Having had a nice time with Lucky Jim, I turn my attentions to Sam, who has assured me that I won't get better than him. It's an intriguing promise, and I do wonder if he realises quite how many men he is up against (I'm not in triple figures yet, but approaching my half-century, and I haven't had to complain about poor performance very often). Unfortunately, before our intended date I wake up in the middle of the night from a nightmare where he has turned into an evil axe murderer and I am running for my life. As I lie there with my heart pounding, I wonder if my subconscious is trying to tell me to steer well clear of him, but then put it down to good old Catholic guilt warning me that I will be punished for trying to sleep with 3 men in the space of a week.
Nevertheless, after we meet in the same Ditchling pub again, and he suggests I follow him back to his place in my car, I make sure I get his address and text it to MM, just in case I end up being a bloody corpse somewhere in Sussex - at least he'll know where to start searching for the body. Once I'm in his house I watch for anything suspicious - the first being that the house looks like something out of the 1950s and he obviously doesn't live there, judging by the lack of furnishings, personal items, etc. Well, he has already told me he only stays over when he's working late...or "entertaining" (nice to know that in these economically strapped times "working late" can still mean a bit of illicit shagging). He doesn't double lock the door behind me, so I take that to be a good sign. Next he pours me a glass of chilled white wine and he has a beer - I watch him like a hawk and grab the wine off him before he can tip in some Rohypnol. Next we move into the sitting room (vast empty space, harsh lighting, with one ancient red velveteeen sofa and a pile of cartoon DVDs - sign of paedophilia?). I am wearing a short wraparound dress with stockings, suspenders and high heels (well, not vertiginously high because I had to drive..) and it doesn't take long before we are snogging passionately on the sofa and he has his hands working their way up to my stocking tops. I realise he isn't going to need any Rohypnol to get me into bed because I can't wait to get off the narrow, uncomfortable sofa and into somewhere with more flattering lighting. I'm worried I look like Camilla Parker-Bowles before the makeover (after the makeover would be bad enough...) and although I don't mind keeping my eyes shut when being passionately grappled with, I was having to keep them firmly shut to avoid the 400 watt bulbs in the overhead "chandelier" lasering my retinas. I love men, I really do, but how is it they are completely oblivious to their surroundings when getting a woman into bed?
Rather than ask for a pair of goggles (for me) and a blindlfold for him, I suggest we move to the bedroom and he leads me upstairs to a massive freezing cold bedroom, where the windows are wide open. Bloody hell, how am I supposed to get my kit off in sub-zero temperatures?! He apologises and shuts the windows - meanwhile I am shivering under the duvet refusing to take anything else off until he warms me up a bit. Which he does..... quite a lot, in fact. He has a very slow, gentle way of making love, which is really rather nice. In fact, we end up having sex for over 2 hours, with me coming 3 times, before he finally lets himself go and has a very long, satisfying, climax. Nice stuff! I have a lovely post-coital glow which lasts right up to when I have to go to the loo and find the nasty avocado bathroom - yes, honestly, it really was avocado. I didn't think anyone actually still had one - it should probably be listed. Being an intermittent shag, rather than a meaningful relationship, I don't have to worry about his taste in furnishings - but, still, I feel for any other women who may pass this way. Then he explains the house is due to be demolished and so nasty sofas, laser beam chandeliers and avocado bathrooms will all make way for a new development and earn him lots of dosh.
I make it home in one piece, and congratulate myself on finding 2 very nice men who are great in bed and just what I am looking for. And both of them seem keen to see me again. Being an upfront sort of girl, I have told both of them about the other - on the basis that it will make them more competitive and I will get more attention as a result. I know - it's appalling, manipulative behaviour, but it seems to work - they both want to see me next week - in fact, they are both edging to be first on the list. Now I have to ensure I share myself out fairly, as well as ensure MM doesn't miss out on his oats either. I know I'm being greedy,so could all this end up being more than I bargained for?