Real Sex Lives, Dusky: The Visit to the London Lover

(You have arrived in the midst of a grand celebration in which we're re-running IBWMW's all-time greatest Real Sex Stories. So get comfortable there and have a look.)

This is part 3 of 3 of Dusky's True Wife's Tale. It's so beautifully written and so well captures the shifting tones and moods of the visit to see her lover in London that I really don't want to muck it up with extraneous commentary. (However, if you'd like to get caught up on Dusky's story, start with:  "I Have Had One Great Love and One Great Lover and They Are Not the Same Man" then "I am Going to See That Old Lover")

So sit back, grab a cup of tea or other U.K.-approved beverage, and let's head to London with Dusky to visit that sexy old flame...

Ah hello...

I've been building myself up to writing to you.  Unfortunately things didn't go so well. :(  However, in the end, it hasn't been all bad.  Like everything else with my trip it seems to be a case of not really getting what I wanted, but in the end getting what I needed.  I find it hard to summarise all my feelings and what happened.  So I've just typed out the full story even though it's rather long! Please feel free to edit and post it should it be of interest.  Perhaps as a cautionary tale!

A few weeks ago was my wedding anniversary.  Hubby and I had a lovely day: we went out for lunch and wine tasting at a beautiful winery, drank more wine at home, and had some nice marital nookie.  I was also in the very strange position of spending some of the day packing for holiday and messaging my lover to arrange our date.  The next day I got on the plane to London.

I arrived in London-town on a Saturday morning.  I messaged the lover on my UK number, letting him know I was in town, and receiving a suitably excited response.  I teased that maybe he'd like to catch up while I was in town?  "Gosh, yes, that would be wonderful" replied the man who was already in the process of booking a hotel room for us for the following night.  Sunday I spent the day at a rather posh luncheon with my uncle, chatting as eloquently as I could manage with the men my uncle & late father rowed with at university.  When I got a spare moment I messaged the lover to say how proud he would be of my good-girl act... he responded "if only your polite company knew what was going to happen to you later tonight."  I was SO excited thinking about exactly what would be happening to me that night.  After lunch I was shaking with anticipation as I prepared for my date... putting on my best perfume, applying the make-up I so rarely wear, slipping the lingerie chosen for his tastes onto my recently de-fuzzed body (normally more bear-like in the quantity of hair), and my most striking and flattering dress.  I looked good and felt great.  He was running late from work, but I didn't mind... he was keeping me updated, and I spent the time having a pre-date date with London, wandering around Westminster, admiring Big Ben and the local attractions in the most beautiful summer evening light imaginable.  My lover rang me to arrange the exact spot to pick me up and I heard his soft, posh, sexy voice for the first time in years.  At last he arrived... and from there I have to say my fantasy went downhill.

He looked good, and seemed pleased to see me.  He teased me about the tattoo on my hand and asked after my family... we checked in at the hotel and then went out to dinner.  In the hotel room he said it was good to see me and kissed me.  It was a good kiss, slightly awkward but sensual.  We could well have gone to bed there and then but we were both determined to have a date to build up the tension.  But maybe we should have stayed in.  If I were to do it again it would be just a private, quiet night in a nice room (not a bland little one with no view and barely more than a bed), with a good bottle of wine and some beautiful music and many hours to talk deeply and passionately before eventually making it to bed.  In any case, we went out.  He took my hand as we walked and told me about his work.  I'm a lot older than the starry eyed little thing that fell for this older man a decade ago, and I was surprised at how much he brags about himself.  I suppose he always did, it's just that it used to impress me rather than bore me.  Over dinner we chatted quite mundanely, just general catch-up type things, about work and home life.  We talked about our partners a lot which I'd planned to avoid but found myself doing.  Neither of us got jealous, but it certainly didn't add to the romance of the evening.  We didn't really flirt or seduce one another at all.  We walked back to the hotel in the same manner and then we were there, just stuck in the little hotel room and its bed.  I sat on the bed and he put the telly on, stripped down to his underwear and joined me.  Intimate as spouses.  Ridiculous.  I'm sure he hoped for a positive reaction to his body, but I was waiting for a compliment myself and some attempt at seduction!  In the end we made a few jokes about the movie on the screen, and then I turned onto my stomach so that I was looking up at him and we started making out.  I got turned on by his touch instantly, and so we continued.  He told me in his posh accent that I have "magnificent tits", and we were soon naked. 

Neither of us were very attentive to the others body.  I had longed to see his cock but I was feeling under-seduced and not much in the mood for pleasuring him, so I only went down on him very briefly.  He had claimed to be aching to go down on me, in his words he NEEDED, not WANTED, but NEEDED to have me cum in his mouth.  But that turned out not to be the case either... a polite visit to my clit was deemed adequate that night.  And then the moment we'd been waiting for, the moment he'd described so many times, when he was going to look deep into my come-to-bed-and-fuck-me eyes (as he has described them) and ease his cock inside me... well we kind of missed it.  Instead he had me guide him into me as he kissed my neck.  The sex was quite good, but not spectacular.  He promised, as he always used to, not to cum until I gave him permission (the english are so polite)... but eventually he was clearly out of energy and decided to "gift" me his orgasm.  Having  not had one myself (no lover, not the six an hour you bragged about, NONE) I wasn't entirely pleased about that.  Afterwards I just about cried as I thought "I've cheated on my husband for nothing."

The cuddling afterwards was lovely though, he put on some classical music and I snuggled up to his big hairy chest as I always had before.  We slept a few brief hours in each others arms, and then at a stupid hour of morning he had to leave for work again.  He, dressed for work, kissed my sleepy, naked self goodbye and it was as beautiful as when our affair began 10 years ago.  I wanted him desperately and he hoped to return in a couple of hours for some final loving before check-out.  However, he never returned.  He got stuck at work and I checked out alone, feeling a bit dirty and very sad.  I walked along Southbank in my socks (my feet had swollen on the flight and my shoes were killing me) feeling very sorry for myself.  I met my dear cousin for lunch and told her the sad tale of my thwarted romance.

By the evening, however, I was missing him.  I reasoned that of course it was going to be disappointing after so much build up.  We're both older, more tired, less easily impressed.  We had limited time and I felt guilty even though I had no reason to.  I realised that if I all I wanted was spectacular sex, I would hire a gigolo, and discovered that isn't what I want - I want a lover to be intimate with.  I decided it was unfair to judge a man I love on his 'performance'.  I knew that if we could just see each other again all would be well.

But he was working away and I was only in England briefly.  We stayed in touch throughout my trip and tried to organise another date, but it didn't happen.

Now I am home.  I am very sad to be back in the middle of nowhere for many reasons, and husband and I are making new plans to leave this town.  BUT, things with husband couldn't be better.  I didn't get the great sex I wanted out of my system, but instead this supreme lover has been taken down from his pedestal.  Husband has been LUDICROUSLY pleased to see me and desirous of me.  I've never known him to be so in need of me and so wonderfully lusty.  We've had very enjoyable sex at least once a day since I've been home, having previously got down to about once a fortnight!  And with a break from homelife, I realised how very, very spoilt I am, so I appreciate him so much more.  The most important relationship in my life is as good as can be.

As for my 'lover', well we'll just have to see.  Once it was clear that I wouldn't see him again, I sent him an email admitting to my lack of satisfaction with our night, and noting that I couldn't believe he could have been satisfied either, given the levels of passion and pleasure we used to enjoy.  I decided there was no point pretending it had been everything I'd hoped for, especially as I was quite sure it wasn't what he hoped for either.  I have yet to receive a response, other than a simple farewell when I left England.  I don't really expect to hear from again, and I feel a bit heart-broken over it.  One friend told me that there are plenty more DELICIOUS fish in the sea, and that I should waste no more time on a dead cod.  At first I agreed, he is simply old!  But I can't help still caring for the bastard and knowing that he is a passionate person who I still wish was passionate about me.

Husband and I still have an 'open' relationship... further experiences are still a possibility for both of us in the future.  In the end, he wasn't jealous that I slept with someone else and I really didn't have to get so emotional about having done so.  Our relationship is better than ever and I think this holiday and even my night of not-so-much-passion helped get us there.  But would I recommend rekindling an old affair?  Perhaps only to see that grass isn't greener.

Dusky.

(photo: Jean Harlow in Griffith Park, photos by Edwin Bower Hesser, 1929)