I’m more mellow in the morning and when he spoons in behind me with a ship’s cannon between his legs, I part mine invitingly to welcome him in. He rubs his thumb dreamily against my nipple and strokes my breasts, and I feel a warm gush surge through me. I arch my back and press my buttocks into his lap. He groans and slides his erection into my slippery wetness.
We rock slowly to and fro against each other until our movements pick up speed. I roll onto my stomach and he continues to hump me from behind. He gets there before I do, but I don’t mind...I'll catch up soon enough and once he’s rolled off, I take his hand, lick his middle finger, guide it onto my twitching bud and even up the score.
We lay there for a while stroking each other dreamily, then I reach into the bedside cabinet for a bottle of something liquid. I roll him onto his tummy and straddle him, then pour a warm drizzle of baby oil all the way down the centre of his back.
He moans with pleasure as I start to distribute it, concentrating on his shoulders and spine. I enjoy doing this. I am a very giving person. If a man treats me right, the service chez moi is terrific. Tea, crumpets, blowjobs, massages - it's a wonder I haven't got half a dozen tenants living under my roof!
Later on, he gets up and goes out to buy the papers and by the time he returns I’m in the kitchen cooking breakfast. I’m starting to get that sinking feeling: overtired, energy spent, sex drive sated, not a lot to look forward to. Except, of course, my date with CC now only two days away...
Cute Face and I lie around all morning reading the papers then I beat him roundly at Scrabble which he does not like AT ALL. We discuss shopping for my new TV - a complete déjà vu of the same conversation I had with MLP some months before.
Eventually I’ll stay with a guy long enough to get this blessed thing bought and installed before we're all running around with screens on the ends of our noses.
He leaves at 2 p.m. to go and watch footie with his mates. It’s the last day of the season, so what would one expect?
‘I hope you enjoyed the weekend as much as you thought you would...’ I fish, as he hugs me goodbye at the door.
‘Of course I did’ he answers, but I know, somehow, that it’s over.
As I get into bed that night, I get a text from Rugby Player.
Hey sexy, had a fun weekend?
Do I tell the truth? Best not.
Served soup in the homeless shelter wearing your lingerie beneath my overalls I lie.
Spent it with my sexy ex in a Riad in Marrakesh he (maybe also) lies.
This winds me up.
Only teasing. I shoot back. Had a shag fest with a 28 yr old.
RP is 38 so this truth is designed to make him feel insecure.
Where do you find them? he asks
Fortnum's Food Hall I reply
Wish I was there…am feeling horny… he informs me.
Deal with it! I retort.
I intend to ; - ) he says.
Wankers of the world unite. I’m going to sleep.
The silence from Cute Face is deafening.
The girlfriends call for a post-mortem.
‘It was fine’ I tell them.
‘That doesn’t sound over-enthusiastic!’ says one.
‘It was what it was’ I reply. ‘I hardly expected him to go down on one knee, though we went down alright! He arrived early – I mean 2.30 in the afternoon is a fairly enthusiastic time to begin a Saturday night date - then I made tea, we had sex, I made more tea, we had more sex, I cooked dinner, we watched TV, we had sex, we played Scrabble, we had sex, we went to sleep – well he did...we woke up, we had more sex, I made breakfast and he went home.
What else do you want to know? I may never see him again, but that’s the name of the game - the one I play, at any rate! Anyway, I’m not that fussed. He’s nice enough but…you know…’
I trail off wondering if they do know. How can they if I don’t?
‘How do you cope?’ Calm Best Friend asks.
‘I don’t get attached' I reply.