Starting from the beginning (Bouncer Boy)

Ok, so we are not exactly starting from the beginning, we are starting from today. We are starting from the situation as it stands.

For a range of reasons Paul and I have been out of the business of playing outside the confines of monogamy for a few years, but over the past few months we have jumped back into the game and it has been a bit of a slow start. I have been out of practice flirting with guys and it took me a little while to realise that despite being in my late thirties I still look really hot - and guys really want to do me (which is great). I thought for a while I might be a cougar in the making, but I am just not sexually aggressive enough to carry this off (yet, trying to work on it!). But I definitely like young guys and I like that young guys like me.

Right now, Paul and I are moving house, so as a means of distracting myself from the ever-present challenges that come with a move, I have been working on two separate projects: let's call them Beach Boy (next post) and Bouncer Boy.

Bouncer Boy is hot and he smiles, which is comforting. He works weekends as part of the security team at our local pub. I clocked him the first time we went there this summer. He is about 25, tall, dark-haired and solid in a fit, pumping-iron kind of way - which is usually not my type, I tend to prefer them lean. But I digress...

We had been going fairly regularly to this pub in search of boys for me to locate and play with and, despite the unusually generous selection of good-looking guys, I had not had much luck, mostly because I was not being proactive in my hunting. My fault entirely.

One night, maybe two months ago, after a couple of hours of unproductive scouting I said to Paul that this was all very well but the person I am most interested in doing from the available pickings (besides him, of course) was the bouncer.

"So tell him," Paul said to me.

With two glasses of wine in my system, this sounded like a plan. I marched over to Bouncer Boy in a determined kind of way and sidled up next to him. It wasn't an elegant sidle; in fact, I misjudged the wall behind me and tottered a little, which was nice, because he put out his hot bouncer arm to steady me. My cool cover was already blown, but I was resolute: this had to be done.

"Hi," I said. "I just wanted to come over here and tell you that I think you are really cute ...and that even though I am married, I would do you."

He laughed in a pleased and embarrassed kind of way. Now, if I was an accomplished Hot Wife, I probably would have moved into phase two and got his number or given him mine, or made some conversation that would have developed into an arrangement to meet up. Sadly, I am not. I may be cute, but I am still better at give green lights than at moving in for the kill (if you will pardon the cliches). Instead, what I did was smile and walk away.

By the time I got back to Paul, my adrenalin rush was evolving into humorous mortification. We joked about it for a while but eventually conceded it was time to go. On the way out, I gave Bouncer Boy a big smile, rubbed his hot bouncer biceps, and said sorry. What was fantastic was that he smiled back in an 'I want you' kind of way. That was it for me: I was now incredibly turned on and Bouncer Boy became a definite project.

So the next night we came back with a girlfriend who is one of the few people in the world who knows about our secret life. We were only there for an hour, but in that time Bouncer Boy clocked me and clocked me and clocked me again. It was so sexy and I was totally up for it with him.

Unfortunately, Paul was flying overseas a few days later and life got in the way of going back to the pub in search of progress with Bouncer Boy. Two Saturday nights later and I scrounged a couple of hours to be able to go to the pub by myself. The plan I had agreed with Paul was that I would give Bouncer Boy my number and then meet up with him over the course of the following week in order to have a hot story for Paul when he returned.

The plan failed. I got sprung by one of his colleagues (it is too embarrassing to provide the details on how this happened, needless to say, I am so lame) and I left without really interacting with Bouncer Boy, and certainly without handing over my number. I was appalled with myself and then spent all night having the most hard-core erotic dreams about him.

Paul came back and I made him come with me regularly to the pub for the following weekends, but Bouncer Boy was not there! After a couple of weeks of this going on, I asked one of the other bouncers what had happened to him (although I didn't know his name) and was told some of the guys were away on holiday. Ho hum.

Last Saturday night we had our going away drinks at the same pub and of course he wasn't there. By now, I had resigned myself to the inevitable. I had got myself so worked up about this guy and he was beginning no longer to exist in our reality. Paul had conceptually moved on, I was starting to accept that maybe I should (but it's not easy to forget the hot bouncer 'I want you' looks).

Naturally, on Sunday night we happened to be driving past the pub. And, of course, he was standing there, by himself, ready for the plucking. But I was so focussed on the reason we were out that night (functional stuff) that I wasn't psychologically ready to stop and seize the moment (pathetic). Then, of course, half an hour later I was as primed as hell, but the timing was all out.

Now, Paul has left for Sydney. I am flying out next week. Paul has definitely moved on, Bouncer Boy exists again, but I have to sort everything out for the move. Still up for it (really!) but may have to put this one down to the cost of not acting when the moment presents itself. Crap. Or maybe not (sorry Paul)...there is always this Saturday night ;)