The third man

You know when you’re lying in bed, but you’re just too happy to even consider sleeping? I’m here, in a Travelodge, jiggling with joy. I may be lying down, but that isn’t stopping me from pumping my fist in the air. And my feet are literally dancing. Doesn’t matter that I’m alone and horizontal. I’m dancing.

I’m in a Travelodge because I met my Welshman, who got a hotel room for us, rather than introducing me to his housemates. Not that I’m objecting. He went home at 10:30 and left me with the the hotel room to myself. It’s so good having a room to myself. And a bathroom to myself. After a week and a half in the hostel I feel like a king here. I have four pillows all for me and a bed that feels solid and won’t break under me if I move suddenly. I’ve never appreciated a bedroom more. I didn’t tell my Italian roommate that I wouldn’t be home tonight. No doubt he’s at home, vaping furiously with no one to bore on at about macroeconomics.

I didn’t enjoy my day. I was nervous about this guy. He was younger and hotter than either of the men I’d been with earlier in the week and he had paid for a hotel room. Expectations were high. And that’s scary. I considered pulling out (LOL) more than once.

I was right not to pull out.

It was a lovely night. He’s as hot in person as he is in his photos. I could have just looked at him for hours, not to mention actually touching him. Being allowed to touch hot naked men is one of my favourite things in the world. Especially when they touch you back.

He was enchanted with my body. He gently ran his fingers along my stretch marks, commenting on how many of them I had, like I was lucky. I felt like Shirley Valentine when she’s on the boat and the Greek waiter kisses her stretch marks and tells her they’re beautiful. He asked me loads of questions about being fat, about the sensations, about clothes, about different body parts. He was more into my body than I’ve ever been into anything. He’d been abstaining for a few days in order to enhance the encounter, and it certainly did. He came like Niagara Falls.

And after we got the sex bit out of the way, it got even better. Usually, I like to get away after that bit, but not tonight. We lay together, hugging, caressing, chatting, getting to know each other. I actually wanted to get to know him. He’s funny and kind and interesting and interested in me. I’m grinning as I write this, and cuddling a pillow.

It will be no surprise to any of you that when I fall for someone, it’s not the bear-ish Italian from last Sunday, or the distinguished older Argentinian from Wednesday. Of course it’s the 22-year-old twink that I get all gooey about.

Anyway, he left after a few hours, leaving me alone to dance and sing songs from the musicals.

I’m going to try not to message him too often and I’ve only creeped on his Facebook once and I’m not going to be all needy. I’m not.

So I’ve had an unbelievably slutty week. I’ve been to bed with three different men this week. Brand New Connor. That’s more men than I was in total in the last three years.

But this week will be different. I’m not going to meet as many men. This week I’m going to focus more on my writing and less on men. I’ll still focus on men a bit. But this week is a writing week.

PS: You know when you’ve used a phrase all your life and never thought about the meaning? Well, tonight, my heart is literally warm. It’s been a heartwarming night. It’s like my manfriend broke in and put a hat and mittens on my heart.
Squeeee!

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