Welcome to How I Do It, the series in which we give you a seven-day sneak peek into the sex life of a stranger.
This week we hear from Juliet*, a 55-year-old musician from London, whose life fell apart when she discovered her husband was gay — and having an affair with a man.
Five years ago, she found messages on her partner’s phone revealing all, and the pair divorced after 25 years of marriage.
‘We’d had an okay relationship,’ says Juliet. ‘The sex wasn’t great and was very infrequent, but who is still swinging from chandeliers after a quarter of a century together? No couples that I knew of.’
Initially, she was ‘stunned at the deception and betrayal’. But while she’d never suspected her husband before, in retrospect, there were signs.
‘The lack of interest in sex, for one thing,’ the mum-of-one says. ‘My self-worth was shot to pieces.’
Everything changed when she met 57-year-old Adrian through mutual friends two years ago, explaining: ‘There was a strong attraction from the start. We slept together on our second date. I was quite shy to begin with – I hadn’t had sex with anyone new for years – but it soon became apparent that Adrian and I are very sexually compatible.’
In fact, the pair have sex four to five times a week on average. So without further ado, here’s how Juliet got on this week…
The following sex diary is, as you might imagine, not safe for work.
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Monday
I’m woken up by what I’ve come to call the ‘cockadoodledoo’ – but there ain’t no rooster outside my window. Rather it’s Adrian; spooning me, and having sex with me.
Whenever I stop over at his – usually two or three times a week – I wake up like this. The first time it happened, I was a bit unsure. But we had spoken about it beforehand and I’d found the idea exciting.
As soon as I felt his touch though, I realised I really wanted it. It starts very gentle to begin with – soft stroking and caressing – then when I’m fully awake things become more passionate.
It’s a rather lovely way to start the day. There have been a few occasions where I haven’t been in the mood, so we stop and cuddle instead – I never feel any pressure.
Being with a closeted gay man for so long meant that sex was a very rare event – nor very satisfactory for me when it did happen. This always is, and I always climax multiple times.
It’s important to Adrian that I’m happy – in and out of bed. Afterwards, he always brings me a coffee. We call this the ‘second C’ – and I call him my ‘butler in the buff!’
Tuesday
Our relationship is more than sex. We are also intellectually compatible; we love going to concerts, exhibitions, the cinema, the theatre. I am funnier and sillier than him, but he is cleverer and more serious than me. It’s a good combination.
We message throughout the day, sending each other news items, date suggestions or pics of pets we think the other will appreciate. These are often interspersed by X-rated Whatsapps from Adrian such as ‘I am sexually obsessed by you’, ‘I can’t wait to f*** you’, and ‘I am touching myself thinking about you and am rock hard’.
Sending sexy texts back doesn’t come naturally to me – call it the old-school Brit in me – whereas Adrian who’s French has no such misgivings. I usually reply with a bit of a Carry On-style quip like, ‘Well, don’t rub it too hard, you’ll wear it away!’
Wednesday
We’re seeing each other tonight, going to a film and then back to his. Adrian asks me to wear something low-cut – he just adores my boobs, which, I have to admit, are pretty spectacular. 38DD and not an implant in sight.
He says he wants every man to want me, and every woman to envy me! It’s heady stuff for a woman whose ex compared her to Billy Bunter and who mockingly danced around while wearing her generously proportioned bra as a kind of bonnet.
Yes, yes, I know… not the actions of a normal heterosexual man, I now realise. Adrian’s eyes are out on stalks when we meet and he sees I’m wearing a cleavage enhancing dress.
He caresses my breasts through the fabric as we watch the film and snog a bit – it’s like being 16 again, rather than perilously close to 60.
Once back at his flat, we head straight for the bedroom and ‘the magic bed’ as I’ve dubbed it. Never mind the sex, the mattress is uber-comfortable and the linen is 100% cotton.
Clothes are ripped off and we begin making love. It’s very passionate – our bodies fit together like pieces in a jigsaw. Adrian is a only few inches taller than my 5ft 6in which means there are no lanky limbs getting in the way.
We effortlessly, deliciously slide from a side-by-side position into missionary, then into me on top before a 69. For the finale, we go into ‘lazy’, my favourite – it’s a bit like the ‘cockadoodledo’ but with more movement.
‘I love you so much, come with me.’ he breathes. And so we do. Together.
Thursday
After the morning ‘cockadoodle’ and ‘second C’, Adrian showers and then I do while he cooks breakfast, which we decide to eat in the buff!
It would be tempting to return to the magic bed but I need to get home this morning. My daughter still lives with me, which is why I tend to go to Adrian’s, although we have had the odd weekend at mine when she’s been away. My daughter has met Adrian and likes him, but neither he nor I are comfortable about him sleeping over when she’s at home – and neither is she for that matter.
I’m due to see him again on Saturday. These twice or thrice-weekly meets work well for us. It means we always look forward to seeing each other, and sex is exciting and never routine.
Adrian has been divorced for several years, and neither of us want to marry again or even live together. Why bring boring domestics into it? I have my life, he has his, and we have our fun times together which includes holidays.
Being coupled up for so long and finally finding myself post-divorce has made me really value my independence.
Enjoy this diary? There’s more…
And, yes, dear reader, when we’re away we have sex every night and every morning! We were upfront from the start about what we wanted from each other – a faithful, sexually fulfilling, mentally stimulating relationship but one that gave us both space.
Friday
Adrian calls. He’s got last minute tickets to a concert in town. Do I fancy it? Yes, I say, but only as a date night, which means I go home at the end of the evening and he goes back to his.
I love these unexpected date nights in between the planned sleep – and sex – overs. Throughout the concert, Adrian whispers what he’ll be doing to me when we have our cosy evening in watching telly at his tomorrow.
He likes to talk dirty – again, it’s a new one for me, but a real turn on. We kiss on parting at the Tube station and enjoy a long, sexy, tight hug before letting each other go.
I can feel how much he wants me and it’s mutual. He makes me feel cherished, needed and loved, and I’m grateful for my gradual sexual awakening with him.
Occasionally it makes me feel sad that I had to wait so long for it. But besides the fact regrets are pointless, if I hadn’t had my marriage I wouldn’t have my daughter.
Saturday
I arrive at Adrian’s about 6pm. He has dinner waiting: steak, salad and red wine. Afterwards we settle down to watch TV.
We sit on the sofa, my legs across his knees as he caresses me, gently massaging my feet, ankles, calves, thighs. He has the most amazing touch and I end up dozing off.
We go to bed. I’m tired, but want him to have sex with me as I fall asleep, so he slides into me as I lie on my side. It’s wonderfully comforting in a sexual, twilight kind of way – in and out and in and out, he thrusts me into slumber.
Sunday
‘You were gently snoring as I was f**king you last night,’ Adrian tells me on waking the next morning. ‘Are you sure it wasn’t a dream?’ I reply.
But I can tell from the wetness between my legs that it wasn’t, so I suggest sticking with just the second C this morning.
Then he touches me, stroking my back, the erogenous zone I never knew I had until he discovered it. And suddenly, it’s time for a late ‘cockadoodle’.
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