Eight top tips

So, you have read about my adventures and are now thinking: “I’d like a piece of this. How do I become a Drunken Slut Mum? Show me the way!” Look no further – here are eight top tips:

1. Keep your (lady) garden tidy

In the 1990s it was acceptable to have a big bush – no one ever complained about it. But now things are a little more groomed. It doesn’t have to be a Brazilian, just a tidy, non-cavewoman shape – a little indication that you pay attention to down there.

2. Have a confidante

This is particularly crucial if your situation is secret – there will be times when you need a reliable alibi, someone who you can say you are with when you aren’t and can be relied upon to cover for you if your story is checked out. You may also need her to confide in if things go wrong. Make sure it’s someone who isn’t going to judge you.

3. Underwear

If there is a possibility of some intimacy, whether pre-arranged or spontaneous –  even if you only expect to see him for a brief time, a sneaky quicky could present itself – always wear good underwear. This doesn’t necessarily mean top brand silk and lace. Some pretty bras are a must, but you can get away with less extravagant knickers, as once clothes start flying off, he’s unlikely to pay much attention to them. Own lots of plain black cotton ones – at a glance (which is all they’ll get) they will look passable (ten times more than white or greying ones) and like you have made some effort. And always have a spare pair in your handbag just in case – if you have lots of plain black ones they are interchangeable.

4. Other handbag essentials

Chewing gum or breath freshener sweets, tissues, hair band if you have long hair – just in case you end up in the bath or shower – mini bullet vibrator disguised in a makeup bag or lipstick case.

5. Have some kind of protection for your mattress

…Whether it’s a plastic cover or just an extra blanket. Secretions and wine or coffee spillages happen, especially if you are rolling round and if they go straight through to your mattress, you then have a stinky mattress.

6. Keep your days sacred

If you have a sneaky day off work for a spot of nooky, don’t tell anyone. Ok, so you will have to arrange it with work, but don’t tell anyone outside work who doesn’t really need to know – you are only setting yourself up for awkward lies, intrusions, unwanted texts or phonecalls and the risk of getting caught. Also, have your story ready for work colleagues in case you are asked what you did on your day off – “Oh, just cleaning the house, catching up on ironing, having lunch with my mum” etc. etc.

7. Smooth things over

Learn the art of meticulous planning and organisation while looking effortlessly spontaneous. Your lover doesn’t want to think you spent two weeks planning what you should wear or how you should have your hair when you get together or that you had to try three different babysitters and pencil in three different dates before you could find one to fit in childcare. He would rather not know when he pops over that you just had to spend two hours dusting and vacuuming, tried on three different “I’m just breezily casual” outfits and an hour trying to make your hair look prettily tousled. All he cares about (generally) is that your bits are clean, there’s alcohol in the house and a small child isn’t going to walk into the room when you are banging on the sofa.

8. And finally

Treasure the moments you have with him and treat every liaison as if it might be your last. That way you can be comforted by knowing you gave it your very best. All you can hope is that he is left wanting more and will come back again.

Any other business

The day got off to its usual slow, frustrating start – the 20-month-old dawdled over his toast, throwing it on the floor when he decided he’d had enough. The seven-year-old had also let breakfast drag out, gazing at a magazine and occasionally shovelling chocolate cereal into her mouth.

After running up and downstairs several times to get school and work things, we piled into the car and got to the end of the road before having to reverse up it again to dash in for a crucial comfort blanket.

But at last, we were away. I dropped the children off with the child minder and set off for work. Seemingly.

Except today I had an important meeting with The Man instead.

It was a grey, wet November morning, and the rain pelted down. I dashed out of the car and ran to his back door, which had been left unlocked in anticipation.

He got up, kissed me softly, and before I had chance to even remove my coat, he took my hand and led me upstairs. We didn’t even say ‘hello’ as he pulled his trousers down to reveal a solid, shiny erect penis. At this point I was sitting on the bed, just at the right height to lean towards it and guide it into my mouth.

I firmly grasped his upper thighs and stroked them as I licked, sucked and fondled the perfect phallus before me, carefully circling the helmet with the tip of my tongue, occasionally letting my teeth gently touch it.

Then he slowly moved onto the bed and turned himself around as I wriggled out of my trousers and pants so that I was lying under his penis and my over-excited vagina was almost leaping for joy to make contact with his tongue. ‘Yes please, now, now,’ it was almost saying!

And it was not disappointed as he flicked it on, around, up and down my clitoris. Tingling waves travelled up my body as I struggled to keep things going at my end and my breathing became deeper, heavier.

He knew I was becoming impatient to have him inside me, but carried on sending me to the edge of jittery madness before moving on top of me and touching the edge of my black hole with the end of his penis. The Man enjoyed this hovering, teasing, driving me to distraction until I virtually had to use all my strength to push him down inside me. I would then feel instant gratification, like an alcoholic desperate for her first drink – there, there it is at last!

As he fucked me, he licked his middle finger and gently twiddled my clitoris making me shake with him inside me and increasing my appetite for him to carry on even longer.

We rolled over and I climbed on top of him, taking control, leaning back to feel him deeper inside me, then leaning forward, brushing his face with my tits.

He then flipped me over and fucked me deep and hard from behind. In fact so hard that I couldn’t move but gasped at the wonderful force inside me.

As he neared a climax he pulled out and exploded all over my breasts and stomach and I smeared it over myself like it was a luxurious body lotion. We both collapsed on the bed in each other’s arms, listening to the rain tapping against the window.

So far it had been a pretty good day at work. This was the best meeting I’d had for a while. I just wondered what would come up for Any Other Business…

Making out

Sometimes it’s not the chandelier-swinging, gymnastic-style, heart-pumping sex that one needs.

Don’t get me wrong – being thrown against the wall and screwed within an inch of one’s life, has its time and place, as I have said here many times.

But there are occasions, particularly when one or both of you are tired, a bit under the weather, or just don’t want to menstruate all over the bed (which is sometimes acceptable) and need simple, warm affection.

People in solid long-term relationships take it for granted, but those of us who aren’t place high value on being held, cuddled, hugged. If these things don’t come or aren’t accessible every day, it adds an extra chill to the already cooling winter air.

When it is my turn in The Man’s ‘rota’ I don’t just want to rip his clothes off and have him throw me on the bed. I want to be kissed, cuddled, held and feel his natural warmth against me.

There are times when I am happy just ‘making out’ on the sofa, holding and being held by a solid, strong man, listening to his heart beating as I lay my head on his chest and feeling his breath on me.

Of course post-coital cuddles are a very welcome addition to the whole shagging experience too. They find you both in a state of flushed, sated, inner calm and because you have just been as intimate as two people can be, you feel even closer. It’s also better than someone jumping out of bed, into their trousers and heading for the door quicker than you can say “cup of tea?”

But the non-sexual act of someone just laying their head in my lap, as I stroke their hair and give them the occasional tiny mini kiss on their forehead, can at times be just as satisfying.

I am saying at times! I am not losing my Drunken Slut Mum status, just celebrating physical affection – something many people take for granted when they are with someone every day, probably in the same room as that person every evening, yet they choose to sit at opposite ends of the room and barely share a kiss on the cheek. It’s not about smothering someone or crowding their personal space when they are in the middle of something. It’s about showing you appreciate them and still fancy them, even if you have been together a very long time.

I maybe a self-confessed slut, but like everyone else, I still like a cuddle now and then (or maybe a bit more)!

Our lips are sealed

My unique situation with The Man means that very few people know what I get up to in my spare time.

In fact I like to think most would assume I enjoy quiet nights in with a cup of hot chocolate, a good book and a spot of needlecraft or baking. But I am not sure how convincing my image of wholesome rosy-cheeked mum actually is…

And I am not about to test it by throwing in any risky (or even risqué) conversational topics.

But even if I was in a position to reveal all, I am not sure whether it would go down well or create a sea of awkwardness, seeing as none of my peers seem to talk about sex any more. There’s gossip about so-and-so running off with thingummy-jig’s wife, but that’s as far as it goes. I am not sure if this is a by-product of being a certain age or of the majority being in long-term, settled relationships.

I go back about 14 years and a friend I hung around with at that time would be asking: “Did he have a big willy,” or “was he good” or even (after a few ciders) “did he do it up the bum?” She was exceptionally nosy, but then again we felt we could freely discuss these things without too much embarrassment.

In my student days, we also shared most things – clothes, shampoo, funny cigarettes, sex stories, even people. A few of us happened to sleep with the same person and compared experiences. “Did he try that thing on you – the one where he squeezes your bum and bites your bottom lip” – for example…

I also remember a student friend agonising with me about a night spent with someone who had strange lumps on his penis and another who was bitterly disappointed that the person she had pursued for weeks turned out to be abysmal in the bedroom.

With most women I know now having husbands or long-term partners, I imagine it is just not appropriate to talk about their sex lives – especially as their bedfellows are not disappearing out of their lives after one night. But in some ways it would be cathartic or therapeutic to have a no-holds-barred, but completely confidential chat with two or three others, even for reassurance that I am not the only person still obsessed with sex at thirty-ahem-ahem.

As for The Man, he is the paragon of discretion. He seeks no one to share with, not even in the traditional bloke pastime of sitting in the pub boasting to his mates that “I’ve had her – goes like a train” etc. The Man is not that sort of man. He keeps his private life private and if he feels the need to share, I can only imagine he converses with inanimate objects, such as his pots and pans or the rubber duck in his bathroom.

However, as a female, maybe I have an innate need to sound off, get things off my chest, so to speak, and at times, even though I have to hold my tongue, I find it very frustrating. Maybe I will have to get my own rubber duck.

Birthday bubbly

For DSM birthdays are not usually popping corks and explosive climaxes of fireworks.

I prefer to get a year older quietly and discreetly, especially now I’m the wrong side of 35. A table for two somewhere half-decent is the most I aim for.

So my recent annual day was set to be more of the same… until The Man made himself available for a steamy afternoon.

As I walked through his front door I heard water running and he quickly led me upstairs. The bathroom was softly lit with tea-lights and the centrepiece, his roll top bath, was almost overflowing with frothy bubbles. He poured out two glasses of champagne and we swiftly discarded our clothes, sitting end to end.

I stroked his muscly legs and he ran his fingers along my ankles and feet, as we lay back, soaking up the hot bubbles and sipping the cold ones from our glasses. Within minutes the outside world had ceased to exist and all that mattered was the warm suds, the cool drinks and each other.

When we eventually (as our skin was turning wrinkly) prised ourselves out of the bath, The Man turned on the shower, suggesting we rinsed off the bubbles. As the hot water sprayed us, I felt his strong, solid body against my back. His arms first encircled my waist, then his hands moved up to my breasts, massaging them in circular movements. I turned around to face him and we kissed, water spraying into our mouths and everywhere between us.

We clambered out of the shower and, still soaking wet and dripping all over the floor, dashed into the bedroom, half falling, half diving on to the bed. He kissed me keenly, exploring with his tongue, moving down my neck, my chest, pausing to suck and lick my nipples, moving further down my body until he reached my now-ravenous cave. As he explored all the nooks and crannies I felt my entire body tingle and judder. He barely emerged for air as he devoured the pink flesh before him with his skilled tongue and fingers. I was immobilised with waves of spasms until he moved upwards and kissed me, letting me taste myself.

By now his penis was fully standing to attention, reporting for duty and ready for action. I had to get a mouthful so I returned his devotion by licking the long shaft and sucking as much as I could cram into my mouth. At the same time his fingers entered me and played my favourite song.

It had almost reached the point of the second cork of the day being popped when I used all my might to pull him on top of me so he had no choice but to enter me. I said, quietly: “I want you to fuck me now!” Well, it was my birthday! Of course, he obliged, first slowly but firmly, then harder as I slapped his bottom to make him go faster and the bed began to creak. We rolled over so I was on top and made the bed creak a bit more. He then thrust himself into me from behind as I bent over the bed.

Now fully dry, we collapsed on the bed in a heap and I snuggled into his chest, listening to his heart thumping. We kissed softly, sipped more champagne and kept the outside world at bay for as long as we could.

Well, it certainly beat being given the bumps or soggy sandwiches with cheese and pineapple on a stick…