About two years ago I decided, for a number of reasons, to stray from my marriage. Not least because with my husband, who is more than thirty years my senior and whom I love dearly, there had been no physical relationship whatsoever for somewhere around twelve years. After such a long period of time of living in a relationship more akin to one like father-daughter, I realised that I didn’t want to lose out on what possibly might be left of just a few years of sensual pleasure life might still hold in store for me. It was not an easy step to take – indeed, it was against all the principles I had held up in the past.

By that time I had already made some contacts on-line, interestingly on a word-game site which apart from the game itself also had a chat facility. This in turn was used by some players for the exchange of saucy messages, and for some more steamy chats. (More about this perhaps in another story) One of my friends from there pointed me to another app specifically designed for flirting, chatting and the exchange of (sometimes very explicit) photographs.

Once I had signed up and found my way round that app, it didn’t take long to find myself engaged in a number of conversations with men from various parts of the UK (and potentially other parts of the world). Those conversations were to a great extent conducted in the form of tags to the uploaded photograph(s). One man soon caught my attention with his customised statements (as opposed to standardised tags provided by the app) and comments on my photograph. What struck me most about his photos were his piercing blue eyes and cheeky smile. He was ruggedly handsome, in his mid-forties, and as he told me, about 5’8 tall. After a few weeks of chatting on an almost daily basis, we were discussing the possibilities of meeting up, and soon an opportunity arose for me to get away from home for a night.

Once we had agreed on the date, we played through some scenarios on what would happen when we met. He used quite explicit language, and the scenarios he painted were exceedingly exciting. Closer to the day we exchanged phone-numbers, just to be able to stay in touch if necessary. And then, the last few days before our planned meeting, he did not come on-line. I was confused, and not quite certain what to do. On the train I decided a last ditch attempt and with trembling fingers I sent him a text-message, without much hope for getting a reply: “Last chance! Are you still interested in meeting up?” Oh yes ! He was interested and would shortly be on his way to the big city. I got exact instructions what to do: After checking in (and texting him the name of my hotel and my room number) I was to take a shower, change into some sexy lingerie, and then wait for his arrival. I should be prepared to be taken immediately on opening the door. The rest of my journey passed in a haze of excited anticipation – but also worry. Had I gone totally mad? Meeting up with a virtual stranger with whom I had not even exchanged a word in person in a hotel-room was perhaps not the safest thing to do. The situation could so easily get out of hand – what kind of person would he be?

Pushing all negative thoughts aside (although they always lingered somewhere in the back of my mind), I decided that it was a delicious adventure and well worth the risk. I did as instructed and waited, giddy with excitement and anticipation, my juices starting to flow just at the thought of things to come. Finally a text message announced his arrival within the next five minutes, my heart-rate going up, my breathing becoming heavier. A knock on the door, a flash of those piercing blue eyes, a smile, a barely whispered “hello” – and being pinned against the wall, hands and tongue exploring my body, fingers in my secret places. After a few minutes and a few steps further into the room, he took off his top, revealing a number of tattoos (well, I had seen some of them on his photographs), ordering me to get on my knees, feeding me his cock, making me gag and choke. Oh, this was so much better than all the fantasies we had spun! It almost felt like an out-of-body experience – this can’t be me, the conservative, insecure, shy me! And yet, it was so real! Well, not least because the sharp slaps on my bottom while being taken from behind, kneeling on the edge of the bed, kept me firmly within the real world.

I don’t remember how often I climaxed– the whole situation was so erotic, exciting, a totally new kind of experience for me – not only had I been starved of physical attention of any kind for many years, but never in my life had I been dominated in this way before. After around forty minutes, and a shared orgasm, we finally managed to introduce ourselves properly, albeit somewhat breathlessly.

While cuddling, we chatted about our lives and various experiences in general. He was quite easy to talk to, although at times I struggled with his northern accent. Quite openly he told me that he had been quite a bad boy in his youth. Some of his stories I found rather intriguing, giving me an insight into a world very different from my sheltered upbringing. Possibly this totally different background was part of the attraction, and certainly the strong erotic energy I felt emanating from him. After a while we were ready for an encore.

During our on-line conversations the subject of anal intercourse had come up. Had I tried it? Did I like it? Was I up for it? Previously I had never liked my bottom being fingered, but I was curious nevertheless, and I had told him that I was prepared to try it. Now, with passion running high, that moment had come. He made me kneel at the edge of the bed, with one hand pushing my head down, grabbing my hair. He fingered my bottom, sticking up high in this position, using spittle as lubricant. Never before had I been treated like that. It was exciting and a bit scary at the same time. When he tried to enter me I flinched, tried to get away. But there was no escaping his grip, and I will never forget his words: “Stay there! You can stand a bit of pain!” What followed was an intense combination of excitement, pain, and, once I relaxed, lust. This mixture of sensations was truly mind-boggling. Although I didn’t climax in this way, it was a highly sensually charged experience.

Once we had recovered our breath and cleaned up we dressed and went for dinner to a Chinese place nearby, followed by a stroll around the area and a brief stop for coffee. There were still a couple of hours left before he had to catch his train, so we went back to my room for some more cuddles and sensual play. In the lift – my room was on the 8th floor – he slid his hand between my legs, pushed me against the wall, and we kissed until the door opened on my floor. With a twinkle in his eyes he told me that he had always fancied playing in a lift.

I was well and truly fascinated by this man. Never had I met someone like him before; rough and sensual, playful and serious, and very gentle and tender when we parted at the end of the evening.

About six weeks later we met again. This time we had decided that he would stay for the night, since it was a weekend. My excuse to stay away from home was that I was attending a friend’s graduation party, which would surely last too long to travel all the way back late at night. Of course I did attend part of the celebration, but left early in the evening. Unfortunately, after I had booked my room a couple of days earlier, I skipped down the garden path in joyful anticipation, tripped, and holding a bunch of keys in my right hand, crashed against the frame of my back-door. My hand swelled up immediately, but I could still move all my fingers. I wasn’t sure whether anything was broken (possibly I did break a bone or two) but I decided not to have it checked, with the argument that there was not much doctors could do in such a case. And, of course, I feared that I would have to give up on my plans for the weekend.

By the weekend, my hand was not exactly a pretty sight, swollen and bruised in dark blue hues, and quite painful. Also, of course, I could not use it properly, each movement of the little and the ring-finger causing a wave of pain, but all bearable. I was determined not to let this spoil my fun. Again, I texted him the number of my room where he joined me sometime in the early evening. His concern about my hand was almost touching. He gingerly helped me to undress (and later on, dress again), the sex we had was much more tender – but no less exciting than the first time. For dinner we went to an Indian restaurant this time. I remember that I was wearing a black, knee-length shift dress, lace-top stockings, a necklace with chunky red beads, golden ball earrings, and a red leather-jacket. When we selected from the buffet, he stood close to me, and at one point slightly brushed his hand over my hips and bottom – naughty, but a very gentle gesture. I acknowledged that gesture wordlessly with a smile on my lips and a look into his blue eyes. After dinner we went for a stroll – he offered me his arm, and I could see the pride in his eyes to be walking with me arm in arm. Back in our room I told him how nice I found that moment in the restaurant, and his answer was: “You looked so sexy in that dress with your baubles – I couldn’t help it”.

At one point later that evening, I stood at the foot-end of the bed, undressing while he looked on, playing with himself. Again, this was a totally new situation for me, and I threw him a questioning look. When I heard his words: “Woman! You have no idea how much you turn me on!” I was flattered, amazed that I could even have such a reaction from a man. I really felt special.

At the same time, I sensed some vulnerability in him and I realised that he was fighting his own demons in regard to body insecurities and stamina – I assured him that there was need for him to worry, that he was the sexiest guy I had ever met.

The rest of the evening we spent cuddling, chatting, stroking, drifting off to sleep, waking up in each other’s embrace, falling asleep again. In the morning we found ourselves spooning; I felt his hard cock between my bottom cheeks, while he reached across my body to rub my clit – gently, slowly, taking his time. Only after he had made sure that I had climaxed, he took his turn – more akin to making love rather than just sex.

We parted company soon after breakfast, but agreed that next time I would come to his place. I already had a date about four weeks later in mind when my stay in the big city was required for a few days, a Sunday evening included, when we could meet. Over the next weeks we chatted almost daily on-line, made plans of how to arrange travel for our next meeting, what we would do, etc. Once I asked him what really turned him on- he said that he would like me in a fish-net body-suit, a collar, high heels. Well, I couldn’t quite imagine myself in that kind of outfit, but I went shopping for fishnet tights, and just to be on the safe side, some crotchless fishnet tights (and another pair in a different design). A collar I made myself – with satin and velvet ribbons to which I fixed a brooch of glass crystals. I was rather pleased with the result, having created a quite elegant piece of adornment. Also, I bought myself a new body-hugging skirt and studded sandals for that weekend. I could hardly wait for the time to pass.

We continued with our flirty, sexy and naughty, but also at times serious chats, and the closer the time of the next meeting came, the higher the anticipation rose. For some reason, on the Thursday before our meeting, the atmosphere changed. He came over as aggressive and argumentative. I do not remember how we ended up on the subject about chatting with other people on the site and looking at their private pictures. Yes, I was chatting with a few other people as well, and yes, I had looked at some of the naughty pictures, too – after all I got quite a lot of them offered to me, many more than I cared to look at. But that was what the site was for – and since there were people from all over the world on there, the chances of meeting anyone else were more than remote. I must have said something that displeased him greatly, because the last message I got from him was “I don’t want to see you”. In an instant, totally unexpected, all our conversations disappeared before my eyes – he had blocked me! I couldn’t understand what had happened – thought it was a poor joke he was playing at me. Frantically I sent him a text message, asking for clarification. No reply! I was devastated, couldn’t comprehend what just had happened. I felt as if I were in free fall off a cliff, about to shatter on the ground. I was dumb-struck, totally lost, close to tears. Of course I could not allow myself to cry – the reason would have been very difficult to explain to my husband.

The next couple of days passed in a haze. I hoped he would get in touch with me, telling me it had all been a mistake. Not only did I wonder what happened, but the bigger question was even the “Why?” Surely there must have been another reason than petty jealousy for his change of mind. I could accept that our affair, brief as it was, had come to an end, but I so desperately needed to understand what had led to that end. I came up with lots of theories, asked some of my on-line friends what they thought about this matter. But of course, it was all speculation and none of the solutions seemed satisfactory.

I never heard from him again. Needless to say, that Sunday evening in the big city, which I have always loved for many reason, I felt absolutely miserable. Everything in my hotel reminded me of the time we spent together, each ride in the lift reminded me of that little interlude; walking through the streets we had taken together, seeing the happy people in the restaurants we had visited together, all choked me up with tears I could not shed. Even some of my colleagues who attended the same event as I asked whether I was alright, because I looked so sad.

He continued to use the site we met on, and sometimes his picture would come up – I could look at it but not communicate with him; memories flooding my mind causing utter devastation because I could not understand what had happened. It took me a long time to accept that I will never entirely understand what went on in his mind, and it took me a good year before I could look at his photograph – when it popped up – without becoming emotional. Call me silly (and yes, I did scold myself more than once), but I could not help my feelings.

By now, almost exactly two years have passed since our last conversation, and looking back, I still wonder, but I also can cherish the wonderful (bitter-sweet) memories of those two meetings. My first affair will always have a special place in my heart. The occasional twinge of pain in my hand inevitably brings back to my mind some of the details I just described. Our first encounter was one of the craziest things I have ever done; he still was one of the sexiest guys I ever met. But I am aware that on so many levels he would not have been the right person for me for a long-term affair. Occasionally a newer photo of him pops up on my screen, and I even start to question what I really saw in him. Obviously, in the meantime I have far more experience in conducting (an) affair(s), and probably I am more laid back about such matters. Lovers come and go, some relationships last longer than others – this is just a fact of this kind of life-style.

As a consequence, I decided never again to focus on only one single person. Having more than one affair at a time should protect me from too strong an emotional attachment to any single person. But life is full of surprises and protective measures don’t always work – in recent weeks I had a sense of déjà vue.