What the fuck did I do?

This speaks to a different part of me. I have an alarming ability to compartmentalise. There's wife, family, home.  It's a good place. A warm, happy place. Comfortable for all concerned. But the sex and the lust have gone for now. There is companionship and there is love. I wouldn't want to lose it and I've give up everything in my double life in an instant to keep it.

But whilst I can have my cake and eat it, I do...

But there are two cakes that I eat.  One is rich, moist, decadent and thrillingly naughty. But it's availability is limited; I can't readily escape to the arms of the mistress baker.  The other is more bite-sized and more easily acquired. It doesn't leave a succulent aftertaste, but it satisfies whilst it's there.  This analogy is wearing thin.  Plain and simple Bardot is a real lover, full of desire and lust and fire, but her embrace resides the wrong side of the Pennines, whereas IKEA (as I call the agency) is flat-pack sex (beautiful design, but of no lasting value).

So I found myself at IKEA again yesterday. Probably no coincidence it was yesterday, Dr Melfi would suggest. My chosen sales assistant was S.  S is 5ft 10, slim, long brown hair. She rides to keep fit and to be gripped by her thighs is to envy the horses.  She told me tales of holidays and sky diving and swimming with sharks and I was in awe of her lust for adrenaline rushes. And then I put the drink down and pulled her close and kissed her.  And as we kissed I ran my hand over her bum and pulled the hem of her tight red dress up so I could feel the soft cheek beneath. She pressed herself in to me, whilst undoing the buttons of my shirt and pulling it off. I returned the favour by pulling her dress off over her head. I couldn't resist sliding the strap of her slip off her shoulder to reaveal her breast, which I fondled before kissing, licking and nibbling her succulent nipple.

Within moments I was naked and only her g-string remained. Her pussy was wet and she responded to my touch as I slid two fingers along and inside her. "Time for a shower", she said.

And there, as she pressed me into the cold tiles and the hot water ran down my chest, she slid down to take me in her mouth, maintaining eye contact as she did so. I could have cum. I didn't. She tore a condom open with her teeth, with one hand put it on me, kissing me deeply all the time, and then she turned and bent over, and pulled my cock into her.  With my hands on her hips, while hers kept her balance against the wall, I thrust hard and fast with no means to make the moment last.  Her cunt gripped ever tighter as I screamed out in pleasure and she moaned.  Even after I'd cum, I kept thrusting as her grip hadn't loosened and her moans hadn't abated. She turned and kissed me passionately.  She wasn't done and she wanted me to give her more.  But time was against me and so I will have to return another day. 

And I reflected later that evening on why IKEA stands apart from all the other agencies in the market. It's there from the moment you land on the website. There's something real about it. It's not tacky, it's professional. It doesn't have seedy lists full of acronyms and euphemisms
of what each girl does and doesn't do. It has tasteful, stylish, photos and full and detailed pen portraits. And the Madam is honest about the pros and cons of each girl, and ferociously protective of them.  But her secret is that she used to be in human resources, before setting up in business. So she interviews all the girls and rejects 99%. And if they get on her site, then they get coaching and support and feedback. i give Madam feedback and they learn what works.  They get training so to speak.

So an appointment isn't a lottery. I know that I will spend time with a charming, bright, attentive young woman, who knows her own mind and knows why she's doing this for a job. I always ask them and they always tell me. They are a credit to themselves, each and every one. Whereas I wouldn't say that of any other agency or independent I've seen (although I've only had five non-IKEA experiences). And so the quality is what keeps bringing me back. It's refreshing to spend time in the company of these young women who are a credit to their generation (because let's face it so many of us over 40s think the 20somethings are a bunch of indolent, greedy, amoral narcissistic pleasure seekers with no thought for anything beyond D&G, Jimmy Choo and the next Mini Cooper S).

So I was weak. I succumbed once more. But I've promised to ration my treats. To keep me in shape for my next Bardot liaison.

But I jest, when in fact it's getting me down. I can't focus on work, I can't train properly (for the Marathon...ten days and counting), I've not been blogging and I've not been writing to or for those that deserve better than this flaccid Floydian philanderer.  I don't even fancy a fantasy fuck (and that usually distracts me!).  Oh woah is me.

My hacking cough has progressed to pleghmy noise, which hurts less but tastes disgusting. It ain't man flu though.  Never had that.  It's just a cold. Or a cough to be precise.

And the debate about sex and colds is true. But can't say I feel libidinous when there's a chance of an inappropriate coughing fit and consequent early onset ejaculation.  I'll wait until I'm fit and healthy.

It also put pay to my final long run before the Marathon.  Which is a bugger.  Less than three weeks to go now and the second half of the training schedule has been shot to bits by injury and illness.  I'm looking forward to it, but will admit to being concerned about the last 6-8 miles.  I can't imagine I'll have anything left in the tank at that point.  My plan to get round in under 3:45 has been abandoned. My plan is to get round now.

Meanwhile, for any of you in London, how could you? If the rumours are true, and the racist, mysogenist, liar Boris Johnson is the next Mayor, then shame on you for letting it happen.  Ken has his faults, but Boris Johnson?  Hartlepool elected a monkey as mayor, so the primordial suburban slime with their SUVs and Fendi bags that rate Johnson must figure they need a leader one step further down the evolutionary track.

Political rant over....moving on...

This week I are mostly been listening to Elbow's version of Independent Woman (Destiny's Child) http://www.rathergood.com/independent_woman/; The Last of the Shadow Puppets and Portishead's brilliant return, Third.  So, some Lancashire comedy, some Scott Walker nostalgia and some disturbing tortured trip hop. A good week I'd say.