat in an empty theatre in my head.

I reach the store room, and as soon as I get in, turn around and drop the files on the floor. Andrew comes around the corner, looks at the files on the floor, steps tentatively over them and kisses me. He has the hands of a randy 16 year old, which makes a change to the usual 60 year old libido I'm used to. The kisses are coming thick and fast, and somehow I'm topless and pressed up against a filing cabinet. Andrew is more toned than I imagined - I watch his muscles move as he helps me up onto the top of the cabinet. He takes my tights and shoes off and...well, us IE members are all in possession of an active imagination - I don't think I have to go any further.

This is the first time, since a tryst at a dinner party with an ex about 12 years ago, I have fucked someone. As opposed to "made love". It's not a word you would hear Mrs Sutton utter in real life, but for some reason I feel like those reading this probably know exactly what I mean.

It's going to be hard not to go back for more. Today we kept exchanging glances (he was away yesterday)...although we haven't spoken since. The tension is killing me.

And I'm meant to be seeing James tonight. Christ.

Tipping point

Dangerous, this is. I didn't really expect this.


Yesterday I went for drinks after work with a few colleagues. New Boy was there (that's a given - there was beer, and a terrified intern). We've been steadily flirting for the last month, but since really thinking about it (and taking on the advice of my internet 'homies') I decided it would go no further.

We got talking. We got slowly drunker and drunker until everyone else just left. I'm trying to remember the topics of conversation, but the easier the words come, the easier they go. Turns out that he's at a dead end. I didn't know, but Andrew (his real name) has been together with his long term partner for about 6 years. They live together. I had absolutely no idea.

But he's not happy. Everything in his life has leveled out - he hates his job, regardless of how well it's going. He pissed his life away to normalcy. His girlfriend has been suggesting babies and marriage, which make him want to run in the opposite direction. It sounded like him only knew what he didn't want.

Something happened last night. We all know the feeling. Verging on painful, where you realise you both want each other and it's never going to happen. Your chest tightens and your stomach flips over. No one has made me feel this much like a little girl since my mother. Knowing you can't makes you want it more, but your conscience stops you short and you nip to the loo and then leave with a quick goodbye.

It reminds me of a boy at school I was in love with for about 3 years. He didn't know my name - I knew everything about him. He was a year younger than me, long hair, poor family. But absolutely beautiful. Alex, his name was. He was a thug and tearaway, arrogant and rude, with this soft side to him that I saw floating under the ice every now and then. One day I remember waking up in my bed, already crying, thinking about the fact that whatever I did, he was never going to love me back.



I think he knows that I want him. But I've already got too much to juggle, without getting a new ball...

...wink wink, nudge nudge.

In response to MC...

James. Oh Jamesy James James.

Things are great with James. Our relationship has slotted nicely alongside my marriage. We see each other at set times and dates, and although it sound terribly dull, it's actually fantastic. The two relationships seems to have become one. I'm happy, James is happy, and Hubby is happy.

I don't know if anyone can identify with this, but it feels as if what James and Hubby give to me has created the perfect functional relationship. I'm sure most people would see this as greed, but now I don't know if I could return to the way things were before. This unorthodox method seems to have created a strangely normal situation.

Would love to here everyone's stories of how their 'illicit' relationships have helped bolster their marriages...

Love, Shell x

OMG.

I could be getting almost 7k more for my job if I worked somewhere else. God bless Gumtree! You have opened my eyes!

Think it's time to ask for a raise.

SPAM

Get off sodding page you nasty little scammers! No, I don't want any of your cheap viagra, for three reasons...

1) I try to avoid buying pharmaceuticals over the internet from companies which advertise by paying migrant workers 4 pence an hour to spam personal blogsites.
2) I try to avoid buying pharmaceuticals over the internet, full stop.
3) Despite the numerous letters to Father Christmas, I am still yet to own a penis.

Huff.

In other news, I took the fantastic advice of the lovely Karen and tried to picture New Boy after a night out, dribbling kebab juice down himself with a semi. Needless to say, the image was certainly enough to deter me for at least a few days. I think soon I will need to start using more aggressive tactics to rid myself of my crush. Perhaps leaving my job...

...well I wanted to go anyway.

Hmmm. That might not actually be a bad idea. Maybe a change of pace will sort me out. Am going to have a flick through Gumtree to see what's available. Watch this space.

Help a girl out!

Ladies and gentlemen of my little blogosphere...

Help! My crush on New Boy is swiftly getting out of hand. We had a very tense moment just now in reprographics (basically a very small room with a photocopier), and I am failing dismally to keep my thoughts pure. I need tips on how to control myself (both physically and mentally). I genuinely don't want anything to happen, but as I'm sure some of you know, it isn't always that simple.

Why does this always feel like confession!??

Slippage.

Something very bizarre happened today.

New Boy, who, from my previous posts my regular readers will know is more than a bit of a yuppie, has, of recent weeks, been showing a little more interest in me than usual. His attentions have miraculously been deflected from Janine, our terrified typist, on to me, Michelle. Or, as I like to call my self now, Michelle, Extra-Marital Sexpot and World-Renowned Sexy Laydee. I think it's catchy.

Anyway. To be honest, I never really looked at New Boy before. He has always represented that sector of the business world I love to hate - the 30-something, financially-stable smug prick who thinks his BMW is a pussy-wagon and his degree from Manchester City actually worth something. Urgh. Today I decided to have a better look - out of curiosity really. He is not an entirely unattractive individual. He has a mole above his lip and a dimple in his right cheek which gives him this confused, lop-sided smile. The hair is pretty awful. The suits are equally as bad. He has a Spongebob Squarepants mug.

But he's sexy too. I mean, he has command of a room. Everyone listens to him when he speaks - even if they're overhearing some international phone call. Even me - I listen. Now I do anyway. And that's how I knew I had developed a little bit of a crush on our friend.

This worries me. Normally I have crushes on men with no balls. But New Boy has balls. If he found out about this little indiscretion I have a feeling I might try and take me roughly in the copy room.

I might like that.

But I have James.

And Hubby.

Could I take a third?

Not at the same time you understand...

My head hurts.

What a teenager...

Hi guys,

I hadn't signed in for over a week as I've been really busy to-ing and fro-ing between work, home, and two different gentlemen. However, I wanted to let you know that I've been up to my neck in juggling responsibilities and alibis, and recently had to do some serious thinking.

The other day I was at work, after having snuck out the previous night to meet James briefly, before heading back to the house. I was desperate to keep my eyes open, but on my lunch break ended up falling asleep in our staff room, much to the amusement of everyone in the office. That evening Hubbey said I looked really tired, and seemed worried about me. Obviosuly there was no way I could tell him what was going on, so I said I had been feeling very under-the-weather, and I took the next day off work.

In bed the next day, I studiousy ate my chicken soup, and watched my RDA of made-for-televison movies. I realised that having an affair, although brilliant, can also be a serious strain on your health. And your time. Hubby wanted to take the day off work to look after me, but I think that would have pushed my guilt over the edge. So I took stock.

I am going to start treating Hubby better. He is a good man, not a monster, and despite his lack of passion, he is still the man I felll in love with. James gives me everything I need to stay happy. Together, they are the best relationship I've ever had. Rather than endagering myself and my happiess by running around like a randy schoolgirl, I need to start controlling the situation like an adult. What I am doing is a practical choice I have made to keep my marriage together, not a frivilous flirtation with chaos.

I wanted to thank all of those who commented on my last post. You woke me up. It's great to get advice from such intelligent, open-minded people. I really doesn't feel so sordid anymore.


Love, Shelly.
x

Whirlwind

"Toto? I don't think we're in Kansas anymore..."

What a week. What a weekend. I spent half of last week being taken out by my husband (!), and half being taken out by James. I read last week that the most common excuse females give to cover up their affairs is "dinner with a friend". They are not half wrong.

I know a few of you were concerned after my last post that I was being too brazen about my activities, and Hubby was sure to find out. I took this advice on board and have since made sure that my alibis are 100% fool-proof. A close friend, Alison, has been kind enough to help me cover my tracks.

I timed my time-off with hers last week, so James could take me to Brighton for an overnight stop. Hubby thought I was at a health spa, and as I returned with a healthy glow, had no reason to question me - even though there was nothing remotely clean or healthy about our hotel rendezvous. I bought stockings and suspenders, and LBD from M&S which was actually rather pretty (I find the majority of M&S stuff leaves much to be desired). We took a brisk walk on the pier, then returned to our room to order an obscene amount of room service. I had a little '9 and a Half Weeks' moment with a pot of honey and some strawberries. Very messy, and not at all practical.

Hubby has been super-sweet to me of late. Perhaps he knows my affections lie elsewhere.

I have to be careful though. Hapiness like this often causes me to stop thinking rationally, and start walking around with my thoughts and feelings metaphorically tattooed on my arms and forehead. Control yourself Shelly. Stop looking so horifically smug.

Update.

This morning, I woke in the same bed I've woken up in almost every day for the last ten years. The sheets still smelled faintly of my husband's aftershave and the pillow was still uncomfortably bitty. My unknowing partner lying snoring next to me, face down.

Last night, at around 11pm, I left the house, purely on the persuasion of a rather vague text message from James. Said, "Am at the hotel. Have a credit card and a bottle of wine." James hasn't contacted me for a few weeks, and last week send me a message saying he thought it was best that we 'slow things down'. I am not naiive, I know what that means. I certainly wasn't expecting this.

So there I am, half-dressed for work, standing in the foyer of our local TravelLodge. He comes up from behind and puts his hands over my eyes, then spins me around to face him. When I originally met him a few months back, he seemed weather-beaten and tired, but all the fine lines on his face have smoothed out and I can just see these large grey eyes. He pulls out a bunch of roses from behind his back, and apologises prefusely for his behavior. "We feel like teenagers. It doesn't mean we have to act with the same lack of consideration".

We spent the next 5 (!) hours upstairs. Drinking, cuddling. A little more than cuddling, but who am I to kiss and tell? Especially on the internet of all places. Things are reconcilled for now. He explained that things have been very difficult at home recently, but rather than hiding them from me and making excuses, he has decided to be completely honest. After all, when you're having an affair, any other lies just seem like too much work.


I creeped back home and got in around 4am. Hubby was fast asleep, splayed out across the bed as if trying to cover as much duvet as possible. I rolled him like a pancake, and slid under the covers.

It is back on!

Grammar police.

Shock shock, horror horror.

Seems that although my computer seems to have recovered from it's little bout of dyslexia (see Twitter, a few days ago), my hands have not. I have just (rather narcissistically) read my last post to find over 5 full-on typos. FIVE. Am both irritated and confused by my apparent lack of attention to detail. I was the girl at school you paid to complete your English homework.

Maybe that isn't something a grown woman should admit.

Anyway, sorry for being so anal, and spamming your inbox with another automated message, letting you know that Shelly has written an entry - only to find she is blogging about blogging. What a stiff.


On the subject of law and order, I post this tenuously-linked video of a rather mind-blowing performance of Michael Jackson's horror mini-movie in a Philippine prison. Genius.

Product placement....

I swear I didn't get paid to do this but...

LOOK! The adulterers prayers have been answered! Book hotels in the daytime, with minimum fuss! Comfortably avoid embarrassing check-in at a Travellodge and the knowing looks of the receptionists!

http://snoozebookers.com/

There aren't many hotels on there yet, but I'm sure plenty will be clambering to join once they find out they could be cashing in on our 'working lunches'. Working indeed.

Getting back on the horse.

So. I am not taking the bunny boiler route. I have decided that if he's not going to text me or call me, then sod him.

Ahhh, back to my faithful keyboard, and the unsavory messages of the night. Got talking to a rather...interesting...man yesterday evening, who want me to pretend I was a hooker and wanted me to send him my knickers in the post. It's amazing what things a man can get off on. IllicitEncounters is great 99,9% of the same, but you do occasionally get the odd weirdo.

I checked him out too. He was a tall exec, slightly balding, quite thin. The concept of him 'enjoying himself' while fondling my undies was positivly hilarious!

Other than him, my inbox is full of worthy suitors. So many men, so little time!

Beautifully pointless..

Look at how down with the kids I am!

http://twitter.com/mistressmich

As Alan Partridge would say, KISS MY FACE!

Too old for this.

James is being, frankly, a bit of a cock.

I guess that when one is involved in an affair, it is pretty pathetic to start being needy about how often your lover, who is, by law, promised to another woman, contacts you. However, it has been over a week since I spoke to him and he has not been responding to my messages, leading to what seems to be a chronic bout of what I would call 'textpectation'.

What is wrong with the boy? Does he not reaslise that this kind of behavior inspires in me a reaction which could only be described as 'proper mental like'? Parts of my body that I didn't even know had pores are sweating.


God, I am so sexy right now. If you could only see me. You would want a piece.


Tips on how to cope, please? All advice welcome...
...unless you're going to tell me I'm a sad desperate loser. Probably best to leave that out.

Curiouser and curiouser...

Having an affair seems to have opened me up to lots of strange behaviors I didn't even know I had in me.

First, I have developed a slight obsession with New York Deli sandwiches from Marks. Honestly. I used to hate the combination of pickle, meat and mustard, now I'm salivating at the thought. Other new found food-loves - Almond-stuffed olives, and rusks (a lady at the gym has a new baby, and I occasionally sneak one when she's not looking). Greek food? Stealing from children? Very out-of-character.

Secondly, a few bizarre crushes I never knew I harbored are coming out of the woodwork (not literally, can you imagine Gordon Ramsey climbing out of your bureau?) The most bizarre of which is none other than Alan Rickman, awkward ex-Truly Madly Deeply hearthrob, and dark wizard extraordinaire. I was avidly researching him on IMDB, when I found this frankly rather disturbing film called 'Closet Land' that he starred in 1991. It's about a writer that gets imprisoned in this abstract interrogation room. Rickman plays her interrogator, in various forms.

It's actually phenomenally tense. And quite hot. If you're remotely into power games, I suggest you look it up.

The other bizarre crush is on Simon Amstell. The first reason for it being bizarre is that he's about half my age. The second reason for it being bizarre is that he is 100% gay, a nancy-boy, camp as a row of tents. But he's got the most amazing sense of humor...

...I wonder what Freud would say.

Probably "Zee crush on zis homozexual male suggests zat you need a partner zat is more attentive, perhaps more zenzitive, and vill tend to you in a more traditionally feminine way, wiz more care and affection."

But what did he know?

Trendy.

Looky looky! I started a trend. It was like that week in high school where one of the sixth form girls started wearing pedal pushers and then everyone started wearing pedal pushers because they thought it was cool.

Except on the internet. And with slightly more adult content.

I guess you could say that teenagers in pedal pushers could be classed as adult content. Particularly if your first name is Roman. And your second name is Polanski.

Anyway. Two other members of IE have started their own blogs. 'Andy', the neglected husband, who's blog you can find here, and a lady known only as 'moneyforoldrope' (nice moniker), who, even at this early stage, sounds like a lot of fun. You can find her blog here. Well done guys! Keep it up.


Oh, BTW, I found yet another article about a mistress who uses IE today on Fabulous (The NOTW supplement...I actually read the orginal article while on the loo at someone's house). Karen is so forward, I really like her.

http://www.fabulousmag.co.uk/features/feature_married_054.php

If you go to the left of the page and click on Fab forum, you can see all the bitter comments from the vicious NOTW readers. Not an ounce of perspective. Bless Karen, they've torn her to shreds - labelled her disgusting, fat and old. She's fought back though - the forum actually reads better than the article (it's pretty snide...something tells me someone didn't get a read-back). I've posted my thoughts.





*Sigh*. I think I drank too much coffee. This was only meant to be a quickie. ;)

Thankyou..

To all those Illicit members who have been commenting and offering their advice. It's comforting to have a forum where people like us can speak openly (seeing as the subject of one's own affair is not the best thing to bring up at a dinner party).

I'm also quite chuffed that those of us in our 40's and 50's have seized a little pocket of cyberspace for ourselves. That'll show the young-uns. *Brandishes walking stick*

The Day After Vanetine's...

Unlike 'The Day After Tomorrow', which was a terrible excuse for a film, The Day After Valentine's was rather enjoyable, and thankfully not covered in 6 feet of snow.

Jake Gyllenhaal wouldn't have gone amiss though.

On Saturday, Hubby took me out for a textbook meal at the restaurant in town which we go to every year. I spent most of the night undressing the waiting staff with my eyes. I can't deny that since James was been in the picture, things between us have been a great deal calmer. We had a really lovely evening actually. Hubby is back to his 'old self' (he threw a half a breadroll at manger in protest to how obscenely stale they were - that is the man I know and love).

If Valentine's day was a little '7 Brides', the following evening was unashamedly '9 1/2 weeks'. James and I planned to go to dinner in central and take a romantic stroll along the river. This plan was violently scuppered by our inability to get out of bed. A gloriously wasted evening.

Janine received a Valentine's card over the weekend. With a poem! You should see her. It's anonymous but she keeps reading it again and again, expecting the sender's name to materialise. I do hope it wasn't New Boy who sent it.




In hindsight, New Boy is hardly Shakespeare. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if he thought Shakespeare was another term for jousting. Or a euphemism for sex. The moron.

"Resession sex"

One of the smarmy New Boys in my office kept name dropping this phrase yesterday morning. He was leaning uncomfortably close to our new secretary, Janine, who looked both bemused and terrified, in the way only a woman who has emigrated alone to the UK in search of fortune and found herself, confusingly, typing out invoices for a struggling law firm can.

"You see, it's all boils down to sex, right? When one of these...these, like, national 'crises' happens, they're always like, 'So, how is this going to affect people's sex lives?'. Like, when wall street crashed in the 20's they kept talking about the effect it would have on the youth, who were all shagging around about then. Everyone wants to talk about it...everyone wants to do it" - New Boy shifts his weight and locks eyes with Janine. Janine flinches. "Recession sex - that's what it's about. People screwing because they're bored and broke" Janine turns her back and starts filing frantically "I'm bored and broke." More filing. "Maybe I should get myself self some...if you know what I mean". New Boy winks at the back of Janine's head, who is still filing blank paper.

Later on I hear New Boy discussing this exchange with Slightly More Established Boy. He made it sound like the aforementioned secretary was crawling round his ankles, salivating, with her phone number stapled to her forehead.



I think I may need to get out of here.

High five!

Honestly, if they had a guy like this on the tube escalators every morning, I think the commute would be a little more bearable.



Actually, maybe not. Arms might get tired.

Real wives

So I had an email the other day from Rosie, who does press and PR for IE. I told her a while back about the blog and it seems she's been following it for a while. Get this - they want to feature it on the site! Crazy..

I said yes. Apparently, it's a good insight into how the site works and what kind of people use it. I guess it's also a demonstration of the fact that not everyone who dates on line is a totally loser. We're not all heathens, we're not all uncaring and heartless.

And she thinks I'm funny! Horrah! I have been waiting years to hear someone tell me that. What pressure! What if all these people logging on to read this are expecting Milligan or Clease. And they get Street-Porter. All bad hair and smug guffaw.



A guffaw sounds like some kind of exotic bird. Even more exotic if it's smug, I guess.

Literature...

I never knew there would be so much literature on adultery...

...I don't know why. I just didn't. But lo and behold...thousands of books...accounts, advice, justifications, even tips. God forbid Hubby should stumble upon my Amazon wish-list :)

The most interesting one, by far, is Mira Kirschenbaum's 'When Good People Have Affairs'. It's widely recognised as being a decent, relatively-unbiased guide for people trying to understand the reasons for their partner's infidelity (although some partners leave less-than-informed, see angry review from scorned wife on Amazon). Obviosuly, a book seemingly justifying the idea of having an affair is going to receieve a backlash, but it's actually very good. I found out about it when I heard an interview on the radio the other day with an IllicitEncounters representative - she took a statistic from the book that almost shocked me - 60% of married men and 40% of married women will, at some point, engage in extra-marital sex.

Seems I'm not alone after all.

It's funny, since I've joined I keep seeing the website everywhere. I don't think they advertise (how could they???) but they have a lot of PR in magazines and papers. I genuinely think it's growing. I can't say I'm surprised. On every street in every town there seems to be a down-trodden wife or a neglected husband. Maybe, when you're on my side of the fence, you can see it more clearly.

So, anyway - the second book, The Handbook for the Other Woman, is fantastic. I bought it last week on a whim. Hilarious, but most importantly, light-hearted, it's not everyone's cup of tea. It puts the subject in an odd light, and you can't take it seriously at all, but right now, that's what I'm looking to read. Human beings are ridiculous - it feels good to laugh at myself and my crazy situation.

James and I haven't been in contact for a few days. I'm getting that I-wonder-if-he's-texted-I'll-just-check-oh-no-he-hasn't-well-maybe-he's-busy-or-maybe-I-missed-his-call-is-my-phone-on-silent? feeling. That's the funny thing about modern technology. It's suposed to make contact easier, but the truth is, the more ways there are for someone to contact, the more contact you need. We wrap ourselves in man-made constraints. Maybe I should suggest we write Lady-Chaterly-esque letters to one another?



Maybe not.

Glowing

I think I am. Hubby has noticed. Rather than rousing suspicion it seems to have inspired some attraction in him. When I left the house yesterday to go for coffee with a friend he wouldn't let me leave, pull at my blouse and kissing me. Crazy that after so many years, he is becoming interested. Too little too late, I fear.

When I said friend, I meant James. And when I said coffee, I meant coffee, in a hotel lobby, followed by something a little more...steamy. The sex is breathtaking. I don't want to divulge the vulgar details, but I will again say that I never imagined in 100 years that I would be having this much fun between the sheets. It's a shame that I have to have it with someone other than my husband, but it seems, for now, that this is the only way for me to stay satisfied.

I am still being messaged on IE all the time. I check back everyday - it's a good confidence boost, although I'm not really up for seeing guys while I'm with James.


He's just texted me. It's terrible - we're like young lovers. I am fixated with this little gadget in my hand, waiting for it to light up and tell me he's thinking of me. I am such a sodding GIRL.

Addicted...

Naughty Shelly...

I am struggling to keep my tired eyes open. Last night I ended up staying awake until 2am, pursuing profiles on IllicitEncounters. Although things with myself and James are taking off, I'm still drawn back when I get the cheeky little messages in my inbox.

It's funny - everyone else seems to know how to go about it. The mails are so well written, they know exactly what to say, they have great 'opening lines'. I feel like such a noob (I know, I know...I heard one our interns using the term yesterday...I am truly "down with the kids"). I misspelled 'romance' last week, which surely made me look like a desirable intellectual.

I can see it now - "Adultery; The Beginners Guide."

Genuis!

Brand new day.

I am in a strange place today.

Yesterday I had one of the best evenings of my life. No light title. I am still amazed that all this happiness could spring from a whimsical Google search and a few (relatively) innocent emails...

James wife is away on business. His flat, in the city, is immaculate. I must admit, when he first asked me back to his, I panicked. Even though Silvia is hundreds of miles away, it was hard to shake off the idea that she could come sweeping through the door at any moment, to be confronted by James and I in a compromising embrace.

After a few hours I was properly settled. It may have been the wine. We are so good at talking. The way we communicate has become this odd mix of old friend familiarity and teenage hormonal flirtation. He cooked us a traditional roast, which was beautiful (better than mine, but that's no tall order).

It was awkward towards the end of the evening, as we both didn't want things to end. He suggested we take our wine upstairs. I watched everything happen from quite far away. We made love on his marital bed, like prisoners on a conjugal visit. The sex was everything I hoped it would be, both tender and urgent. After such a long time of only touching one person, it was bizzarre to be so intimate with another.

When we had finished, I stayed awake for a while, as James lied passed out on my chest. The deed is done now. I am now a cheater. I could have kidded myself before, but now there is physical evidence.


A thick cloud of guilt is threatening to block out my sun. I am going to fight for my hapiness.

Curbing my enthusiasm...

The mother-in-law came round. When I see her I can never shake the fact from my mind that she is almost spherical in shape. I often wonder what would happen if I accidentally tripped her up, s she fell on her arse. Would she roll around like a confused Weebl?

The insults are justified. Christine is awful. She thinks I am no good for her son. She thinks I look too old for my age. She is right on both accounts, but that is not the point.

We had a painful dinner, full of forced conversations and allusions to the weather. She has clearly been speaking to Geoff, her new husband, about me. They were sharing knowing glances with each other whenever I talked about anything I was genuinely interested in. I think Christine comes from a family where women with passion are suspect.


Things are a little better with Hubby. Saw James again yesterday. No kisses as yet, but I wait with baited breath.

Row.

Hubby and I are at each other's throats at the moment.

Yesterday evening he made a comment me looking tired. I must that my online fantasies are beginning to spill into the early mornings...I sometimes find myself staring at the clock and realising it is well past my bedtime.

However, that doesn't mean I want to be told that, basically, I look like shit. He suggested that I put my feet off, take a day off, 'calm down'. What a bastard. He both expects me to clean up after him, listen to his every word, work a 9 to 5, and still have time to look flawless and sprightly.

I guess I snapped. I turned round and said that if he wanted me to take some time out, then maybe he should consider doing his own dishes and washing once in a while. Hubby went quiet while I continued to rant about how useless and uncaring he has become.



I think he is starting to realise how I feel. I don't know whether I meant to let on, but he could see how angry I was. After all, he knows me better than I know myself. Maybe this will improve things. However, maybe it will confirm to that things are ending. Slowly, but definitely.

I feel strange and sad today. Until next time.

James, James, James, James, James, James...

James, James, James, James, James, James, James, James, James.

My best friend informs me that this is what have been spouting over the last week. She may well be right. Things are going very well. I am not one to kiss and tell.

But I will make an exception.

We met last Friday. It was amazing. He wore a suit and he is MUCH better looking than I imagined. Fancy that! A man I met on the internet! Good looking! Hahahaha...

Anyway, he took me to some posh champagne bar in SoHo. Stupidly expensive but gorgeous. We talked and drank and talked and drank and then I began slurring and decided to stop drinking. By this time I was rather sloshed. Oh, he is such a hottie, he makes me talk like a school girl. Hense 'Hottie'....ergh, where has my vocabularly gone.

He walked me to the tube, and we said goodbye like old friends. Very gentlemany - kissed my hand (maybe a bit sleazy, but ultimately quite romantic). *Sigh*




Hubby is not getting a look in at the moment. I don't feel very guilty. The other day I left the kitchen to put my feet up, and he stared longingly back at the sink over my shoulder until I gave in and returned to finish the dishes. Sod.

Ding dong.

*Phew*...

We had the parents 'round. Need I say more?

Christmas was vaguely successful. I burn the parsnips and the carrots (I'm still not sure how), and one of my nieces was sick on the sofa. We had a pavlova that looked like it had been prepared by a blind-folded five year old. Hubby's folks were generally forgiving, although I could have done without his mother commenting on the "interesting" flavor of the vegetables. Mmm, charcoal.

I received a few strange, cheap gifts from my further-removed relatives (my cousin in Germany posted me a battery-operated mini-blender), and all in all, everything was as expected.


James and I were emailing through the holidays. He and his wife had quite a stressful Christmas. He suggested that we meet - I'm still not really sure whether that's a good idea. I went back on Illicit Encounters last week, just browsing new members. I had one message from a guy on Christmas day! They don't sleep do they?




I replied mind you.