Some things don't change - I'm permanently on heat. I met with an old flame last week, Carol, (38) on Wednesday afternoon. Her daughter was home sick, so we had sex in the back of her car in a pub car park. I would have liked it to be longer, but better than nothing.
I've joined 'Confidential Affairs' web site for new encounters, but no luck yet, though I've exchanged messages with a few women. Jennifer 28 from Lancashire says I'mm too old. Kaz 42 Staffordshire and Jane 48 Lancashire contacted me, but when I replied, I didn't get any further correspondence.
Finding sex at my age is becoming more difficult, but in truth, the women I see seems to enjoy it immensely. I feel a bit bad about some of my lovers who live far away, because they keep asking me when I'm going to be in their region again.
Oh, yes, there was Cathy (55) last Thursday night. It was the first time I had met her. She was really rough and sucked my lower lip to the point of pain. When she went down on me, she used her teeth - ouch but we both had an explosive orgasm.
Friday, 28 January 2011
Thursday, 30 December 2010
Viva Street Couple
Today, I exchanged messages with a woman in her mid 40s who lives near Oldham. She and her husband are 'swingers', permanently horny. They are looking for others to join them. Unfortunately, they have enough applicants.
I'm working this week - it's my own business - and alone in my office. The exchange of messages made me horny. I don't know the woman. Nor do I know what shape or size she is, but I want her badly and believe I can smell her juices. I wanked a few minutes ago and am now soggy in my underpants, but the desire is still there. I want this anonymous woman while her husband watches or even joins in. If I went into her home, I would bend her over the arm of her settee, lift up her skirt and take her from behind in both holes. Hey ho, no chance of that. They have all the applicants they need, but one day, there will be a vacancy. Till then, I will fantasize about her...
Oh yes, I had sex this morning with a beautiful librarian. A bit risky: her husband was out for only an hour...
I'm working this week - it's my own business - and alone in my office. The exchange of messages made me horny. I don't know the woman. Nor do I know what shape or size she is, but I want her badly and believe I can smell her juices. I wanked a few minutes ago and am now soggy in my underpants, but the desire is still there. I want this anonymous woman while her husband watches or even joins in. If I went into her home, I would bend her over the arm of her settee, lift up her skirt and take her from behind in both holes. Hey ho, no chance of that. They have all the applicants they need, but one day, there will be a vacancy. Till then, I will fantasize about her...
Oh yes, I had sex this morning with a beautiful librarian. A bit risky: her husband was out for only an hour...
Friday, 9 April 2010
Adultery - like a military operation
My infidelity, once or twice a week over almost 40 years has never been discovered by Norma, my wife. It has been a close thing at times, but I plan very carefully.
Last night, Norma went for a meal with two female friends. I dropper her off at a cocktail bar at 6:15 pm. I am in the middle of converting my loft into extra office space and I told Norma I was going to work on the loft conversion while she was out. I came back from dropping her off, and worked as fast as I could till eight O'Clock. My alibi needed a good deal of work to have been done.
At eight O'Clock, I drove to Diane's, arriving at 8:24. I had told her I could stay only 20 minutes, so she smothered me with kisses the moment I entered her house. Within five minutes, we were naked and making love in bed, frantically. At around quarter to nine, she orgasmed. I followed moments later. I showered my bits and my face, threw on my clothes, stepped outside and realised that I could smell either Diane's perfume or perfumed soap on my skin. If I could smell it, so might Norma.
I drove home, arriving at around 9:08, took of my shirt, washed my upper half, put on an old shirt, then put on my overalls. I climbed into the loft, rubbed my hands into dust and grime and rubbed my hands over my face and into my hair.
Just after 9:30, I was outside the restaurant. When Norma came out, she scolded me gently for getting into the car when I was so grimy.
Now, supposing the car had broken down when I was on my way to Diane's, or supposing I got a speeding ticket, or had an accident? Supposing Norma had phoned me while I was out because she wanted to come home early? I would not have answered the phone immediately, but would have rung her back later explaining that I had gone to B&Q (DIY store) to by some screws. B&Q is in the same part of town as Diane's house. I might even have gone to the store to buy the screws or to discover they were closed.
Every time I am unfaithful, I plan as if it is a military exercise. By Monday, I will need another woman. I'll start planning now.
Last night, Norma went for a meal with two female friends. I dropper her off at a cocktail bar at 6:15 pm. I am in the middle of converting my loft into extra office space and I told Norma I was going to work on the loft conversion while she was out. I came back from dropping her off, and worked as fast as I could till eight O'Clock. My alibi needed a good deal of work to have been done.
At eight O'Clock, I drove to Diane's, arriving at 8:24. I had told her I could stay only 20 minutes, so she smothered me with kisses the moment I entered her house. Within five minutes, we were naked and making love in bed, frantically. At around quarter to nine, she orgasmed. I followed moments later. I showered my bits and my face, threw on my clothes, stepped outside and realised that I could smell either Diane's perfume or perfumed soap on my skin. If I could smell it, so might Norma.
I drove home, arriving at around 9:08, took of my shirt, washed my upper half, put on an old shirt, then put on my overalls. I climbed into the loft, rubbed my hands into dust and grime and rubbed my hands over my face and into my hair.
Just after 9:30, I was outside the restaurant. When Norma came out, she scolded me gently for getting into the car when I was so grimy.
Now, supposing the car had broken down when I was on my way to Diane's, or supposing I got a speeding ticket, or had an accident? Supposing Norma had phoned me while I was out because she wanted to come home early? I would not have answered the phone immediately, but would have rung her back later explaining that I had gone to B&Q (DIY store) to by some screws. B&Q is in the same part of town as Diane's house. I might even have gone to the store to buy the screws or to discover they were closed.
Every time I am unfaithful, I plan as if it is a military exercise. By Monday, I will need another woman. I'll start planning now.
Tuesday, 23 March 2010
Sexual Frustration Takes Over
I have had it badly recently. It creates a knot in the stomach, dryness in the throat and tightness at the base of the penis, under the scrotum. Now and then mini fantasies flash across my brain. On the way to the office this morning, I was walking behind a young woman. For a moment, I could smell and taste her juices - not in reality, but vividly in my imagination, as I licked my fingers, after they had been inside her.
Standing at the coffee machine a few minutes ago, was another young woman, 25 or so years old. She wore a black jumper and white skirt. I said, 'Hello,' but in my imagination, my penis stretched long and hard underneath the hem of her skirt at the back, which it lifted high enough for me to penetrate her from behind.
Only sex gets rid of my frustration. Masturbation takes it away only for a matter of an hour at the most. Norma has been ill and I have not had opportunity to be with any of my lovers for ten days. All the sex I have ever had, with more than seventy women, cannot remove the frustration I feel now. I am like a hungry man who has eaten well all his life, but hasn't has a good meal for days. No thought of gourmet dishes that I once consumed can take away the hunger.
However, I am planning a long drive tomorrow night to meet a new 'potential' lover. I say 'potential' because until it happens, I can not be sure.
Standing at the coffee machine a few minutes ago, was another young woman, 25 or so years old. She wore a black jumper and white skirt. I said, 'Hello,' but in my imagination, my penis stretched long and hard underneath the hem of her skirt at the back, which it lifted high enough for me to penetrate her from behind.
Only sex gets rid of my frustration. Masturbation takes it away only for a matter of an hour at the most. Norma has been ill and I have not had opportunity to be with any of my lovers for ten days. All the sex I have ever had, with more than seventy women, cannot remove the frustration I feel now. I am like a hungry man who has eaten well all his life, but hasn't has a good meal for days. No thought of gourmet dishes that I once consumed can take away the hunger.
However, I am planning a long drive tomorrow night to meet a new 'potential' lover. I say 'potential' because until it happens, I can not be sure.
Monday, 8 March 2010
Searching for an Old Lover
When I was 30, I met a 47 year-old woman in ‘normal’ surroundings and fancied her to the point of sexual frustration. She was a bit flirty, though she was wearing a wedding ring. She had shoulder-length dark hair, pretty face, and the figure of a much younger woman. I do not want to tell you where we met. It would give too much away, but her name was Megan.
When I met her, there were other people around, but I managed find out where she lived. She didn’t tell anyone her address, but she mentioned that her house was next door to a certain place that many of us knew. We also discovered, in the course of polite conversation, that her husband worked for a well-known organisation and that she was a ‘housewife’ with no paid job. Soon after meeting, I went to the library and looked up electoral register records for that year and previous years. They had lived there for six years and the people in the house before them were May and Charles Weston. I stored this information. Moreover, I planned one day to be her lover.
She sprang to mind now and then and, in moments of sexual frustration, became a fantasy for masturbation. Two years later, when I was 32 and she was 49, I happened to be driving past her house on a week day. I stopped, looked in my Filofax for the name of the previous occupants, and rang on her door bell. She answered and looked simply gorgeous. ‘Is Charlie in,’ I asked.
‘Sorry. You have the wrong address,’ she said.
‘No, I’m sure. I’ve been here lots, but not for six or seven years. Charlie and May Weston.’
‘They’ve moved.’
‘Any idea where?’ I asked, while mentally undressing her from her scarlet skirt and pink blouse.
‘No idea.’
I asked her if she could give me any clues, such as the estate agent’s name or the name of the conveyancing solicitor. I told her it was important and urgent. Now let me add that I have a good spoken voice and dress well. I asked her if she could have a look while I waited. She asked me who I was, and obviously didn’t remember meeting me two years earlier. I told her that they were family old friends. To my delight and surprise, she invited me in. She took me in the lounge, offered me a cup of coffee, which I accepted and then left the room to search through her papers.
A couple of minutes later, she came back with the information. I had deliberately not drunk any of the coffee. I wanted to make it last. I now decided to take the bull by the horns. ‘Megan, I owe you an apology. You will want to throw me out when I tell you, but I have no interest in the Westons. I wanted to see you. I’m married, but I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind since I met you a couple of years ago. I fancy you. I had to see you again.’
In the space of a few seconds, she became flushed with a rash around her neck. I knew that I was on to a winner. I can’t remember what she said, but it was non-committal. I walked over to her, sat on the arm of the arm chair, stroked the back of her neck. She leaned into me. We kissed. I touched her and after a further minute, touched her breasts. Within fifteen minutes, her knickers and pantyhose were off and I was deep inside her on the lounge carpet. We were both part clothed.
We were occasional lovers over perhaps six years, not meeting often but the sex was FABULOUS. I discovered that her husband was 11 years older than her and was a hopeless lover. He always insisted she got on top and jumped up and down – almost a sort of, ‘I can’t be bothered. Help yourself.’ He would do it at no time other than around 11 am on Sunday morning when he was still in bed.
Over the past few months, I have become very turned on at the thought of making love to her again. I may have second thoughts if and when I meet her – she will be 77 this year, but if she has aged as well as in the years I knew her, she will look like a woman in her fifties. I want her badly.
I have subscribed to a web site that contains all electoral registers in the UK and found where she now lives. I’m sure it’s her because not only does she have an unusual surname, but her husband is shown as being still alive. He must be 91. Now, how do I contact her? Her phone number is ex-directory, but I have her address.
I’d love my readers to give me some ideas. Suggestions to philanderer@live.co.uk
When I met her, there were other people around, but I managed find out where she lived. She didn’t tell anyone her address, but she mentioned that her house was next door to a certain place that many of us knew. We also discovered, in the course of polite conversation, that her husband worked for a well-known organisation and that she was a ‘housewife’ with no paid job. Soon after meeting, I went to the library and looked up electoral register records for that year and previous years. They had lived there for six years and the people in the house before them were May and Charles Weston. I stored this information. Moreover, I planned one day to be her lover.
She sprang to mind now and then and, in moments of sexual frustration, became a fantasy for masturbation. Two years later, when I was 32 and she was 49, I happened to be driving past her house on a week day. I stopped, looked in my Filofax for the name of the previous occupants, and rang on her door bell. She answered and looked simply gorgeous. ‘Is Charlie in,’ I asked.
‘Sorry. You have the wrong address,’ she said.
‘No, I’m sure. I’ve been here lots, but not for six or seven years. Charlie and May Weston.’
‘They’ve moved.’
‘Any idea where?’ I asked, while mentally undressing her from her scarlet skirt and pink blouse.
‘No idea.’
I asked her if she could give me any clues, such as the estate agent’s name or the name of the conveyancing solicitor. I told her it was important and urgent. Now let me add that I have a good spoken voice and dress well. I asked her if she could have a look while I waited. She asked me who I was, and obviously didn’t remember meeting me two years earlier. I told her that they were family old friends. To my delight and surprise, she invited me in. She took me in the lounge, offered me a cup of coffee, which I accepted and then left the room to search through her papers.
A couple of minutes later, she came back with the information. I had deliberately not drunk any of the coffee. I wanted to make it last. I now decided to take the bull by the horns. ‘Megan, I owe you an apology. You will want to throw me out when I tell you, but I have no interest in the Westons. I wanted to see you. I’m married, but I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind since I met you a couple of years ago. I fancy you. I had to see you again.’
In the space of a few seconds, she became flushed with a rash around her neck. I knew that I was on to a winner. I can’t remember what she said, but it was non-committal. I walked over to her, sat on the arm of the arm chair, stroked the back of her neck. She leaned into me. We kissed. I touched her and after a further minute, touched her breasts. Within fifteen minutes, her knickers and pantyhose were off and I was deep inside her on the lounge carpet. We were both part clothed.
We were occasional lovers over perhaps six years, not meeting often but the sex was FABULOUS. I discovered that her husband was 11 years older than her and was a hopeless lover. He always insisted she got on top and jumped up and down – almost a sort of, ‘I can’t be bothered. Help yourself.’ He would do it at no time other than around 11 am on Sunday morning when he was still in bed.
Over the past few months, I have become very turned on at the thought of making love to her again. I may have second thoughts if and when I meet her – she will be 77 this year, but if she has aged as well as in the years I knew her, she will look like a woman in her fifties. I want her badly.
I have subscribed to a web site that contains all electoral registers in the UK and found where she now lives. I’m sure it’s her because not only does she have an unusual surname, but her husband is shown as being still alive. He must be 91. Now, how do I contact her? Her phone number is ex-directory, but I have her address.
I’d love my readers to give me some ideas. Suggestions to philanderer@live.co.uk
Searching for an Old Lover
When I was 30, I met a 47 year-old woman in ‘normal’ surroundings and fancied her to the point of sexual frustration. She was a bit flirty, though she was wearing a wedding ring. She had shoulder-length dark hair, pretty face, and the figure of a much younger woman. I do not want to tell you where we met. It would give too much away, but her name was Megan.
When I met her, there were other people around, but I managed find out where she lived. She didn’t tell anyone her address, but she mentioned that her house was next door to a certain place that many of us knew. We also discovered, in the course of polite conversation, that her husband worked for a well-known organisation and that she was a ‘housewife’ with no paid job. Soon after meeting, I went to the library and looked up electoral register records for that year and previous years. They had lived there for six years and the people in the house before them were May and Charles Weston. I stored this information. Moreover, I planned one day to be her lover.
She sprang to mind now and then and, in moments of sexual frustration, became a fantasy for masturbation. Two years later, when I was 32 and she was 49, I happened to be driving past her house on a week day. I stopped, looked in my Filofax for the name of the previous occupants, and rang on her door bell. She answered and looked simply gorgeous. ‘Is Charlie in,’ I asked.
‘Sorry. You have the wrong address,’ she said.
‘No, I’m sure. I’ve been here lots, but not for six or seven years. Charlie and May Weston.’
‘They’ve moved.’
‘Any idea where?’ I asked, while mentally undressing her from her scarlet skirt and pink blouse.
‘No idea.’
I asked her if she could give me any clues, such as the estate agent’s name or the name of the conveyancing solicitor. I told her it was important and urgent. Now let me add that I have a good spoken voice and dress well. I asked her if she could have a look while I waited. She asked me who I was, and obviously didn’t remember meeting me two years earlier. I told her that they were family old friends. To my delight and surprise, she invited me in. She took me in the lounge, offered me a cup of coffee, which I accepted and then left the room to search through her papers.
A couple of minutes later, she came back with the information. I had deliberately not drunk any of the coffee. I wanted to make it last. I now decided to take the bull by the horns. ‘Margaret, I owe you an apology. You will want to throw me out when I tell you, but I have no interest in the Westons. I wanted to see you. I’m married, but I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind since I met you a couple of years ago. I fancy you. I had to see you again.’
In the space of a few seconds, she became flushed with a rash around her neck. I knew that I was on to a winner. I can’t remember what she said, but it was non-committal. I walked over to her, sat on the arm of the arm chair, stroked the back of her neck. She leaned into me. We kissed. I touched her and after a further minute, touched her breasts. Within fifteen minutes, her knickers and pantyhose were off and I was deep inside her on the lounge carpet. We were both part clothed.
We were occasional lovers over perhaps six years, not meeting often but the sex was FABULOUS. I discovered that her husband was 11 years older than her and was a hopeless lover. He always insisted she got on top and jumped up and down – almost a sort of, ‘I can’t be bothered. Help yourself.’ He would do it at no time other than around 11 am on Sunday morning when he was still in bed.
Over the past few months, I have become very turned on at the thought of making love to her again. I may have second thoughts if and when I meet her – she will be 77 this year, but if she has aged as well as in the years I knew her, she will look like a woman in her fifties. I want her badly.
I have subscribed to a web site that contains all electoral registers in the UK and found where she now lives. I’m sure it’s her because not only does she have an unusual surname, but her husband is shown as being still alive. He must be 91. Now, how do I contact her? Her phone number is ex-directory, but I have her address.
I’d love my readers to give me some ideas. Suggestions to philanderer@live.co.uk
When I met her, there were other people around, but I managed find out where she lived. She didn’t tell anyone her address, but she mentioned that her house was next door to a certain place that many of us knew. We also discovered, in the course of polite conversation, that her husband worked for a well-known organisation and that she was a ‘housewife’ with no paid job. Soon after meeting, I went to the library and looked up electoral register records for that year and previous years. They had lived there for six years and the people in the house before them were May and Charles Weston. I stored this information. Moreover, I planned one day to be her lover.
She sprang to mind now and then and, in moments of sexual frustration, became a fantasy for masturbation. Two years later, when I was 32 and she was 49, I happened to be driving past her house on a week day. I stopped, looked in my Filofax for the name of the previous occupants, and rang on her door bell. She answered and looked simply gorgeous. ‘Is Charlie in,’ I asked.
‘Sorry. You have the wrong address,’ she said.
‘No, I’m sure. I’ve been here lots, but not for six or seven years. Charlie and May Weston.’
‘They’ve moved.’
‘Any idea where?’ I asked, while mentally undressing her from her scarlet skirt and pink blouse.
‘No idea.’
I asked her if she could give me any clues, such as the estate agent’s name or the name of the conveyancing solicitor. I told her it was important and urgent. Now let me add that I have a good spoken voice and dress well. I asked her if she could have a look while I waited. She asked me who I was, and obviously didn’t remember meeting me two years earlier. I told her that they were family old friends. To my delight and surprise, she invited me in. She took me in the lounge, offered me a cup of coffee, which I accepted and then left the room to search through her papers.
A couple of minutes later, she came back with the information. I had deliberately not drunk any of the coffee. I wanted to make it last. I now decided to take the bull by the horns. ‘Margaret, I owe you an apology. You will want to throw me out when I tell you, but I have no interest in the Westons. I wanted to see you. I’m married, but I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind since I met you a couple of years ago. I fancy you. I had to see you again.’
In the space of a few seconds, she became flushed with a rash around her neck. I knew that I was on to a winner. I can’t remember what she said, but it was non-committal. I walked over to her, sat on the arm of the arm chair, stroked the back of her neck. She leaned into me. We kissed. I touched her and after a further minute, touched her breasts. Within fifteen minutes, her knickers and pantyhose were off and I was deep inside her on the lounge carpet. We were both part clothed.
We were occasional lovers over perhaps six years, not meeting often but the sex was FABULOUS. I discovered that her husband was 11 years older than her and was a hopeless lover. He always insisted she got on top and jumped up and down – almost a sort of, ‘I can’t be bothered. Help yourself.’ He would do it at no time other than around 11 am on Sunday morning when he was still in bed.
Over the past few months, I have become very turned on at the thought of making love to her again. I may have second thoughts if and when I meet her – she will be 77 this year, but if she has aged as well as in the years I knew her, she will look like a woman in her fifties. I want her badly.
I have subscribed to a web site that contains all electoral registers in the UK and found where she now lives. I’m sure it’s her because not only does she have an unusual surname, but her husband is shown as being still alive. He must be 91. Now, how do I contact her? Her phone number is ex-directory, but I have her address.
I’d love my readers to give me some ideas. Suggestions to philanderer@live.co.uk
Thursday, 4 March 2010
I Love Sex With a New Woman
Though Norma and I have a good sex life, I especially like sex with a new women. Some of my very best sexual experiences have been the first time with a woman, and some of those have been the only time.
There was a 38 year old who approached me via the blog in January. She was very specific. She wanted a picture of my penis, erect. (not the kind of picture I'm inclined to take, but I obliged.) She specified no condoms and wanted me to assure her that I could keep going for four hours.
I agreed but asked her not to shave. She told me that she doesn't shave anyway.
Her picture was lovely. She was 5'2" with a beautiful figure. We had a torrid time. She was fantastic and we went all ends up. When she was leaving she thanked me and gave me what I though was a thankyou card. I opened it when she had gone. It contained a card and sixty pounds sterling.
She emailed me saying what a great time she had and said that she had done it to punish her husband. He had had an affair. She went back and told him she had had four hours of the best sex she had ever had with a man old enough to be her father. She told me in her email that he didn't believe her.
Anyway, she doesn't want to see me again, but there are plenty of willing women waiting to take her place, one of whom I'm seeing next Wednesday afternoon. I've never met her before, but she's 48 and married. I am feeling horny at the thought.
Why not e-mail me with your exploits? I'd love to hear, especially from philandering women, anywhere in the world: philanderer@live.co.uk .
There was a 38 year old who approached me via the blog in January. She was very specific. She wanted a picture of my penis, erect. (not the kind of picture I'm inclined to take, but I obliged.) She specified no condoms and wanted me to assure her that I could keep going for four hours.
I agreed but asked her not to shave. She told me that she doesn't shave anyway.
Her picture was lovely. She was 5'2" with a beautiful figure. We had a torrid time. She was fantastic and we went all ends up. When she was leaving she thanked me and gave me what I though was a thankyou card. I opened it when she had gone. It contained a card and sixty pounds sterling.
She emailed me saying what a great time she had and said that she had done it to punish her husband. He had had an affair. She went back and told him she had had four hours of the best sex she had ever had with a man old enough to be her father. She told me in her email that he didn't believe her.
Anyway, she doesn't want to see me again, but there are plenty of willing women waiting to take her place, one of whom I'm seeing next Wednesday afternoon. I've never met her before, but she's 48 and married. I am feeling horny at the thought.
Why not e-mail me with your exploits? I'd love to hear, especially from philandering women, anywhere in the world: philanderer@live.co.uk .
Friday, 26 February 2010
Talking Dirty
These days, I find the majority of my lovers on the internet. Up to meeting, there is the process of exchanging e-mails, photos and text messages. Before I've spoken to a woman, I'm always suspicious if 'she' initiates dirty talk through MSN or text. I am convinced that there is a significant minority of men purporting to be women on dating and adult sites. I believe that I have uncovered two of them for certain.
One of these 'women' told me that she had her husband's permission and that I could get her on the phone if I rang him. I did so. He said she wasn't there but she had asked me to tell her husband graphically what I wanted to do to her. I declined. There was no woman, only a man wanting me to talk dirty.
However, in the past two weeks, I have found a woman who is a match for any man in dirty talk and texts. Her text this morning read, 'I want you to f*ck me and for it to run down my legs when I'm walking home.' Not sure what I though of that after I'd had a hearty breakfast. I prefer the real thing to dirty talk, but if that's the seduction that will get me inside the lady's underwear, bring it on.
One of these 'women' told me that she had her husband's permission and that I could get her on the phone if I rang him. I did so. He said she wasn't there but she had asked me to tell her husband graphically what I wanted to do to her. I declined. There was no woman, only a man wanting me to talk dirty.
However, in the past two weeks, I have found a woman who is a match for any man in dirty talk and texts. Her text this morning read, 'I want you to f*ck me and for it to run down my legs when I'm walking home.' Not sure what I though of that after I'd had a hearty breakfast. I prefer the real thing to dirty talk, but if that's the seduction that will get me inside the lady's underwear, bring it on.
Wednesday, 24 February 2010
Tiger Woods and Sex Addiction
Some years ago, I went to therapy because I felt guilty because I kept being unfaithful to Norma. There was a cycle: I would be unfaithful, I'd feel guilty, I'd be sorry, tell myself I would never do it again, get turned on by the thought of entering a 'new' vagina, commit adultery, feel guilty...
I tried the sort of therapy that would get rid of my inclinations and it just didn't work. The feelings kept coming to the surface. Then I tried a different therapist. The sessions lasted two years and I came out of it a changed person. I accepted myself as I am. I feel so much happier and much more relaxed. I can even say 'no' to sex much more easily, because I know who I am. (It's not often that I say 'no' but I have done twice with what I believe were vulnerable women.)
I love women and I love making love to them. I love the romantic - holding hands, a gentle kiss on the neck, the smell of perfume, the giving of flowers, romantic dinners. I also love the earthy, the smell of a woman's juices, rough sex at times, talking filthy when she is in the mood. I love it all.
I tried the sort of therapy that would get rid of my inclinations and it just didn't work. The feelings kept coming to the surface. Then I tried a different therapist. The sessions lasted two years and I came out of it a changed person. I accepted myself as I am. I feel so much happier and much more relaxed. I can even say 'no' to sex much more easily, because I know who I am. (It's not often that I say 'no' but I have done twice with what I believe were vulnerable women.)
I love women and I love making love to them. I love the romantic - holding hands, a gentle kiss on the neck, the smell of perfume, the giving of flowers, romantic dinners. I also love the earthy, the smell of a woman's juices, rough sex at times, talking filthy when she is in the mood. I love it all.
Another Man's Wife
She is lovely, size 10, 34c, pretty face, 45 and loves sex with an older man. She's a natural blonde, but I have no preference when it comes to women's hair. Her profession would indicate that she is conservative, reserved and perhaps even asexual. Not so. She is among a small percentage of women who seem to have a man's view of sex. She is not shy to say that she masturbates regularly and enjoys the odd porn film. She often takes the initiative by getting into my trousers to suck me.
However, her favourite position is missionary. She loves being under a man. Well aren't I lucky? I will be with her in just over an hour.
Changing the subject, I'd love to hear your stories of philandering, whether you are a man or a woman. I can also add you to twitter: philanderer@live.co.uk
However, her favourite position is missionary. She loves being under a man. Well aren't I lucky? I will be with her in just over an hour.
Changing the subject, I'd love to hear your stories of philandering, whether you are a man or a woman. I can also add you to twitter: philanderer@live.co.uk
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