The good news:
The doctor exceeded my expectations 10-fold. Physically; just right. Tall. Good looking in a way that doesn't invoke my inferiority complex. Nice smelling. A shadow of stubble (not too boyish, not too Dumbledore).
Emotionally; articulate, open, very self-aware. Comfortable talking about his family, but not desperate to pour over the misery of it all. Acknowledged that what we were doing would be considered wrong by most reasonable people, but agreed that he would have it no other way. Refreshingly free of the need to assert is masculinity.
Conversationally; I was bowled over by the passing of time. We sat down. We started talking about Wolf Hall. Then suddenly it was 10.30pm, he had to leave, and I was fumbling through my phone for a cab number. A dry sense of humour. A vast well of knowledge when it comes to literature. And very happy to let me gush and rant and debate about innumerable topics, without impatiently stepping on the ends of my (increasingly slurred) sentences.
The bad news:
He lives in fucking Manchester. Fuck.
Fuck.
...
Monday, 2 August 2010
Thursday, 29 July 2010
Good vibrations
My phone just went off.
The doctor is coming to town this weekend with friends. He think he'll be able to get away Saturday evening for a drink...
..."and perhaps something more, if time permits."
What a tease! What a lark! It has been a considerable amount of time since I dabbled extramarital, and damnit, I think the hour in once again upon us. It is about 10 minutes past 5. That means I have about 3 hours (praise be to you, oh late-night shopping hours) to buy myself some new undies. I think I would feel bizzarre cavorting around in front of some new gent in underwear from a past tryst. A little sleazy, non? Oui.
Eeek eeek eeek! I am excited! My nether-regions are equally so. Sod this last pile of payslips; to Ann Summers', post haste!
xxx
The doctor is coming to town this weekend with friends. He think he'll be able to get away Saturday evening for a drink...
..."and perhaps something more, if time permits."
What a tease! What a lark! It has been a considerable amount of time since I dabbled extramarital, and damnit, I think the hour in once again upon us. It is about 10 minutes past 5. That means I have about 3 hours (praise be to you, oh late-night shopping hours) to buy myself some new undies. I think I would feel bizzarre cavorting around in front of some new gent in underwear from a past tryst. A little sleazy, non? Oui.
Eeek eeek eeek! I am excited! My nether-regions are equally so. Sod this last pile of payslips; to Ann Summers', post haste!
xxx
Wednesday, 14 July 2010
So I didn't keep you posted. Because I am terrible. But still - I'm back and posting. Posty post post.
Doctor chat is still going on - and my oh my does that man have a way with words! Two years ago I could not have imagined myself having anything that resembled cyber sex; now at least 2 evenings a week I'm twiddling away on my laptop, batting back and fourth obscene adjectives and philanderous phrases with Mr White Coat. It's no substitue for the real thing mind, but since he lives in Manchester, the real thing is currently unattainable. Hey ho. I'm not exactly loathing my own company right now. Partially thanks to current reading material. Cue announcement:
*Attention Wayward Wives and their female asociates* : if you haven't read The Bride Stripped Bare, your life is seriously poorer for it. It is basically pornography with brains. Deliriously unbound and hedonistic. Saturated with light and desire. And seriously, seriously hot. I made the mistake of reading it on my commute to a meeting the other day, and when I got to said meeting, four people (four people!) asked me if I "needed to sit down". One particualrly concerned staff member fetched me a glass of water I didn't ask for, and a hand fan, such was my lobster-like hue. Being a traditional English rose, it seems I can't consume any amount of erotic literature without turning an embarrasring shade of radish. Sexy.
x
Doctor chat is still going on - and my oh my does that man have a way with words! Two years ago I could not have imagined myself having anything that resembled cyber sex; now at least 2 evenings a week I'm twiddling away on my laptop, batting back and fourth obscene adjectives and philanderous phrases with Mr White Coat. It's no substitue for the real thing mind, but since he lives in Manchester, the real thing is currently unattainable. Hey ho. I'm not exactly loathing my own company right now. Partially thanks to current reading material. Cue announcement:
*Attention Wayward Wives and their female asociates* : if you haven't read The Bride Stripped Bare, your life is seriously poorer for it. It is basically pornography with brains. Deliriously unbound and hedonistic. Saturated with light and desire. And seriously, seriously hot. I made the mistake of reading it on my commute to a meeting the other day, and when I got to said meeting, four people (four people!) asked me if I "needed to sit down". One particualrly concerned staff member fetched me a glass of water I didn't ask for, and a hand fan, such was my lobster-like hue. Being a traditional English rose, it seems I can't consume any amount of erotic literature without turning an embarrasring shade of radish. Sexy.
x
Thursday, 24 June 2010
The Doctor
A genuine, real-life doctor (complete with fantasy white coat and stethoscope) has contacted me on IE. This is, no doubt, a very good thing. Especially since he is hella cute, and I'm so sexually frustrated now that I am probably more adept at peeling the labels off beer bottles than the machines programmed to do so at recycling plants (in all seriousness, Hubby's friend made a comment about this the other day in the pub during post-football celebrations. I had made a pile about a foot high of branded foil. Hubby thought it was hilarious. Yeah. LOL at yourself, sweetheart.)
Anyway...have arranged to chat later this evening with him online. Hopefully he won't resort to badly punctuated come-ons and dubiously-capitalised, playground references to his genetial. I don't mind talking dirty, I just need said dirty talk to be grammatically correct.
I'm sure this will conjur up an image of some hoity-toity middle-aged English teacher, marking her lovers sexual ramblings with some virtual red pen....
...and that is a pretty accurate image of me. Will keep you posted, conrades!
xxxx
Anyway...have arranged to chat later this evening with him online. Hopefully he won't resort to badly punctuated come-ons and dubiously-capitalised, playground references to his genetial. I don't mind talking dirty, I just need said dirty talk to be grammatically correct.
I'm sure this will conjur up an image of some hoity-toity middle-aged English teacher, marking her lovers sexual ramblings with some virtual red pen....
...and that is a pretty accurate image of me. Will keep you posted, conrades!
xxxx
Tuesday, 15 June 2010
Starry-eyed
So, I'm more than a little obsessed with Ellie Goulding at the moment. 'Lights' is such a great pop album, and considering I grew up listening to Madonna and Prince, my standards are possibly higher than most...
Anyway, the stand-out track (and single, inevitably) is 'Starry-Eyed', a short burst of beautiful, glitchy electronica and soaring, auto-tuned vocals (I'd like to point out the use of AT is rather tasteful on this track, compared to the hyper-processed sound of Kanye "Second Coming" West). Have a listen if you haven't heard it already. Or if you have.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PULdPep_xfs
Music has alway had a profound effect on me. In fact, during a conversation with The Husband the other day, it dawned on me that a considerable chunk of my memories all relate in some way to a song. The most vivid memory I have of my mother, for example, is watching her clean the house while dancing to Blondie's 'Hanging on the Telephone'. I must have been about 6, jiggy along with this impossibly jolly hippy, hair down to her bottom, bright orange duster punching out to the music.
When I think about my teenage years, I think about George Michael, and being awkward and dressed in uncomfortable netting and lace at a school disco. Stood straight and terrified up against the speaker, I remember feeling the pulse of 'Father Figure' through the broken mesh behind me, and the bass teasing my body with these alien, adult feelings of sexuality. Puberty was siguarly the most exciting and the most terrifying time of my life.
There is something about Ellie's track, 'Starry Eyed', that drags me back to being this tense, vunerable 16 years old, seeing love as this complete and utter Disneyland fantasy. All moon-eyes and just kissing for hours and being so affected by another human being's presence that you would shake.
A far cry from the reality of marriage, perhaps, but I am glad, at times like these, to recall how my lover James once turned me into a quivering teenager, and how those moments, however rare, are still there to be reached for and grasped with both hands.
IE is proving fruitful once more. A few hopefuls in my inbox. Will of course keep you updated, such is my narcissism.
Love xxx
Anyway, the stand-out track (and single, inevitably) is 'Starry-Eyed', a short burst of beautiful, glitchy electronica and soaring, auto-tuned vocals (I'd like to point out the use of AT is rather tasteful on this track, compared to the hyper-processed sound of Kanye "Second Coming" West). Have a listen if you haven't heard it already. Or if you have.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PULdPep_xfs
Music has alway had a profound effect on me. In fact, during a conversation with The Husband the other day, it dawned on me that a considerable chunk of my memories all relate in some way to a song. The most vivid memory I have of my mother, for example, is watching her clean the house while dancing to Blondie's 'Hanging on the Telephone'. I must have been about 6, jiggy along with this impossibly jolly hippy, hair down to her bottom, bright orange duster punching out to the music.
When I think about my teenage years, I think about George Michael, and being awkward and dressed in uncomfortable netting and lace at a school disco. Stood straight and terrified up against the speaker, I remember feeling the pulse of 'Father Figure' through the broken mesh behind me, and the bass teasing my body with these alien, adult feelings of sexuality. Puberty was siguarly the most exciting and the most terrifying time of my life.
There is something about Ellie's track, 'Starry Eyed', that drags me back to being this tense, vunerable 16 years old, seeing love as this complete and utter Disneyland fantasy. All moon-eyes and just kissing for hours and being so affected by another human being's presence that you would shake.
A far cry from the reality of marriage, perhaps, but I am glad, at times like these, to recall how my lover James once turned me into a quivering teenager, and how those moments, however rare, are still there to be reached for and grasped with both hands.
IE is proving fruitful once more. A few hopefuls in my inbox. Will of course keep you updated, such is my narcissism.
Love xxx
Tuesday, 8 June 2010
The Norm.
It's days like today I remember why I cheated in the first place.
It has been nearly two months since James and I broke things off. My married life has settled into it's old, clunky pace again. I work. I go home. I get a kiss on the cheek. I cook. I go to bed. I wake up. I work.
Hubby and I sat curled up in front of the box last night, wrapped up in each other's limbs, my head snuggled into his breast bone. The woman I am today doesn't recognise the woman she was three months ago; sexy, in control, full of electricity. Today she is tired and hopeless, and even the familiarity of her true love's chest fails to envoke anything other than the same images of marital monotony. Like a mirror facing a mirror.
I need my fix. I'm logging on tonight.
It has been nearly two months since James and I broke things off. My married life has settled into it's old, clunky pace again. I work. I go home. I get a kiss on the cheek. I cook. I go to bed. I wake up. I work.
Hubby and I sat curled up in front of the box last night, wrapped up in each other's limbs, my head snuggled into his breast bone. The woman I am today doesn't recognise the woman she was three months ago; sexy, in control, full of electricity. Today she is tired and hopeless, and even the familiarity of her true love's chest fails to envoke anything other than the same images of marital monotony. Like a mirror facing a mirror.
I need my fix. I'm logging on tonight.
Friday, 7 May 2010
In response to Steven.
A nice gentleman called Steven posted the following on my last blog.
"To you and the many people like you I really do wish you good luck. But I do believe that adultery is the ultimate lie (to you and your spouse). A sexless marriage is not a marriage you simply can't have the emotional bond without it, so you look elsewhere for whats missing. Your more like co-workers doing a job working for a likeminded goal. I think you've already thrown in the towel just by looking at your blog profile, all the bloggers that you follow are all adulterers also. Not one blog that I could see about repairing damaged relationships. I make no judgement on you, you sound like a very caring person, maybe just a little off track. Please keep an open mind and seek out some quality help for you and your husband. Goodluck!"
I just wanted a chance to respond to this.
Oh Steven. Please do not assume that I, and those like me, have not sought help for our issues. This seems to be a general assumption about adultery; that it is a way out for people who cannot be bothered to work hard at their relationships.
I have been to marriage counselling. I have tried to engage my husband in discussions about our sex life. I have wasted money on lingerie and sexual parifinalia trying to bring him round to the idea of his wife as a sexual object. However, all this work has only confirmed the reality of the situation. My husband and I are in love; we are soul mates. But he does not fancy me, and no amount of negociation is going to change that.
The point is, we are in love. Although we do not really sleep together, we most definitely have an extremely strong emotional bond. And, although this may be difficult for some people to believe, my affair is not some underhand way of me ending my marriage.
Of course there were/are emotional ties with James, my lover. He is a wonderful man and we allowed ourselves to fall for each other. But, although the hurt can be searing, most boundaries were kept to, and I feel that our relationship gave me the room to enjoy my marriage, without feeling the need to nag my husband for sex.
And, in truth Steven, that is what this partership was about. Sex. Nookie. Rumpy-pumpy. In my experience, men find it very difficult to accept that there are some women out there who require this as a physical need, and are completely capable of compartmentalising sex and romance. Break-ups are hard, but I have preserved my feelings, and a genuinely believe I had a great deal of control over the situation.
You say that I saw my relationship with James as if we were two co-workers, trying to achieve the same goal. What is problematic about this? I had a practical physical need that wanted to be fulfilled, and I arranged an affectionate but business-like relationship with a gentleman in a similar situation to fulfil that need. Less emotional? Maybe. But it worked for me.
And, in regards to lying, none of us are saints, and we're certainly not ignorant to the fact that we are deceiving our partners. However, when it's a choice between loosing the man who I want to spend the rest of my life with, and conducting a discreet arrangement which for nearly two years has only served to improve my relationship with him, I choose the latter.
In other news, I think Cleggy is barking to side with those gay-bashing Tory monsters. Eurgh.
TTFN,
x
"To you and the many people like you I really do wish you good luck. But I do believe that adultery is the ultimate lie (to you and your spouse). A sexless marriage is not a marriage you simply can't have the emotional bond without it, so you look elsewhere for whats missing. Your more like co-workers doing a job working for a likeminded goal. I think you've already thrown in the towel just by looking at your blog profile, all the bloggers that you follow are all adulterers also. Not one blog that I could see about repairing damaged relationships. I make no judgement on you, you sound like a very caring person, maybe just a little off track. Please keep an open mind and seek out some quality help for you and your husband. Goodluck!"
I just wanted a chance to respond to this.
Oh Steven. Please do not assume that I, and those like me, have not sought help for our issues. This seems to be a general assumption about adultery; that it is a way out for people who cannot be bothered to work hard at their relationships.
I have been to marriage counselling. I have tried to engage my husband in discussions about our sex life. I have wasted money on lingerie and sexual parifinalia trying to bring him round to the idea of his wife as a sexual object. However, all this work has only confirmed the reality of the situation. My husband and I are in love; we are soul mates. But he does not fancy me, and no amount of negociation is going to change that.
The point is, we are in love. Although we do not really sleep together, we most definitely have an extremely strong emotional bond. And, although this may be difficult for some people to believe, my affair is not some underhand way of me ending my marriage.
Of course there were/are emotional ties with James, my lover. He is a wonderful man and we allowed ourselves to fall for each other. But, although the hurt can be searing, most boundaries were kept to, and I feel that our relationship gave me the room to enjoy my marriage, without feeling the need to nag my husband for sex.
And, in truth Steven, that is what this partership was about. Sex. Nookie. Rumpy-pumpy. In my experience, men find it very difficult to accept that there are some women out there who require this as a physical need, and are completely capable of compartmentalising sex and romance. Break-ups are hard, but I have preserved my feelings, and a genuinely believe I had a great deal of control over the situation.
You say that I saw my relationship with James as if we were two co-workers, trying to achieve the same goal. What is problematic about this? I had a practical physical need that wanted to be fulfilled, and I arranged an affectionate but business-like relationship with a gentleman in a similar situation to fulfil that need. Less emotional? Maybe. But it worked for me.
And, in regards to lying, none of us are saints, and we're certainly not ignorant to the fact that we are deceiving our partners. However, when it's a choice between loosing the man who I want to spend the rest of my life with, and conducting a discreet arrangement which for nearly two years has only served to improve my relationship with him, I choose the latter.
In other news, I think Cleggy is barking to side with those gay-bashing Tory monsters. Eurgh.
TTFN,
x
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