The dirty adventures of a married mother of four

  So today was another private party. Honestly, it was hands down the best event we’ve been to. Not because the venue was better or the guests were better, but because I relaxed into it and had the absolute best time. Play #1 – Simon Simon from the interracial party and mini gangbang  arrived after us (and we were already a little late). He clocked me immediately and headed straight over with a warm smile and big hug. After a month of soul searching I know what I really need from swinging: to feel chosen, not the back-up. Simon does this in spades. He smiles easily, he’s tactile, and when he’s with me his gaze doesn’t wander. I feel chosen. He told me he wanted me, and although I hesitated, I knew I would go with him. He grabbed a drink, got changed, and met us in the dungeon. It was light, cool, and quiet. Once settled on the bed we started with kisses. Nothing wild, nothing kinky - just vanilla, but exactly what I needed. He lavished attention on my boobs and nipples, ...

  I don’t even know where to start with this one. Sex can be so many things. Passionate. Romantic. Primal. Submissive. Kinky. Dominant. Boring. But fuck me, this man was FILTHY. He was absolutely everything I needed and after 2 hours of sex with him PLUS the reclamation from my husband I now can’t stop smiling and couldn’t wait to write about it. We chatted a bit and Mr actually told him in no uncertain terms to fuck off as his profile stated that he does have unprotected sex – but not with everyone. We practice only safe sex, so I actually was OK with this. He’s being honest about what he does which is more than most men and has no issues being safe with us. So I arranged a social at a pub. He travelled over an hour for the social and we had just 40 minutes to chat. He was warm, smiley and easy with the compliments. He made me feel that he only had eyes for me and I was living for it. Top of the pack After the social, I cancelled the plans we had for the following day and th...

Blocked after a booking… fucking men! Sunday night was meant to be simple. I had lined up a hot young guy earlier in the week, all chatty and confirmed, but by the morning of, poof - ghosted and blocked. At this point, it doesn’t even sting. He hadn’t met me, so I know it’s not about me. Shrug, delete, move on. Vanilla friends came over instead. Dinner, kids running wild, games. I was happy enough with this pivot to wholesome chaos, but Mr clearly had other plans. While I was buried under the wreckage of the playroom trying to bring order back to my house once the kids were in bed, he went ahead and booked me a thumbs up social with the Paramedic we’ve been talking to for months. This basically means if I like the guy, he gets the golden ticket to come back that same night. No hanging about for a second date. Cue me with less than twenty minutes to get ready. I had to prioritise - shower, shave down there, speed-brush my hair that desperately needed washing and hide it under a bi...

  Time for the ’Tism I’m quite the fan of the neurodiverse, being one myself. I could write acres about my theories on the link between neurodiversity — especially ADHD in women — and promiscuity. My hunch? The lifestyle probably has a higher proportion of us than the general population. And I’ve definitely met a few. But this one ’tism’d harder than most. It was clear in his messages, but in person there was no missing it. He’d told me he’d been berated as a child for not making eye contact, so now he makes up for it with an intensity that could set fire to curtains. He misses social cues, can talk for England, but he’s also sincere, literal, and follows instructions like a man on a mission. When I said I love to feel desired, he said, “I didn’t know what I was allowed to do.” I told him I was perfectly capable of saying no if he went too far. So he kissed me. Hands on my legs. Immediate, deliberate, and more appreciated than I can put into words - especially after a few men...

The Setup Matching with a single guy is straightforward. I need to fancy him, he needs to fancy me, and Mr just has to not hate him. Easy. Couples? Entirely different beast. I need to be attracted to the man and him to me, same as with singles. But now Mr has to fancy the woman, and I need to think she’s attractive but not so attractive that I feel threatened. Then she needs to fancy Mr, and also be okay with me. That’s a minefield of feelings before we even get to logistics. You can see why we stick to men. And, of course, there’s the joy of messaging couples on fabs. Who’s replying? Him? Her? Both? Neither? Conversations can fizzle faster than a bottle of cheap prosecco as you navigate the uncertainty and communication between partners and then couples. The Couple Out of all the couples who’ve messaged us, we finally set up a social. Mrs Tattoo: young, blonde, curves for days, gorgeous. The type Mr would happily have his hands all over. I’d expected her to be catty, but ...

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Knocking first impressions out of the park It is the night of the meet, and I’ve just finished with the stunning Spaniard. His smile is wide and infectious, the kind that makes you instantly feel like you’ve known him for years. Those lips are full, kissable, and distracting in the best way. Looking at them makes me burn with a desire to kiss them. Despite being thirty, he looked younger, almost innocent, but his skills told a very different story. He arrived on time, bottle in hand, smelling divine. Shoes off instantly – respectful – and we settled outside in the evening sun for drinks and chat with Mr. The conversation flowed easily, his hand or knee always making some kind of contact with me. Even then, I could feel his desire while he remained 100% respectful to talk to Mr too. When Mr made his departure to chill with a movie and a view of the soon-to-be play area, it took all of five seconds before we were also inside, his clothes gone, and that soft, tanned, solid body in f...

  First Impressions The Turk is an interesting one. He’s both my type and definitely not my type at the same time. Not as tall as I usually go for, carrying more of a dad bod than a bodybuilder’s frame, but with an intensity that I couldn’t decide if I liked or not. On paper, it doesn’t sound promising but he wasn’t bad at all. I’ve learned that I carry the echoes of every past meet into the next one. That baggage shapes how I read people and how I choose to play. Bringing me Baileys He arrived with a gift in hand and gave an encouraging nod at my outfit. We chatted easily enough, his intense eye contact never faltering. Eventually he kissed me: gentle, then passionate, his tongue finding mine in a rhythm that was almost too certain. I’ve been experimenting with letting men lead more. It’s one thing to be wanted because I please someone; it’s another to be wanted because they want to please me. Lately I’ve felt neglected by some partners, and that dulls my enjoyment. I fi...

  A different kind of venue So far, all our club adventures had been at the same venue which shall remain nameless unless you’re a super sleuth. It’s about an hour and twenty minutes away, which is far enough to make it feel like an occasion but too far to be spontaneous. Closer to home, there’s another club with a bit of a reputation . Only twenty minutes away, but we’d avoided it until now. Too close. Too risky. What if we ran into someone we knew? But one Friday night, curiosity got the better of us. Time to try it out.  Let’s call it The Outhouse . Kids in bed, babysitter settled, I threw on a simple black dress, crotchless tights, and our trusty club bag. As we pulled onto the estate, the area looked like the set of a crime drama, the kind of place people go to be murdered and dismembered. But we’re not easily put off. I dropped Mr at the door, parked, and walked through the mud-slick car park, my tights splattered and shoes already ruined. Inside, we locked away ...

  Saturday Night Surprise Saturday night was never meant to be exciting. Vanilla plans fell through, Mr decided to stir the pot, and suddenly he was posting on Fabs for a meet. First choice made plans then cancelled, not a no-show, just a flake. We disagreed on who to invite next, but my pick won. That is how I ended up heading to a nearby town for a social with Lurch. Six foot six, hollow-faced, like a famine survivor. Regular readers know I lean toward big, beefy guys, but I also crave variety. This was part curiosity, part reassurance. Could I still spot a good fuck outside my usual type? The Awkward Start We almost missed each other entirely, doing an awkward loop around the pub until we finally sat down. Vanilla small talk was fine, the usual “how was your journey” dance, but I could feel his discomfort. I needed to know if it was me or the situation. “Hey, just checking. I am getting zero vibes you are interested. The only thing I care about is feeling your desire. ...

  The Turk It seems there’s been a run of lacklustre experiences lately but on balance, more have been good than bad. And with every encounter, I learn something. About myself, about what I value, what I enjoy, and what I want more of. And I do enjoy learning. So I keep meeting new people, keep pushing the edges of what and who I’m open to. The Turk had a good profile. It came across as sincere (and honesty is always attractive). In hindsight, I’m not quite sure why I replied as he’s only 5ft 9, and I tend to gravitate towards taller men despite telling myself height doesn’t matter all that much. Conversation was easy, and we ended up spontaneously arranging a social on my way home from work. He had a quiet charm. Ordered an apple juice like me, with a warm smile.   He was a little disappointed I wouldn’t let him buy my drink. He was entirely respectful of my space which I usually appreciate but there’s a line between respectful awareness and that slightly patronising ...

  Valentines, Baileys, and on my knees for the DJ A night time event With four kids, Valentine’s Day has never meant date nights or roses. So when the stars aligned for us to try our first evening event, we grabbed it. A friend offered to sleep over with the kids, we booked a hotel on-site, and for the first time in forever, we had freedom . Real, unrushed, late-night freedom. Until now, we'd only done daytime events (and one chaotic trip to the Annex, which barely counts). So this was different. There was time. Time to slowly get ready in the on site hotel, drink without worry, feel sexy and soft in candlelight rather than daylight. My tiktok dress clung in all the right places, except my boobs, which were determined to escape at every opportunity. Every time I danced, one popped out and needed repositioning. But honestly? I didn’t mind. That dress deserved chaos. Shitfaced and incoherent We headed down to the club around 8pm, drinks flowing, music thumping, and straight ...

  The Return The Karate Kid had been on the scene before. Then he disappeared right after giving me the best time possible. When he reappeared, I was buzzing. I knew what he was capable of. I remembered the intensity, the chemistry, the way my body responded to his. The anticipation built. And for once, I thought the hype might be worth it. The Letdown He arrived, and straight away, he was on me. Hands, mouth, urgency. But instead of delicious tension or a giddy reunion, it felt… forced. Like we were picking up a script and trying to perform what once happened naturally. That’s not to say it was bad. Far from it. The sex was still solid. Good, even. I enjoyed sucking his cock. I loved the way he licked me. I came hard riding him. It was satisfying. Technically, it was a strong 7 out of 10. In terms of pure penetration, he’s still brilliant. But that’s where it stopped. The Disconnect The chemistry? Gone. The connection? Missing. Like we were playing hide and seek with...

The Setup Call me shallow. Maybe I am. But I’ve been spoilt. Tattoo Man, Bodybuilder, The Mechanic, they’re all 10 out of 10s, and I’ve had the absolute joy of playing with them. Honestly, how lucky am I? But I’ve always said, and I mean it, that variety is important. Connection matters more to me than just a perfect body. So when Chubby messaged, I was open. He was 6ft, chunky, and had the loveliest smile. He drove up from London for a drink, and we chatted like old friends, with a cheeky, flirty current running underneath everything. Standing next to our cars afterward, the sexual tension was thick in the air. He wanted to kiss me. I tilted my head so he kissed my neck instead. His hands were on my waist, and he was literally and figuratively begging for more. It took all my self-control not to give in there and then. We arranged a play date for Friday. 8pm. But life had other plans. By 7.50, my mum hadn’t left, the kids weren’t asleep, I hadn’t showered, and I was running o...

  A surprise from the start It was a few weeks back that I met the Irishman for a drink. Number one: he looked nothing like his pictures. That’s not to say he looked bad as he absolutely didn’t but he just didn’t look like his profile. Anyway, we grabbed drinks (he was keen to buy mine, but I don’t like to have drinks bought for me, so I declined) and headed outside to sit. At a wobbly pub bench, the chat flowed easily. He was quick with compliments and had a self-deprecating charm plus, a cute accent. He repeatedly told me how attractive he found me, his eyes hungrily roaming over me while he spoke about how much he wanted to kiss and touch me. But he kept his hands in sight, always respectful. Turns out, the Irishman is actually in his 50s while his profile said early 40s. Not the first to lie about age (Cawston did the same), and while I understand the reasons, I always prefer honesty. As we wrapped up, he gestured to a housing area across the road and mentioned he used ...