At the time of writing I have already seen him twice in one week. I have already met him in a public place for safety, shared a nervous drink with him and invited him back home with me. 

He is stocky but tall with a beard and tattoos. He has asked if he is my usual type – I guess he isn’t but there is something about him that has me already captivated. 

He is the first man in a very long time who is my age. Gasps from the audience. 

I wait for him to make the move of course – and it’s a delicious kiss. His beard is way softer than it looks and he doesn’t push the boundaries too far on my sofa. He doesn’t ever tell me what to do. 

The first time I ride him all night until my thighs are sore and we fall asleep together. And then again in the morning before work. I cannot walk properly for two days : between us at least five orgasms through tongue, face sitting and penetration. 

He is gentle and sensual and he skilfully removes any doubts I had about my prowess from my most recent partner. I lie in his arms and gaze at the tattoo of the Japanese mask emblazoned on his chest. We laugh a lot. We fucking giggle, reader. I feel weirdly at home with this dichotomy of a man who looks like he belongs in a hipster coffee bar but actually is the opposite. 

—

The second time I have chance to dress up a little more. My knickers are soaking, I have been horny all day craving him. This time he struggles to stay erect to penetrate me but his fingers more than make up for it. He uses a vibe on me until my insides ache: a very new experience for me on both counts. I experience an orgasm where I hallucinate a little it’s that intense. 

Oh he’s a keeper.