Last night I slept with a married man and fuck me, was it good...
Nathan, yes let's call him Nathan, and I first met when we were 18 through a mutual school friend and the first time he spoke to me whispers danced up my spine and I got so tongue tied I nearly drowned in a glass of red wine. He had a way of making me feel safe and secure and as sexy as hell and we spent almost as much time talking as we did snogging and groping, that first night, which was pretty rare back then. He was so easy to talk to, like having your best female gossipy friend and a sexy horny man all rolled into one.
We went to neighbouring schools and anyone who's ever been to a same sex Catholic School knows how horny teenagers can get. Well back then Nathan and I did pretty much everything bar the whole hog. I'm not saying we didn't try...far from it, just that every time we tried to get it on we either got interrupted by a well meaning but ultimately nosy parent or one of us had to go as our ride home was waiting. Every time we met and got hot and heavy I would wait for him to call me afterwards but he never did. He was everything to me though we never dated. He was the one I used to measure every other man against.
We lost touch for a while, I went to work and he joined the Army. I travelled around the world and so did he in his own way, albeit with a gun.
About 15 years ago we met up again through a mutual school friend who happened to run into him on the train home and she invited me along for a get together. Nathan was a few weeks away from getting married and I had just split from someone I was very much in love with. Still, the lust was there; the ghostly, barely there touches and the promises of things to come spoken through glances and smiles, and we acted on it, as much as you can at a friends house without getting caught...we still didn't get round to the actual act of sex though and for years afterwards the absence of a tangible memory would creep up on me in the middle of the night. The thought that I had, once again, let an important person get away from me. It was a regret, an itch that couldn't be scratched, a wound left to fester.
Last night we met up for dinner. He lives in town during the week, five minutes from where he works, for a high six figures I might add, and I'm living a few miles out of town, not on a high six figures...He hadn't changed much in the fifteen or so years since we'd seen each other, the hair had gone but the wit and cleverness that had so attracted me way back when was still there, the cheeky, sexy smile and the refined sense of elegance and grace that he’d always had. He was still married (which in this day and age should be applauded) and had three children (all adorably like him) and we sat and chatted and laughed and flirted and the years slipped slowly away until we were 18 again and the whole world lay in front of us; ours for the taking.
I found out that he'd always considered himself to have no confidence or style, when I'd seen this in him even back then. He'd joined the Army to give him these things when I could have told him they were already there. I told him I'd grown up feeling plain and unattractive with no self confidence and he told me he thought I was the sexiest most confident woman he knew and had always thought of me like that; crumpet! I also found out that he’d wanted to call me but as well as not having my number, he wasn’t sure whether I’d have wanted to date him or not, whilst all the time I thought he just didn’t like me. No confidence…
We toasted the paths our lives had taken us and mourned for the path we didn't take together. He told me of the slip up he'd made once in all his married life, something he’d never told another living soul. I told him of my partner’s penchant for other women, something I’d never admitted to even myself, and slowly but surely we walked along a line neither was afraid to cross.
The touch of his skin on mine after all those years was silky and intoxicating, almost as much as the amount of alcohol we'd consumed. To feel his lips on mine was heady yet emotionally unbearable, for the road not taken. When we'd finally stripped off our clothes and the outermost layer of who we are now as people and lay, naked, in front of each other it was like coming home. When he entered me I felt whole and replete and hot and horny and didn’t want it to end, but like all good things everything must end and so we drifted off to sleep, reaching out, even in Orpheus' arms, for the other, to make sure they were still there.
It was a bittersweet morning as we smiled at each other, never having nothing to say just not sure of what to say. Slowly, with that wickedly sexy smile on his face, that I adore, he turned to look at me and said...
"The only thing I regret about last night was that we were too drunk to really enjoy it, after all it was 20 years in the making."
