In honour or romance I thought i would share my first single experience as a lonely Valentine . A chapter from my book Sex and The Signposts available on Amazon
Brains, Brawn and Bourguignon
My first Valentine’s Day as a singleton was looming up fast. The previous year, although technically still married, a few girls and I had gathered for an Anti-Valentine party. We opened champagne and spent the evening pulling to pieces the men (or not) in our lives. We were all without a date as such and the amount of pressure to have one is quite shocking.
All your happily married friends and loved-up acquaintances are waxing lyrical about where they are going for the intimate dinner and how big the bouquet of flowers was that arrived by special delivery and what the card said. Frankly it can be quite disheartening if you don’t have a man or even worse your living with someone that doesn’t harbour one romantic thought about you anymore.
My ex-husband had always been very romantic and was BIG on Valentine’s Day which made the lack of attention even more painful. He used to send me roses, usually delivered to my office, and we would go out for a romantic dinner and then come home and make love. Ah those were the days!. His cards were always the kind stating his undying love – always. Well he had definitely changed his mind about that!
This year I knew I was going to feel the void quite acutely. When my daughters lived at home and were both sporting boyfriends our house used to look and smell like a florist shop and I loved it, flower arranging being one of my favourite things to do.
So Valentine’s Day 2009 became something of a mission. I was determined, by hook or by crook, that I would not spend it alone and decided that some sort of date was required to keep my morale up! The whole thing was made worse by the fact that St Valentine has decided to fire his bow and arrow on a Saturday, the traditional date night of the week. No pressure then?
I had been chatting on line via my new found friend – toyboywarehouse.com, to a number of seemingly nice young men but didn’t, as yet, have any offers. Reflecting on this it occurred to me that a toyboy probably wouldn’t want to spend such a ‘Big’ occasion with an older woman, in case it was misconstrued. I had also added something to my Facebook page called ‘Are you interested?’ and was receiving loads of messages from a variety of men all ages and types. Some of the pictures that popped up made me laugh out loud but one or two seemed quite interesting so I began replying.
One of these guys ‘Mike’ seemed nice and was probably about forty, so quite a respectable age. My laptop and I were rarely apart these days and most evenings I would be sat in my cosy front room, multitasking, between the laptop, the TV, and a glass of wine.
The chatting on-line was time consuming but also quite intoxicating as the men involved threw the words Hun, Babe and gorgeous in my direction. This was such a nice change from the ones I had been hearing as my marriage gasped for breath. In the last two years there had been no soft words or confidence boosting compliments. Just bitter, angry arguments and insults, yes lots of insults, coming from its dying throat. So to be called hun or babe and to be told you look sexy and hot, gave my ego a much needed stroke and just made me feel better.
You have to be careful that when the love has died in a marriage you don’t believe your own bad press. It’s hard to come out unscathed and not riddled with doubt and self-loathing. The partner trying to wriggle out of his commitments conscience free, will do all he can to make it your fault in every which way he can. You need to be thick skinned and have been a defence lawyer in a previous life.
My Ex would often pick a fight just to back up his own somewhat rocky self-esteem and reassure himself that he was completely justified in his behaviour. Of course me, in blissful ignorance would often take his slatings to heart, until of course I found out the truth. After that I gave as good as I got and even had him questioning whether or not he wanted to actually leave me. Of course I was just playing with him, cat to mouse, the writing was not only on the wall it was tattooed!!!
So Mike and I continued our online ‘wooing’ and I found out he was from the East of England, about a three and a half hours drive from me. I almost gave up at this point thinking that it was just too far and the chances of us ever meeting up were very remote. At some point, we progressed to texting and finally a couple of phone calls. We got on well and I found out that he had a fair bit of banter even if he did have a ‘country bumpkin’ accent. I found it quite sweet.
During one lengthy phone call I drop into the conversation the subject of Valentine’s Day and he says sadly that he does not have a date. I had been partaking of a couple of glasses of wine and at this point, and feeling brave, I suggest that I cook him dinner. He is quick in responding with the words “great idea”. He doesn’t seem to have any problem with the distance as he drives around a lot and he will bring the champagne. It’s not lost on me that if he drives to me and then helps me drink the champagne then driving home won’t be an option. Thinking about this I reason with myself that the sofa was always available. Having made a firm arrangement with him I am quite pleased with myself, the panic was over, I had achieved my goal; I had a date for St Valentines Night! My son was going to visit a friend for an overnight stay, so I was sorted! Marvellous!
I must have checked out Mike’s profile page on Facebook a hundred times over the next few days. He seemed a safe bet, a family man, divorced, into football, not bad looking and a respectable age, my dalliances with toyboys were getting notoriously younger so at least this man was in his forth decade.
I cast my thoughts in the direction of what to put on the menu, but that was easy. My usual first dinner date offering was always the same ‘Beef Bourguignon’ served with rice and salad followed by homemade ‘Chocolate brandy mousse’. These were two dishes that could be prepared in advance and leave you calm and in control and able to sit at the table making small talk and being charming. Plus there is nothing better than the smell of the beef and wine cooking in the oven; it wafts around the house adding atmosphere and ambiance. It also has a brilliant effect on the appetite; by the time you get to the table you are ravenous.
So the week passed without event and Kate and I decided to go out on Friday as she didn’t have a date on Saturday and was in need of a lively night. We went to all our usual bars and pubs. Moving from bar to bar and chatting to familiar faces, we eventually ended up at our final destination (the bar by the station with the good for my age lighting!). Standing at the bar as we ordered our drinks we spotted two guys we knew quite well. In fact one of them I knew very well, intimately in fact. His name was Kevin and I had met him by association, he was friends with various members of the family and was strictly out of bounds. He was in his late twenties and a nice guy.
He was about 6ft tall and had strikingly dark eyes and strawberry blonde hair, but his main attraction was his body. He spent a lot of time in the gym and it showed in all the right places. He had big biceps, a weakness of mine, and a honed and toned six pack and big shoulders. He was quite a hunk. I had met him at a family party the year before and had gone over to admire the biceps, giving them a little squeeze. We had a little chat and this turned into outrageous flirting and at one point he lunged at me for a kiss and his friend had to drag him off. Just as well, I thought, family present and all that, plus I was still technically in my marriage. It turned out that I had known his father many years before and we had a lot of mutual acquaintances. So as I said ‘strictly out of bounds’.
It was much later and during my just post marriage phase that we kept bumping into each other. The flirting continued in earnest and he was all over me like a rash and I began to feel quite excited by his attention. He was always quite blatant and used to tell me he got a ‘hard on’ as soon as I came into view. This for me, who had been sidelined, after twenty years of marriage for a younger woman, was hugely flattering. We exchanged numbers at some point and we would text each other here and there.
For safety I had him stored in my phone as ‘Muscleman’ and I was called ‘Emma’ in his. He made it quite clear that he wanted to take me to bed and very tempted as I was I just didn’t want to upset anyone. But we were both single, as he had broken up with a long term girlfriend some months before. I deliberated over it for a long time and one night at a party I even had to sneak off alone, because he was systematically attacking all my defences and I was weakening.
In the end, when the opportunity presented itself some months later, I just couldn’t resist. The pull of those muscles was just too strong. One evening he had an empty house and we arranged a covert and secret rendezvous by text. I left my friends at the wine bar and said I was going home and he collected me in a dark car park. He lived a few miles away and as we pulled up outside his house I was aware that my stomach was churning and I was feeling really quite nervous. He took me by the hand and led me in. I liked the hand holding; it was caring and protective and went a little way to reassuring me. Once inside, with the door firmly shut, he began an assault on my body that I can only describe as being ravaged.
After the months of anticipation and unfulfilled desire, it felt heavenly. Taking his shirt over his head he revealed his gorgeous torso and I ran my hands over his arms and stomach and gasping with delight and god, was he fit! Kissing him from the shoulders down, I ran my tongue over his rippling six-pack. This sent him into frenzy and overwhelmed by his months of pent up desire, he manhandled me up the stairs and into his bedroom. Once inside and still being joined at the lips we managed to get the rest of our clothes off. We leapt on the bed and lying side by side he ran his hands up my thighs and slipped his fingers in, as if my body was familiar territory. “Christ” he whispered “you are so wet.”
Frankly the sight of his naked body was enough to make a nun give up the vows. I was so aroused by now that I was impatient to have him and he could not contain his delight at finally getting me into bed. He offered his fingers to my mouth by way of demonstration, and I licked them sensuously. He then spent ages working magic with his tongue and when the moment came I was more than ready. Poising himself on his strong arms above me, he found his way inside with ease. He commanded so much power behind every thrust; I was delirious with passion and responded by moaning loudly and grabbing his gorgeous buttocks, forcing him further in. After what seemed like forever, with my head pounding on the headboard, we were spent and curling up together he put his arm protectively around me.
It was the first time I had slept with another man in the same bed, so this was quite a milestone. I felt like I had finally ‘arrived’. In the morning more strong, powerful and overwhelming sex followed and by the time he dropped me home I was ready to go back to bed for some sleep. It had been quite an adventure and I felt that having spent the night in another man’s house I had really moved on.
We managed to keep our liaisons secret and met up a few more times after that. But as it was always very cloak and dagger, the opportunities didn’t crop up very often. It had been quite a long time since our last meeting and yet here he was before me, wearing a tight t-shirt that showed every muscle off to its best advantage. We kissed hello and I gave the biceps a familiar squeeze. He whispered to me that as usual I had made his trousers tighter. I giggled and said shame because the chances of us being able to slip off anywhere were remote. My son being firmly ensconced at home and his house mates were there with him and came into the ‘must never know’ category.
He touched me at every opportunity, a stroke here and a grope there. He was obviously full of testosterone and I could sense that he wanted to rip my clothes off. Frankly he would have met with little resistance; I was keen to give those muscles another close inspection. Damn it! This was one of those times when I wished I lived alone.
Sexually frustrated I went home and woke up the following morning still with him on my mind. I had lots to do with my Valentine’s dinner to organise and the house to clean. But feeling the need, I sent him a text saying “Emma woke up with muscles on her mind”. He answered immediately “Kevin went to bed alone and frustrated”. Texts flew back and forth, both of us translating our physical frustrations into written dialogue
‘I wanted u so much last night’
‘Me 2 Hun u were looking hot’
‘So frustrating the last couple of times we met we
Haven’t been able to do anything!’
‘I know it is frustrating, I do have an empty house
coming up soon’
‘Don’t know what it is about u but u turn me on so
much! Yeah? Cool let me kno wen should be able to make sum nights’
‘Ok sexy I will’
‘shame it’s not now tho you really should take advantage of me in this mood’
‘Believe me I want to hun. Yum!’
Checking the time at this point I realised it was already 1.30pm in the afternoon and my date was due at 7.30pm. So I had about seven hours to get all my housework done, prepare the food and make myself look gorgeous. Reluctantly putting my phone down I go into the kitchen and putting some music on I get stuck in. I started chopping and slicing but could not get Kevin’s muscles out of my head and got very excited about one huge carrot that reminded me of something else. Taking my frustration out on it, I chopped it firmly into little pieces.
My son ambled into the kitchen foraging for food. “Mum make me breakfast” hardly breakfast, I thought, more like lunch! I rustled up a bacon sarnie, his staple diet at the weekend, and we chatted about what he was doing for the evening and with his mobile stuck firmly to his ear in one hand and the sandwich in the other he slumped in front of the TV. His phone was going off constantly and coming back into kitchen with his plate he said he would be going to James’s a bit earlier as they wanted to go somewhere. “Ok luv” I answered and “what time would that be?” “Dunno” he grunted “bout four”.
Dinner prepared and in the oven, cooking slowly, chocolate mousse made with double the amount of brandy added (I might need the extra shot later depending on how my date goes) chilling in the fridge. I whisked about dusting, hoovering and cleaning. I went upstairs to tidy my bedroom and wondered whether my date was going to ever get this far. Straightening the sheets and pondering whether they would need changing in the morning, a light suddenly went on in my head! Jack was leaving at 4pm and my date was due at 7.30pm. Here was a three hour window of opportunity. An empty house, I wonder if? No, I couldn’t, could I? I mean it wouldn’t be right would it? Seeing two men in one day?
Not that I had any intention of sleeping with my dinner date, but it was a possibility. He was of course an unknown quantity, whereas Kevin was tried, tested and definitely approved! No! Best not complicate things, pushing the thought of the six- pack firmly away, I ran a bath and set about the beautifying process.
Getting out of the bath and wrapped in a towel I plonked myself on the bed. It was now about 4pm. I lay back on the cushions staring at the ceiling. The six-pack homed into view followed by the biceps and the dark brown eyes and, oh sod it! I was fed up with wrestling with my conscience and decided that I would rather be wrestling with Kevin instead. Reaching over, I picked up my phone and sent him a text. “wot are u doing this afternoon?” The immediate reply was “I’m out shopping and then going to the gym why?” I explained about the empty house and then added that I had to be out by seven, followed by a large question mark. “Really” he replied “let me see wot I can do” followed by a smiley face. I carried on getting ready for my ‘other date’ and began pacing around like a caged animal.
A little later Jack called up the stairs “bye mum, I’m off”. Good the coast was clear. He knew I had a date that night so wouldn’t be back. I picked up my phone. Still nothing and the suspense was killing me. I decided to get ready, just in case. I opened up my make-up bag and started looking through my wardrobe to find something to wear, black dress I think, oh and the boots, everyone loves the boots. I was rummaging through my underwear draw when I heard my phone chirp. About time “I could be there by about 6.15 is that any good?” God that would be cutting it fine, but by now all sense of reason had gone out of the window along, it would seem, with my morality! “Ok, but earlier if u can“ I replied. I then text my evening date and told him to come a little later as “something had come up” well that was the general idea anyway I thought to myself giggling. I am very badly behaved! Kevin had said he would let me know when he was on his way and not to bother to get dressed as we wouldn’t have much time. Thinking ‘cheeky devil’ I proceeded to cover myself in body lotion from head to toe.
By 5.30pm I was all ready, dinner was cooking nicely, I had all my make-up on and my hair was done. I was wearing just some nice underwear (no not ‘winter flock’ by La Senza!) under my silky dressing gown. I waited anxiously, clutching my mobile in one hand, and my glass of ‘getting ready wine’, in the other. Suddenly my phone went off the message read “Get your clothes off I’m coming round!” Ten minutes later I opened the door to my ‘muscleman’ Grinning broadly at me he greeted me with the words “Happy Valentine’s day” and before I could reply, he picked me up and kissing me hard he pinned me up against the wall.
A frenzy of kissing and fondling followed before we raced up the stairs hand in hand and into my bedroom. Enjoying his muscles once more as he poised himself above me, he took me with power, passion and speed. We lay for a short while together panting and catching our breath. I was aware that the clock was ticking and he, thinking I had to be out by seven was happy to go having got rid of his pent up frustrations. I lead him to the door and laughing like a couple of naughty children we said our goodbyes. Grabbing a towel I went back into the bathroom for a shower and to get ready for round two.
My date arrived on time and bearing not one but two bottles of Champagne, definitely scoring some early brownie points. He was a lovely guy who seemed quite intelligent and we had a nice evening eating, drinking and talking. My Beef Bourguignon was a great success and I managed to keep a straight face when he asked me what it was that had “Come up?” I lied beautifully.
When we retired to the lounge and got cosy on the sofa and the kissing started it was pleasant but not ‘up there’. I distracted him by putting on DVDs. I went to bed alone for obvious reasons, although I did keep expecting to hear his footsteps on the stairs and therefore didn’t sleep very well. I think my date took the fact that he was lodged on the sofa quite well, although he probably moaned about it in private, having travelled a long way.
But we did have a nice evening and he was well fed. I don’t think I would have done anything differently even if my ‘knight in shining muscles’ hadn’t swooped in and stolen the advantage. It had been a memorable St. Valentine’s Day in more ways than one, even if I had been a little greedy. My punishment for such gluttony was that I never did get up close and personal with those muscles again although you never know when opportunity will knock! As for my dinner companion, we spoke once or twice but I just wasn’t feeling it! Oh well, such is life and lucky for me the sexy Australian was still in the loop.