I love make-up and I love sex but what I love most is make-up sex.
I don’t mean rouging my nipples and painting my partner’s genitalia with lipstick and mascara, I mean getting it together again when you’ve been apart for a while.
Let me explain: having so upset my latest flame to the extent that he nearly went out, I feel it only fair to give him credit where it’s due.
The gentleman in question, whose knee so jerked when he became the subject of my blog “Is ‘Good’ Good Enough?” has crept back into my affections and redeemed himself in a rather pleasing way.
Now I don’t want to swell his pretty little raven-haired head any more than it is already (I am conscious as I write this that he is going to read it) but we had a rather fine reunion which definitely deserved an A-. OK. An A then. Alright, alright. An A+.
The very thing I commented on, or rather complained about last time, was the fact that we felt so comfortable with each other. This caused him to deduce that I was dissatisfied because there were ‘no fireworks’. He immediately concluded that there were none on his side either which was, of course, missing the point.
Fireworks are all very well but they burn out far too quickly. Harmony on several levels doesn’t.
We do seem reasonably compatible. Whether we had genuinely missed each other is for me to know and him to find out. And as for the comfort factor, how many people would you feel sufficiently at ease with to break off a hot humping session to talk about fried fish?!
I hasten to add that the segue between passion and battered seafood was not a reflection on the ambient odours surrounding us at the time.
It was, rather typically, a close encounter of the Jewish kind in which food must be mentioned, if not eaten, at all times.
We’re now apart for a week or so while I work on a writing project in Spain.
It’s getting a bit saucy.
I like this a lot.
Out of sight is not necessarily out of mind. And absence can, in some cases, make the heart grow fonder.
Having said that, I fully expect this pleasant interlude not to last.
In my world, le plus ça change, le plus c’est la même chose...