Category: relationships

We Never Had Paris

August 8, 2025

relationships

Have you seen Casablanca? Do you remember Humphrey Bogart telling Ingrid Bergman ‘We’ll always have Paris’? I had the opposite. I never had Paris.

I met up with a friend a few months ago, just recently returned from Paris, and he was baffled and amused by the following story of how a trip to Paris essentially ended my marriage.

We were both really young when my ex husband and I got together. We had dreams about going on adventures and travelling the world. One of the first things we had planned on was buying a round the world ticket and literally travelling around the world to see it before we got old and had too many responsibilities and settled down. We even had the different destinations around the world picked out.

But before we bought the tickets, he had a change of heart. He suggested instead of the long holiday what if we used the money as a downpayment on a house? Looking back on it, it was a sound investment but honestly? We probably could have squeezed our pennies a bit longer and managed both. I agreed to the more sensible approach on the condition that we would still travel, if just on a smaller budget with time restrictions. He agreed.

We went on a long weekend to Prague and then he decided that Europe and city breaks just weren’t his thing. And from then on, he really only wanted to stay in the same cottage in the wilds of Scotland that we’d been to on our honeymoon. And we went there for four years in a row before I put my foot down and said ‘no more’. But after that? We just didn’t go on holiday.

At least until our 10th wedding anniversary. I think he understood that things felt rocky. He and I in the early days of our relationship lived in London itself. And I remember saying to him several times how weird it was that we lived so close to someplace like Paris and we’d never been.

For our 10th wedding anniversary, he brought up the idea that maybe he and I would spend our anniversary in Paris for a long weekend. He’d gotten the Friday off work, he’d sorted out childcare for the weekend and I had this flicker of excitement for the first time in a long time.

But instead of planning for the trip, my ex was fretting. He wasn’t sure if the weather would cause disruption in the travel there or back. He wasn’t sure if the childcare options would work out (it was family looking after them!). If there were delays, his concern would be the children then his work commitments.

In the end, the weekend never happened. No travel had been booked, no hotels booked. The planning began and ended at raising the idea (and therefore my hopes) and asking if his mother could have the children overnight for two nights (she was thrilled to have them). He cancelled his day off work and went into the office on that Friday. Eventually the reason he gave to me for not going to Paris was ‘wouldn’t it be nicer to wait until the children are older and all go together?’ For my romantic weekend getaway to celebrate our anniversary? No, I don’t think so.

That was 15 years ago and it felt like one of many reasons we ended.

It was never about Paris. But it was about promising me a certain type of life, one with adventure and travel that never materialised. I didn’t realise how one sided those dreams of travel were. And I didn’t realise how things might end up feeling like a slow death doing the same things, having the same routines, going to the same cottage again and again. Always living within the familiar, staying within someone else’s comfort zone.

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Future Happiness

August 6, 2025

relationships

Something happened years ago that scared me. And when it happened, it was one of those things that stayed with me until I understood what it meant.

Based on a loose ‘relationship’ I had with someone online (where the other person ended up telling me about the way his future happiness looked like to him) I ended up closing my eyes and trying to imagine what my future happiness would look like. Who would be in my life in 10 years/20 years/30 years. What would I be doing? How would I be spending my time?

And I realised that when I closed my eyes, I couldn’t really picture it. I knew that I wanted my family with me, but I couldn’t picture my ex husband and myself enjoying our retirement together. That didn’t feel true to me. And I wondered what did that mean?

I think it’s clear what it meant though. I didn’t see a future with my ex husband. He didn’t feature in my own happiness either in the present or in the future. So I thought about it some more. I made decisions regarding my marriage and also I just thought harder about what things I’d like for myself.

And I did come up with a list. A good one. It was filled with beauty, laughter, friendship, a goofy dog. For a really long time this imaginary future didn’t feature anybody else in a romantic way and I was okay with that. I truly believe you can be fully happy with a life full of other things. I was okay with this future.

And then I met my ex. And sometimes when I dreamt or sometimes when I sat down to consider my thoughts and feelings and to think about my future, sometimes I’d have flashes of images where in my future I wasn’t on my own. These flashes of images grew and developed over time, usually within dreams I’d have.

And they weren’t always the same images. In fact, the images started and it didn’t involve my ex at all. They were just images of me dancing with someone. With only my face being visible in my dreams, but it was always of me laughing, of being happy, sometimes I was looking at someone really gently, with a bit of adoration.

The me in this image was sometimes in my kitchen. Sometimes I’m in my back garden surrounded by friends as though we’re barbecuing, sometimes I was in someone else’s space and celebrating a birthday perhaps. Sometimes it’s in the afternoon, sometimes it’s in the evening. Sometimes we’re in a tent outside, sometimes we’re indoors.

Once, I knew when I woke up that I was at my own wedding reception and I was dancing with the man I was going to marry. And sometimes the man I was marrying looked like my ex. There is a particular song playing during this image.

I don’t think I ever told my ex about that image. Not until after things with me and him ended. It always felt like a scary image to me. It feels scary to open my heart again in the way I’d need to to make this image come true. And when things ended with that relationship I figured that was it, probably. That branch of a possible future was closed.

But it might not be. Obviously it is closed with him. But I feel determined to not close myself off to the possibility of that image. The one filled with so much joy and happiness, filled with love and comfort. I still want that for myself.

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Birthday Wish(es)

August 1, 2025

dating, life, relationships, sex

It was my birthday recently. It …was not my best birthday ever. But in an attempt to bring in some positivity, I spent an awful lot of time thinking about my birthday wish for the actual day and the upcoming year.

I think my birthday feels like a new beginning in the middle of the year. Almost like another New Year’s Day where the year starts again and I can think of different or better ways to spend my time.

And there are so many things that I wish for myself this year. I want my divorce finalised, some freedom in terms of my finances, my space, my choices. But those things aren’t always in my control.

So instead I think my focus will be on ways to bring happiness into my life. I want to spend the rest of this year with more joy in my life. I’d love it if I could go on adventures with my family, with my dog.

I’d like to make more friends, I’d like to feel part of a community or a network of some sort. People to lean on when times are tougher than they should be. I imagine this looks like renewed friendships with those already in my life but also new friends who are possibly in sex positive communities or the LGBTQ+ community.

I’d like to grow this blog more. If you like what you’ve read, I’d appreciate more subscribers, more likes, more (gasp) comments. I like the creative outlet this space gives me. I like having the ability to process and give some real thought to my experiences, to my feelings.

But maybe most of all, I’d like to find regular sexual enjoyment. Whether that looks like regular pleasure with one particular person or if that’s a wider net with multiple people I don’t mind. But I feel better when I have sexual connection with others and when I have pleasure to look forward to. I want more of that in my life.

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A Fantasy vol. 2

July 30, 2025

dating, relationships, sex

I mentioned in another post that something I daydream about with others is about falling asleep with them and today I thought I’d share a little bit more about that.

There’s something about falling asleep with someone that I feel is incredibly intimate. I had someone I was briefly having sex with recently that kept inviting me over to his place. Like, to stay overnight and I just found the very idea of it too much. It felt like too much too soon in any case. So it never happened.

I think part of that is because I’ve only ever ‘stayed over’ with one person. My ex husband, who I was married to for literal decades. And now that I’m in this situation where I might stay over with a new sexual or romantic partner? It feels a little bit scary.

Which isn’t to say that I’m not into the idea of it. I’ve talked a lot about my English teacher friend. How much his friendship meant to me in me figuring out things about myself and what I wanted in life. What I didn’t want in life. And at the same time I was having this epiphany in my romantic and sexual life I was going through the actual worst time in my personal life. My dad was very poorly and he wasn’t getting any better.

And it was during this time that I started having daydreams about my English teacher friend. And they mostly just involved me putting my head on his shoulder until I fell asleep. Because I was always tired at that time. I wasn’t sleeping well from the stress and worry. And I wanted to be with someone who would just be there with me and with whom I could do what I needed the most. Sleep. Sometimes I thought about him hugging me or falling asleep nestled into him. But mostly it was just me leaning on him and dozing off. Knowing that I was safe to do so.

It always felt like ‘fantasy’ was about safety, about comfort.

Years later, when I was with my ex, my daydream had changed. I still thought about falling asleep leaning against him. And once, when we were together he did fall asleep. It became one of the things that I think back on our relationship and remember really fondly. But it wasn’t what I ended up thinking about with him. We had so little time together that my thoughts of him ended up taking on other paths.

With him, I always thought of waking up and seeing him. I vividly remember fantasies where I opened my eyes and there he was. For me, with him? It was always about him still being there. About him staying. That I could close my eyes, that I could sleep, and the dream was that when I woke up, he’d still be there.

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What Being Loved By You Felt Like

July 23, 2025

relationships

How do I put into words what it felt like to be loved by you? It’s a difficult one. And I’ve almost scrapped this post three or four times because all of the words feel like a cliche. They feel like too much sometimes because I’m dramatic with how I felt. It was big, and powerful and impactful and I don’t how to describe it without being dramatic. Because what’s dramatic if not just big emotions and big reactions to those emotions? And love? Between you and me? That was pretty great.

(And it also sometimes feel like it’s not enough. Like there aren’t words to describe these feelings. Like they’re inadequate.)

I think the thing that stands out the most is that when we were together, I felt calm. I wasn’t overthinking, I wasn’t panicking or worrying. It felt like when you were with me you brought me peace. And I’ve never felt that way before. It feels intoxicating to feel calm when my regular feeling is one of turmoil, of anxiety. At first I thought it was just our bubble, that being in our bubble together brought an element of safety. But just thinking about you gives me that hit of calm. Even now, more than a year later, I feel a sense of calm when I think of you.

Another big one is acceptance. In the world, with everyone else, I always feel like too much. Too emotional, too serious, too introspective, too dramatic, too loud, just generally too much. But with you? You made me feel like everything about me was just right. And I’m actually starting to cry as I’m writing this because do you know how that feels? To feel like everything about me is just right? That you’ve accepted me just as I am. With my changing moods, with my big feelings, with the tears, the awkwardness, the passing fads of interest. You accepted me just as I was and not only that but you celebrated it. You loved the way I told long, winding stories that don’t make sense until the very end, or the way I’d ask a question and we’d unravel the answer together. I feel like I could spend the rest of my life thanking you for this one feeling and it still wouldn’t be enough.

When you first came into my life, I feel like I was just starting to understand certain things about myself, that I was just starting to accept parts of myself, to know myself better. Better isn’t the right word because I feel like I didn’t know myself at all and then I started to. And when I met you, and you loved me in that messy state it felt like I wanted to take it further. That I wanted to …be the best version of myself. Not for you. But because of you. Does that make sense?

There’s something about you. Maybe it’s not. you and maybe it’s love? But it felt like it magnified everything. All my feelings got bigger and stronger. I felt like I was prettier because I started seeing myself the way you saw me. I felt funnier for the same reason. And sexier. I think I’m generally interested in lots of things but it was like because I was sharing interesting things with you that I felt motivated to be way more interesting than I normally am. Everything felt charged.

And I waited. And waited. For things to calm down. For my feelings to be less. For you to disappoint me. For me to disappoint you. That’s what love has been for me. Always a steady road towards disinterest, towards less. And it was never that way with you. Even when things ended it felt like things still burn bright. Even now, I force myself into focusing on other people, on other situations. But if I wanted to lean back into you and what we were, things probably won’t have changed.

And I don’t know if that’s scary to me or if that’s comforting. It’s probably both. Scary that I continue to have such big feelings for you. But also comforting to know that you’re in the world. And what was between us was real and lasting.

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Visiting A Nudist Spa

July 21, 2025

relationships, sex

I don’t remember much about visiting a first nudist spa for the first time. It was with my ex. We had food for lunch together before we went on a Wednesday afternoon. Again, same as when we visited a sex club for the first time, my biggest feeling from the day was that it was lovely to spend so much time together just me and him.

When we got there, the receptionist was a bit cheeky as she was checking us in. I don’t own flip flops so (horror!) I had to borrow a pair. She offered to give us a tour of the place as it was our first time and I remember sniggering at the amount of signs up that warned against chewing gum. As though the biggest threat towards running this nudist place was gum. She pointed out the changing rooms, the lockers, the showers. I don’t remember the layout off the top of my head so the rest of the tour is a bit of a blur.

I do remember that we peered into the room with the hot tubs but it was dark and steamy. Then the pool which, when I glanced in, I got a good view of an older, overweight man absolutely railing a woman from behind on a rattan bed off to the side of the pool. I was a bit shocked, not that they were having sex necessarily but moreso because it was almost the first things I saw (and then almost saw nothing else sexual for the rest of the visit?). There was a bar and a dungeon bit. A cinema, a pool table.

We walked around the tour fully clothed but once it was over we had to head to the changing rooms and showers. And this was my first time in a space that required nudity. I didn’t know how to feel taking my clothes off, walking around in just my towel. I remember we initially went into different stalls to use the shower but I got nervous and joined my ex in his. I think my main instinct at the time was to hide behind him. I remember thinking I didn’t know how I’d make it through the next few hours here.

But almost as soon as I thought that, I bucked up. I hate it when my fear prevents me from doing things so in having that thought it made me determined to make the most of it. Lean into the discomfort and awkwardness if I could.

As I said, my memories of that day aren’t strong or clear memories. I remember talking to a nice man. I don’t remember if we met him in the pool and he perhaps followed us into the hot tubs? But as he was saying something to me? to both of us? I remember thinking of a funny thing to say that I hoped my ex would find funny. And he did, he laughed and it was like we were in our own private bubble. It was always just the two of us for me.

I enjoyed the time in the pool. At first it was just me and him and we were floating about in the pool. He did a couple of laps underwater and I remember feeling a little thrill at seeing his ass as he swam past me. I think even though I felt self conscious in the beginning with my own nudity, that I got over it quickly and it was only really getting in and out of the pool or hot tubs that I noticed it much.

We got chatting to people in the pool who were quite friendly. Nudists seem to be a chatty, inclusive sort. But I quickly grew bored of conversation and started with the floating in a more secluded area of the pool. But that ended when I looked up and saw a single man sitting at the edge of the pool wanking as he was watching me. I decided that was enough alone time and went back to find my ex.

Some of the people there were a bit much. As we were still wandering around looking at the different areas and trying things out we ran into some people who weren’t really our sort of people. There was a dark room? Maybe that isn’t the right way to describe it but it’s just a really, really dark space. I’m not into the anonymous nature of spaces like that but I am very child-like at times and I wanted to see how big this space was, where it ended. We were in there talking when men joined us. I think they were determined to touch one of us so my ex (who is tall) ended up stretching his leg out so that they’d ‘accidentally’ bump into his leg. I think my ex understood that I wasn’t comfortable in this space, so we left the dark room after that.

Next to it was the glory holes. Now you know I’m not the sort of person who would enjoy glory holes but as soon as I saw them I thought … I don’t think these holes are big enough. As mentioned, my ex is very tall. And I figured if I was kneeling (on the frankly quite narrow) little ledge, and he was standing in front of it that there would be a mismatch! So I went and kneeled and him, still with his towel around him, tried it out. Him standing with his giraffe long legs did put him at the very top end of the hole and just the whole enactment of this set me off into peals of laughter. So much so that I almost didn’t hear this 60+ year old man (with his cock out? did I misremember that? was he stroking it?) tell me ‘it’s better if you stay IN the glory hole’ …

Every time we ended up in the porn cinema, a couple of single men would follow us in there. I bet each time they followed us in they were a bit disappointed that it was just him and I in there discussing the merits of the porn we were watching, talking about how unrealistic it was or me asking him if what we were watching was appealing to him. I felt like I could have talked to him all day and not grown bored. But I kept being reminded that we were around other people. That wanted to touch me in dark places, that wanted me to give them blow jobs, that wanted us to be putting on a show in the cinema.

I had a nice time with him though, we played a game of pool in which I realised how terrible I am at pool. We spent time in a private room. Once it wasn’t hugely private and I ended up being very loud near and, because the changing rooms were right next to the room we were in, there seemed to be a lot of traffic around our room. Did the fact that others were nearby heighten things for me? Did knowing they could hear us? I don’t really know. What I mostly remember about being in that private room with him was us laughing really hard before, me having this absolutely perfect moment with someone I was in love with.

There were moments of awkwardness. It was weird being there and not really interacting with other people except when in the pool. Some of the men felt creepy. The glory hole guy, the guy wanking at the side of the pool, the ones that followed us into the cinema. We were sitting opposite to a couple in the lounge area and a man sort of pushed his partner’s face onto his dick in a way that didn’t feel sexy at all to me.

But it was an experience. And one I’m very glad to have shared with my ex.

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Scare vol. 2

July 18, 2025

relationships, sex

Not long after I had a cancer scare I had another type of scare. My periods have never been consistently on time, there’s been quite a few occasions where things have arrived a few days early or a few days late. But earlier this year, I had a scare when my period hadn’t arrived after a week AND my nipples ended up being really sore in a way that felt unusual.

I googled ‘why are my nipples so sore’ and the results came back to say friction from exercise or skin conditions or … hormonal changes like during pregnancy or menstruation. Which would make sense if I ever exercise or if I was bleeding at the time. But I wasn’t. And so yeah. I thought … what if I’m pregnant.

I hadn’t really considered being worried about this when it was just a late period. I’m in my 40s, I figured I’ve probably hit peri-menopause and this is just my life now where I’ve got inconsistency and unusual body things happening. Yes, I’m sexually active but I have reliable birth control and I use condoms every time. So my worry levels were incredibly low. Until the nipple ache. And the nipple ache just continued and became a nuisance and there seemed to be no real cause for it. So once the idea came into my head, I couldn’t really ignore it.

And I did reach out to several people to talk about my worry. Mostly those people I’d had sex with at some point. At the time of my pregnancy scare, between my last period and the period that didn’t show up, I’d had three sexual partners and was still in contact with two of them.

Thankfully (is this the right word?), one of them hadn’t come when we’d had sex so he was ruled out as a potential anything and reduced the risk by one. And that didn’t really ease any of my worry but it did help that he was kind about it, he understood I was worried.

The other person I told sent me a message that read (out of context) as ‘So what?’ that triggered some anxiety even if he didn’t intend his message to be that harsh. I remember thinking …how am I even having sex with a person that might respond in a situation like this with ‘SO WHAT’ It really didn’t help matters.

I decided that I’d go out the next morning and buy a pregnancy test. There’s a store near to my house and even though it would have only taken a few minutes to drive home I decided that in my impatience to know that I’d do the test in the store toilets. When I stepped into it though the smell of it made me gag (and I briefly wondered if a sensitivity to smell was pregnancy related) and I quickly made my way back to my car.

My hands were shaking as I took the pregnancy test out of the box, tried to read the instructions on the little leaflet to know what to look out for and then I just got on with it, I had plans that day that would keep me out of the house the rest of the day and I just wanted it done, I wanted to know.

I wasn’t pregnant.

The test results were clear very quickly and the test line showed up clear as anything with no second line to confirm a pregnancy. I remember feel shaky with relief. But I was also feeling a lot of other things too.

Mostly shame. And I don’t then and still don’t know how to get rid of this feeling like I’ve done something wrong. I remember before I bought the pregnancy test thinking …what would I do if I was pregnant? How would I tell my family? How would I tell my friends or colleagues? I obviously wouldn’t have kept it but I feel like I just didn’t have the strength to tell my ex husband or my children that I had become pregnant. That it could have been one of three potential fathers.

And I don’t think I’d judge a friend going through this situation. Even a stranger. But I’m all for judging myself, for slut shaming myself in this way. Like, what are you doing acting foolishly at your age? Getting pregnant? In your 40s? Or even, having casual sex with multiple men? Not even being sure of whose it might be? There was a lot of criticism in my head over this period of time.

A lot of my thoughts centred around this idea of ‘what are you doing with your life? How did you get to this point?’ And I know logically that I’m not doing anything wrong, I don’t need to justify my relationships, sexual or otherwise to anyone. And yet I still feel shame. I still feel guilty, maybe. Selfish. Embarrassed to be have been in this situation.

And I need to figure out a way to be kinder to myself. To adopt some self-compassion. I did everything I should have. I am responsible in my birth control decisions and using protection. And I am also deserving of sexual fulfilment. I knew that in ending my marriage that would mean looking for others to meet my emotional and physical needs.

I sometimes feel like I don’t deserve happiness or to have sex and pleasure because of the bomb I dropped on my marriage. But it isn’t true. I do deserve happiness. And pleasure. I just need to believe it when I tell myself.

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First Date

July 10, 2025

dating, relationships, sex

I hadn’t intended to write a series of posts walking down memory lane but now that I’ve started, I’ll continue with at least my first date story. It’s a bit unusual maybe in terms of how fast everything happened but it was by design and I knew what I was doing with it. Plus, all these years later it still makes me smile to think of it.

To set the scene, I was both raised in a strict home environment and also in a house where I had all the freedom I could ever want. I don’t know how much that makes sense? But my dad and older brother were protective and even when I might have a crush or had any attention from my brother’s friends, it would quickly be shut down by my dad or my brother.

Fast forward to me being a teenager with access to public transport, the Internet had meant that spaces online had been created where I could connect with others without the presence of my family and didn’t have to rely on school or hobbies to connect me with other people. So at 16, I went on my first date.

He was someone I met online in a chatroom for my local area. We must have messaged back and forth quite a bit before we agreed to meet up but I don’t remember what we talked about. He was 18 and I don’t remember too much about him all these years later. He had a proper adult job, he lived in his own studio flat. He had a car. He seemed to be interested in me, which was key for me. Eventually he asked if I wanted to go on a date and if I would like to be picked up?

I hadn’t wanted him to know where I lived right away, so I agreed and met him at the park at the end of my road. I remember what I wore. Wide legged jeans and my favourite vest top, no bra. My hair down and wild around my face. I hadn’t thought to change my clothes or brush my hair. And as I leaned over to say hi to him through his car window I remember that when he saw me, he did this big gulp before he said ‘oh god, you’re really pretty’ and I smiled. It was the first time I remember anyone ever telling me that I was pretty.

I think he had hoped that I would be impressed by his car. It was red and possibly a model of car that is impressive to other people. I liked that he had his freedom with it. He drove me to a place that sells burgers just a bit nicer than fast food and again, I don’t remember what we talked about all evening. I mostly remember that I didn’t particularly like how tall he was (probably 6’2) but I liked his big blue eyes and when he smiled, which wasn’t often, he looked younger than he was. I think he thought I was more serious than I came across online so it was a surprise to him when I said something funny.

After we’d finished eating, he asked if I needed to get back home or if I had some time to drive around. I was intrigued enough to say I’d stick around and we drove around listening to the music playing from the radio. He didn’t like my taste in music, if I recall, but we argued about it in a way that made me laugh.

Eventually he parked his car in this area that sort of overlooked the town we lived in. When he turned the engine off he blushed a little bit before he said surely I’ve been here before, sorry for him not being more original. And I said I hadn’t been there before. He was surprised, he said it was a place that a lot of people go to … and he got embarrassed again and almost didn’t want to finish the sentence. Make out? I suggested and he seemed relieved that I wasn’t offended.

Where do you normally go on your dates? he asked. This is my first date, I said. More surprise. And he said does that mean I’d had boyfriends and stuff and just hadn’t been out on a date? Nope, I said. And that’s when he got a little quiet. Processing that, I guess.

I loved that he was surprised. I loved that he thought I was the type of pretty girl that got invited out to dates so often, that I’d breezed through all the hot date spots, that I had experience with boys. But I wasn’t that girl. But I loved pretending to be that girl with him. So when he started playing a game, I went along with it.

So …that means you’ve never been kissed before? And I smiled. No, I’ve never been kissed. Do you want to? he asked. And silently, I leaned over to him, trying to lick my lips first before I had my first kiss. That was soft and gentle and exceedingly sweet.

So …that means you’ve never had a second kiss? No, I’ve not. Or a third kiss… and there we were kissing again around my smile. I don’t remember all the things he said to me that night. The different suggestions he gave.

But they kept coming so …you’ve never been touched by a boy? on your neck? or kissed on your neck? No. I think he liked being all my firsts. That I’d never been to a make out spot and made out for hours. His hand started easing up my vest top at one point but he’d stop and he’d say so …that means nobody has ever touched you here, as his hand slowly went higher up to the side of my breast. No, I’d say, breathless from pleasure, nobody has ever touched me there. Or here? he said, as his fingers grazed across my nipple.

It was agonising in its slowness, as he stopped each time to ask, to get my confirmation that that had never happened. The unspoken consent I gave as I leaned into his kisses, into his touch. Into every suggestion he gave. Even when he knew he was crossing a line. But I was young and impatient and I wanted it all. I knew where my boundaries were and he didn’t cross any of them. He was chancing it but I wanted to go to these places with him, I was ready, I’d just never had this opportunity before.

So …does that mean you’ve never seen a penis in real life? No, I haven’t. Do you want to?

Does that mean you’ve never touched a penis before? No. Do you want to?

Does that mean you’ve never had a penis in your mouth before? Do you want to?

I was acting and making decisions on pure instinct but I didn’t feel like I was doing anything wrong, I didn’t feel pressured. I knew that I was in control, he put me in charge of what I wanted to do and what I didn’t. And I knew all along that if I’d said ‘no’ that things would end. But even in the moment I remember wanting to know how far things would go, where would they end?

But I swirled my tongue over his dick for a few minutes at the most before it all ended and I think with his release some of the lust haze had cleared and he suddenly felt bad that we’d done what we had. It all ended fairly rapidly after that and he dropped me home.

But he called me the next day. And the next day. And once, a few weeks later, as we were walking about the High Street, holding hands he abruptly stopped and said ‘I really like you, will you be my girlfriend?’ And so he became my first boyfriend as well as all my other firsts.

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When It Should Have Happened

July 8, 2025

relationships

It’s funny how I start to unravel certain things in my head. The layers upon layers within relationships. The cracks that start out small and turn into canyons. That break up a marriage.

My ex and I are still in the process of finalising our divorce. And it’s been a rollercoaster, if I’m honest. Everything fell apart for the last time 4 and a half years ago and we’re still walking through the steps of splitting our lives from each other. It’s been complicated and I won’t get into the details. But I was thinking the other day how it all should have happened 15 years ago.

I’m coming up to a very personal anniversary. It has nothing to do with my marriage or any relationship I’ve had. It’s an anniversary about me only. And it was in the thinking of how I will celebrate this anniversary that I remembered that this thing happened.

I met my ex husband online many years ago. And at the same time in the space online, I met a friend of mine. Perhaps I should put friend in quotes there but no. He was a friend. And he was a good friend for a long time. What happened wasn’t about him and all about me. I met my ex husband and this person at the same time. And for awhile when things got serious between me and my ex husband, my friendship with this other person obviously took a step back.

I got married, my life as a partnership started. And there were always cracks. Always. I’ve talked about this at length in therapy but there were always things that I’d consider red flags that I didn’t see, didn’t consider, didn’t concern me at the time. And yet I persisted. Because there was a lot of good in my relationship, in my marriage.

But when things started becoming not so great, my friendship with this man reignited. We’d email every now and again, mostly to update each other on the overlap of the people we used to know. He had kept in touch with some of them and I had kept in touch with others. We were never particularly close, never deep friends. Until we were. I remember it happened gradually in the year or 18 months before The Thing happened. I’d slowly change our once monthly emails into more frequent messaging. I’d ask him more questions, I’d bring up subjects that would dig deeper into who he was as a person.

I look back on it now and can see with clarity what I was doing. I was blind to my own loneliness and I was seeking out meaningful emotional connection with whoever was available, whoever was amenable to me chipping away at their walls. To get closer, to burrow into someone else. And this friend of mine wasn’t innocent. I definitely developed some feelings for him and objectively speaking, even though I didn’t say anything nor did he, I feel like it’s safe to say that so did he. We crossed a line, him and I. And it all came to a head shortly before my anniversary 15 years ago.

We had been talking online for hours that night. The only thing I remember specifically is that I brought up this anniversary. He thought it was really cool and asked how I’d celebrate, what I would do to commemorate this day. And I said probably nothing? and he objected to that very strongly. He said he refused to let such an important day go unnoticed and uncelebrated. He was going to buy me flowers and have them delivered on the day. I remember feeling pleased and like an actual spark had been lit inside me. He asked for my number so we could arrange the details another time. I gave him my number but then told him that I’d need to go, I was feeling pretty sleepy.

I turned off my computer, went into the bedroom I shared with my ex husband, plugged my phone into my charger and went to the toilet to brush my teeth. In the few minutes I was in the bathroom, it happened. My friend had sent me a text message because he’d had my number for all of 10 minutes. The text had read ‘Going so soon?’ with a winky face. And possibly a kiss. And the thing was, it was 2am and I’d left the ringer on so it made a noise to let me know that someone had texted me. But they’d done it when I was out of the room.

And things weren’t right between me and my ex husband. I don’t blame him for looking at my phone. To see who had texted me so early in the morning. But seeing that text it laid things fairly open as to what I’d been doing the last couple of hours. Talking to someone else. In a manner that warranted a flirtatious emoji, a kiss.

I look back on it now and wonder how things didn’t just end then. It would have been better, probably. Saving ourselves the slow death of our relationship for the next ten years. We stayed up very late that night not talking. Mostly lying next to each other in bed being inches away from each other but feeling like an entire ocean separated us. And there was distance between us. I hadn’t broken what was between us but I’d brought our broken parts into the light. But that night and the difficult nights after it we chose to resuscitate the dying embers of who we were.

Years later, and years after we should have, we decided to finally end things. And he said something to me that felt quite cold and awful but it makes sense in the context of everything happened. But he said he was always waiting for me to tell him that I’d cheated on him. That he always just lived with that feeling, knowing that it was possible. That it had happened. And that he was waiting for confirmation that it had happened again.

And I’ve carried that comment around with me for years. It’s been a heavy burden. I’ve always felt like I deserved the pain of that comment. That I deserved the guilt I carried, at hurting him. At the betrayal of what I had done. But it’s taken me actual years to also get to a point where I realise that there was hurt and betrayal on both sides. Am I excusing my behaviour? Am I excusing that I stepped out of my marriage? Am I excusing that I hurt my ex? No.

I’m just allowing myself a little bit of grace. That for every story like mine there’s also the story of my marriage. The one where I stopped feeling safe, where I stopped feeling supported, where I stopped feeling important. I give myself grace because I know the ways in which I told him that I was unhappy, that my emotional needs weren’t met, that I needed something from him. And I know that in hundreds of ways he did nothing, didn’t see my pain, didn’t see my hurt.

We did a pretty great job of hurting each other.

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Unsticky

July 7, 2025

dating, relationships, sex

I first read Unsticky by Sarra Manning the same week it was published 16 years ago. I had been a fan of her YA books and I was excited to read her first foray into the adult market. It’s a book about a young woman who accepts an older man’s proposition to be his girlfriend in exchange for thousands of pounds per month. On a whim, I decided to pick it up again to see if I’d love it as much this time as I did when I first read it.

One of the first things that surprised me was that I was in my mid to late twenties when the book first came out. I remember being drawn into the story and loving it completely – but I didn’t have memories attached to my own age. I’d been married for nearly a decade when Unsticky was published and despite only being a few years older than the main character, Grace, I found that I had nothing in common with her. I didn’t understand her. Not just that she was in fashion working at a magazine. But all of it. Being single at 23. Living in London, going out and meeting people, having young people experiences. Part of the appeal about reading Unsticky was living vicariously through her experiences.

One of the most interesting things that I noticed about my initial reaction and how that opinion has changed is my reaction to the age gap between Grace and Vaughn. When I first read it, I was pretty shocked at him being 18 years older than her, and gasp, in his early 40s. I remember when I first read it I didn’t think people in their 40s were appealing to me sexually and when I read it I actually pretended like he wasn’t in his 40s but that his age hovered around the more acceptable 35 (god, I was awful!). Now that I’m in my 40s, shockingly my perspective has changed.

I think this time around I viewed some of Grace’s realisations about her own sexual pleasure to be a lot more interesting but also her views on relationships and dating. Obviously this is because I’ve been on my own quest towards figuring out my own sexual wants and needs and dipping my own toes into relationships and dating. Her cynical view of love made me sad then and it still makes me sad now. But there are things that are said in the book that still make me feel deep inside because of the truth of it.

I’m pretty sure the ‘whim’ I had was more to explore a story where the relationship the two main characters have seems cold and like a business transaction but not so deep down there’s real love and affection there. I think I wanted to read it because I want to pretend that the situationship I’m in goes deeper than it does. I want to pretend that at the end of our story will come declarations of love too.

And it was nice to slide back into familiar story for a bit. With the crazy highs and lows of fashion and high art, with bickering best friends and prickly men. It’s definitely a favourite for a reason.

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