Boredom!! What is the phrase?

“The Devil finds work for idle hands?” Or something along these lines.

What about idle minds??

I have worked for years, what you could call a high flyer. I pride myself as being at the top of my game, I had broken the glass ceiling. All the other cliches that describe a successful woman. Those descriptions irritate me intensely. Yes, I am a woman, last time I looked, I am me. Why this differentiation between the sexes? Talent, ambition, initiative, intelligence, hard work, morals, manners et al, are not exclusive to one sex over the other.

Now it was time for me. I wouldn’t describe myself as burnt out, or worse, over the hill, but I need a break from the pressures I once thrived on, the daily commute, the high heels and business suits.

I am the boss, I own the company. I can decide. So here I am with an unplanned day stretching ahead of me. I have taken a year out to just be!!!!

And I am bored rigid! Only two weeks in, I know I am not a lady who lunches, I do not like shopping, and I am not a domestic goddess. I plan to travel, but not for a few weeks. Yes, I swim and go to the gym daily, but that still leaves too many empty hours.

Frustrated, I switch on my laptop and Google ideas for Bored Housewives. Though strictly speaking I am not a wife. Oh, I was once, before ambition and work took over.

~~~~~~~

We were young. We had met at University. You could call it Lust at first sight. But it was more than a meeting of bodies; it was a meeting of minds. We thought the same way, dreamed the same dreams. We were going to be the ultimate power couple. In bed, we couldn’t get enough of each other, making love till we were both exhausted.

Lack of sleep never interfered with our studies. We both sailed through our Law Degrees and went on to work in Big City Firms, not the same one. Ultimately, we married, lived in a beautiful house in the suburbs, drove quality cars and worked long hours. Children were part of our plans, just not now while we were both climbing the corporate ladder. Our hunger for each other slowly died as work demands took over. We never really noticed the end of “us”. We never argued, we never cheated, we just stopped being together. We never had children.

Inevitably, we separated and divorced. No bitterness, no rancour, no regrets. We had been good together for a while. Time to move on.

~~~~~~~~~~~

i digress. Since then, of course, I have had lovers. A woman has her needs and I am not averse to nights of pleasure and desire and hot sex, just as long as he doesn’t expect a follow-up phone call. Commitment is not for me. The screen flashes up suggestions for bored housewives.

To overcome boredom, a housewife can explore creative hobbies, such as cooking, baking, photography, or crafting.

I shut the computer off. I do not live in the Victorian era. I grabbed my purse and keys and headed to the Local off-license to replenish my diminishing wine cellar. My attention was caught by an advert on a passing bus. A caption read

“Bored? Spice up your life with Connections.”

Fate? Nah, I do not believe that, mere coincidence.

Reaching home, I put the wine in the fridge and on impulse, dialled a “friend” on my phone. I’ll let you into a secret, I have a few “friends”.

My call was answered immediately, it always is. Graham is always available to me. Some nibbles and wine at mine? How could he say no? Especially as he knows I am part of the nibbles.

I check the clock, time for a quick shower and pamper. I dress carefully. Graham likes white lace underwear, stockings and suspenders. Classy, not tarty, though in bed he expects and wants the tart!

My dress is pale blue and has buttons down the front, with easy access. A spray of Chanel, some red lipstick and I’m done. Just in time. The doorbell rings.

Once inside, Graham hands me the predictable, unimaginative, bouquet of red roses. He also has a very expensive bottle of champagne. He has obviously come straight from the office as he is immaculately dressed in a grey, pinstriped suit, crisp white shirt and perfectly knotted maroon tie. He gives me a chaste kiss on the cheek and has a surreptitious look at my cleavage. He is a very good-looking man, much older than me. Oh, I forgot to mention that as a young intern, he was my boss. My married, and still married boss. I know he always fancied me, but back then, we never did anything about it.

Now, however we meet up, when I call, he answers. For me, it’s sex, good sex, but nothing more. For him, it is the same. Then he goes back to his respectable wife.

We move out into the garden. It is walled, secluded and private. Nibbles are set on a tray on the table, two wine glasses and wine chilling in an ice bucket. We sit down, drink slowly and chat. Then he asks me to stand and unbutton my dress. His eyes never leave me. Then he tells me to take it off. I stand in my pretty lingerie and stockings. Next, he tells me to remove my bra and pants. Only then, when I am naked, apart from the stockings and suspender belt, does he stand. His eyes roam my body hungrily, he turns me round. Then his hands follow the path his eyes took. Exploring and thorough. He takes my hand and leads me into my bedroom. He undresses while I lie on the bed waiting for him. No rush job here. Clothes folded carefully, unlike mine which are still lying in my garden! .

Only then does he lose control. His body pins mine down, his kisses are hot and hard, his hands rough and demanding. My body begins to arch, but he is not ready to enter. His clever, experienced fingers plunge inside me. I am wet and writhing. He explores my body like it is the first time. His mouth fastens on my breast and I start to moan. His movements come faster and harder, his breathing is ragged. Finally, he thrusts inside and I tip over the edge. He is good. Very good.

While he lies there, I rise and fetch the wine and glasses. I still wear the stockings. I know he watches my every move. Fantasising about my shapely butt. When I return with the bottle and glasses, I know the conversation will once again be to try to persuade me into anal sex. Again the answer is negative. He is irritated but accepts. He has no choice. He also wants to administer a spanking. I am averse to pain of any sort, just ask my dentist!! His arguments about erotic pleasure for both of us fall on deaf ears. However, his next suggestion is more appealing.

An overnight in the plush Greystones Abbey Hotel.

This is new. Our assignations have always been at my home, no that is not strictly true. When I needed a divorce lawyer, I went to him for advice. He was very sexy, and I was horny and hadn’t had sex for some time. At the appointment, my short skirt revealed stocking tops, and when I removed my suit jacket, the pretty camisole underneath had enough buttons unfastened to give more than a glimpse of my breasts. The meeting went well and ended with the clichéd sex on top of his desk. He knows I have other “friends”. He doesn’t like that, but accepts that’s how it is.

Greystones is too good a hotel to refuse, so a week later I find myself in the plush lounge, sipping my G and T and waiting for my “husband”. The receptionist is too professional to be anything other than polite and discreet but I’m pretty sure he knows the situation.

I don’t have long to wait. Graham, immaculate as ever, greets me with a chaste kiss. Together we go to my room. He has booked two rooms, though I am not exactly sure why. It is beautiful, traditional with a four-poster bed and open fireplace. On the bed, there is a suit hanger and a bag with a very expensive label. A gift from Graham, would I wear it to dinner tonight? Of course I would. One stipulation. He would shower and change and meet me in the cocktail lounge. I would open the gift once he was gone. Interesting. After he left I showered and pampered myself, then I lifted the bag and opened it. An envelope and a smaller bag fell out.

But the dress was stunning! Peacock blue silk. The slinkiest, sexiest garment I had ever seen. I opened the envelope

Darling

This dress is a gift. I would love you to wear it on this special night. I have also chosen what to wear with it. This will be a night to remember.

Graham

The smaller bag held a tiny thong in the same material, no bra, and hold-up stockings trimmed in peacock lace. I also found a pair of sky-high silver heels. I shook the dress out and slipped it on. It was light as a feather and clingy. Full length, slit up the front so that when I moved or sat my thong and stockings would be visible. The top had thin straps and dipped practically to my waist. My boobs were covered but only just. Shoe string straps crossed the backless outfit which dipped in a Vee to where the strip of the thong was visible. I looked in the mirror. The effect was stunning. Gorgeous. It should have looked slutty and tarty but although most of my body was visible, it looked sexy and classy.

I made my way to the cocktail lounge. It wasn’t busy. A few older men. Another two older couples. All were in evening dress. I was the centre of attention. The women looked disapprovingly, their husbands looked and looked again. Graham beamed at me and told me I was stunning. Of course, he had placed my drink at the bar where I had to sit on a high stool ensuring that I was seen. It was impossible to sit modestly and I was aware that the peacock thong and stocking tops were visible. The drinks kept coming, although I was aware that Graham was sipping slowly at his malt.

We went in to dinner which was fabulous. I switched to water, as I was aware of the cocktails I’d had. Graham was attentive and charming, but I sensed an aura of excitement about him. Was it the dress? Was he enjoying flaunting this semi-naked younger female? I wasn’t sure.

After dinner, we returned to the cocktail lounge where once again I sat on a high stool. A drink was placed in front of me. A stranger approached us. Graham turned and shook hands with him. No stranger to Graham. No stranger to me now either. Charles James. One of the top lawyers in the country. I felt a bit star-struck. He held my hand and smiled. Graham introduced me as a colleague. He was charming and sexy. The conversation and drinks flowed freely. It was the most natural thing in the world when Charles suggested we retire to his suite for drinks.

The room was luxurious with large sofas and champagne on ice. As I sat, my dress opened. Both men made no pretence at averting their stare. Graham sat opposite me. Charles sat beside me. His hand moved to my knee then slid up my inner thigh to touch the lacy thong. It was mesmerising. He pushed the material aside and stroked and teased. I felt hypnotised. It was so erotic, but then reality kicked in. I am not a plaything. A pretty package to be seen with, to be passed around.

As dignified as I could muster, I removed the hand pretending I needed to go to the ladies. These were influential people, powerful. Much as I wanted to slap them both I did not want to cause a scene. With a smile, I left them drinking and made my exit to my room where I locked the door.

Graham!!! All those years I thought I knew him. I didn’t. What to do now? I couldn’t drive home because I had been drinking. I could not and would not stay here. I stripped off the “Gift” and bundled it into the bag. I showered and changed, packed up and headed for reception.

The same young man was on duty, could he help me? Yes of course. I had a row with my “husband” could he inform him I had checked out?

Could he ensure my “husband “ got the bag?

In reality, I was in a lodge out of sight of the hotel. A member of staff would take me there and drive my car. I was so grateful. They were delighted to be involved. Greystones was so respectable and boring normally. A bit of intrigue to brighten the genteel monotony.

Once inside, I breathed a sigh of relief. Then reaction set in. I shook with anger. I needed a drink. Not alcohol, but strong sweet tea. I closed the blinds before putting on the light. My phone rang. Graham! I ignored it. I kept ignoring it. Then I switched it off.

Unsurprisingly, I never slept. As the first fingers of daylight crept through the blinds, I had coffee and left. I checked out, observing that Graham’s Mercedes was still in the Car park. I drove home, aware that possibly I was still over the limit. I drove carefully. The roads were quiet.

Once I was back in the sanctuary of my home, my sensible, organised mind kicked in. I had no wish to see Graham, to listen to his persuasive smooth tones. I felt betrayed. I had had no hint of this side of him. My decision was made. I’d start my travels earlier than planned. I have a small but comfortable cottage in a quiet seaside village. It is my refuge. No one knows about it. I took the perishable goods from my fridge, plus some wine, packed them in a cool box, grabbed a few essentials, locked up and left.

~~~~~~~~~~~

That was several days ago. I know from my Ring doorbell that Graham has called several times bearing red roses. How cliched!! Wonder who he gives them to? I turn my attention to my laptop. I remembered the advert for “Connections.” I looked up the site. Interesting. I even signed up for a free trial, of course I set up a fake profile, no picture. Over the coming days, I enjoyed walks along the cliffs, listened to and watched the waves, chatted online, something I had vowed never to do, and gradually rebalanced. The anger and betrayal simmered, naturally, but it faded.

“Connections” was good, plenty of guys happy to flirt and chat. All with wonderful profiles and profile pics with movie star looks. Aye right! Probably taken from a male order catalogue. In reality, probably 90-year-old Alfie, a retired toilet attendant. Now don't get me wrong, I have nothing against the name Alfie, or 90-year-olds, and toilet attendants are the salt of the earth. But just be honest about it. Surely there was something a bit more interesting and stimulating? One search produced a site called “Lush”. I have a soft spot for Lush cosmetics, so I opened it up. It was different, intriguing, mainly a platform for amateur writers but a lot more. I signed up. No fake information, but no real details. My profile pic was not a model, but a photo of a cartoon character.

I read several excellent stories. Such talent, such support and encouragement between writers. I was in awe. I could never do that. I got chatting to a few people. Nothing serious, just fun. I was particularly interested in Ethan, although he told me that was not his real name. His profile, like mine was guarded, profile pic was a mountain view. We chatted daily, nothing personal, but we shared interests, places we had travelled to. He went to a gym too, but was no Adonis, just a guy trying to delay the onset of middle-aged flab as long as possible, but with as little effort as possible.

I liked his easy-going manner, his sense of humour. He had published a few stories. His work was excellent. Yes, the stories were erotic and descriptive, but they were stories with sex in them, rather than stories of just sex. I found the latter boring and repetitive. Suck and fuck tales.

His had humour, sometimes pathos. I changed my profile pic. The cartoon was just temporary. I posted a beautiful sunset I had just taken.

A short time later, Ethan messaged me. He asked if my picture was of Corrie Bay and the lighthouse? I was amazed that anyone would know this tiny place. More amazed when he said he lived there. I know I said earlier that I didn't believe in fate, but this was strange. Inevitably, the question was asked. Do you want to meet up for a coffee? Not dinner, because if you took an instant dislike to each other, then you were stuck.

Hmmm. Tentative was one word to describe it. I said I'd give it some thought. He didn't push.

What harm was there in meeting for a coffee? Ok, awkward if we didn't get on and we bumped into each other in the village. So far on this stay, I hadn't been in the village. I gave myself a talking too. Where had the ballsy, successful lawyer gone? Had Graham destroyed my confidence?

Fuck that! Before I changed my mind, I fired off a message.

“Coffee Corner at 11:30? Mine is a latte!”

“Mine is Americano, if you are there first. I'll be the good-looking guy with the Border Collie!”

I checked the clock. It was 11. No time to primp and preen. He'd have to take me as I was. Quick brush of the teeth, a spray of Ishga, the Chanel had been dumped, and I set off. I was surprised to find I was excited and had butterflies in my tummy. I was wrapped up against the biting wind. The smoke rising from the chimney of Coffee Corner ensured a warm welcome.

I entered. He was there. Border collie at his feet.

He smiled. I knew that smile. I was once married to it!