So let’s back up for a minute. My husband left about 18 months ago.
We hadn’t had sex in a couple of months – at least – before he left so I’m staring down the barrel of two whole years without some action.
Now up until oh, a month ago, this was no big deal. I didn’t miss it to be honest and when the urge did surface I had equipment and this thing called the internet to help me out.
But then something came unstuck. All those years of not wanting sex, not particularly enjoying it (including having an internal competition with myself as to how quickly it could be over and done with) and everything that goes with that (a shed load of guilt) seemed to wash out of me and sweet baby cheese and crackers I needed a man.
I wanted the smell of him, the weight of him on me, to be enveloped in his arms and I wanted it bad. Oh to be passionately kissed.
About a year ago I signed up to some online dating sites and had absolutely no success. None. Not a nada. It was so demoralising.
So couple this need for a man and my lacklustre online performance things were not looking good.
Enter some of my female posse. A lot of champagne last Friday night and an absolute epiphany. I didn’t want a partner or new husband, I just wanted a good pash and to possibly get laid.
I didn’t even know that was allowed. The curtains drew back and I realised I didn’t want a partner, I wanted some fun.
I haven’t wanted sex this much since I was about 14 and deeply mired in Christian guilt, a particularly ugly puberty stranglehold and an all girls school where without the Cosmo ‘guide to your clitoris’ I would have been one very pent up teen.
It was like a switch had been flicked.
I can flirt, hold hands, kiss, fuck, or even make sweet love to any willing and able man I can get my hands on. Do you know how liberating that is to someone who for much of the past two decades barely felt an itch let alone needed to scratch?
So what followed was the girls staging an impromptu photo shoot with my top down, the girls up and out and me apparently looking alluring. In the middle of the pub. I of course think it made me look like a 1980s Russian hooker but beggars can’t be choosers.
We then went through all my various profiles, changes the photos, ditched the “my ideal man” guff with “I really want a decent pash and let’s just see what happens from there”.
Well didn’t that bring all the boys to the yard.
So Dear Future Partner? Fuck off, I’m about to get laid.
Things are happening people and as one of girls said, I’ve gone rogue.
mtc
RD