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Reality check time.

Of course the affair ended. They nearly always do unless you get caught. As much as we thought we loved each other, we just couldn't go to the next stage and leave our families. So by mutual agreement we finished with each other. I have seen or heard from him again, but that is best, it's what we agreed. I left the job and went back to doing freelance editing for my old firm and in some ways my life, on the surface at least, got back to being seemingly normal.

Hitting forty had been traumatic, but I coped. Ok it was with the help, or maybe the hindrance, I am still not sure which, of the affair. I strode into my forties with my head held high and my, sadly, slightly saggy tits pushed out. But I kept those very much to myself. As indeed I did the rest of my body. After my wild, totally sexual fling with Craig and my intense, hugely loving affair with Patrick, I didn't yearn for anything else. I had no desire to have one night stands and the 'offers' that women who belong to golf and tennis clubs and go to work, albeit occasionally in my case, simply didn't interest me. I don't have that high a need for sex that I would do anything that I don't feel particularly strongly about. Sounds pompous, I know, but I can take it or leave as far as sex is concerned other than in very special circumstances such as with Craig and Patrick.

In any case I am married, with a husband who loves me, I think, alright maybe not quite as much as he loves work, but then hey a girl can't have everything can she. In my way I also love him, but as my idea of love has become jaundiced as I have got older, I'm not sure. I think I have concluded that what Richard and I have is what most people have. We get on well, we have similar likes and dislikes, preferences and values and we are used to each other. It may not be romantic ideal, but it's probably as good as it gets in real life. And of course, we do have our photo sessions.

So as I struggled on without Patrick, I realised not much had changed. I was still over forty, my family were growing up, Richard was still away a lot, I was still bored and my tits still sagged a little.

I am coming to the conclusion that the Hyde, or is it Jekyl, side of me comes out when I am going through life style traumas. When something big is happening to me emotionally, I react in surprising ways. I was moving house to a place that I hated, and still do, although I love the conservatory I had built onto the back of the house, when Craig erupted. And of course Patrick came about when my I was agonising over my impending fortieth. I could feel the traumatisation happening again as my son completed his A levels and prepared to go to university and as our daughter, who we had agreed would go to a residential sixth form college, also got ready to leave me; I realised my babies were flying the nest.

Obviously, being associated with writers and writing of one sort or another most of my life, I had often thought of writing myself. I had made several unsuccessful efforts at writing a novel, but had put that on the back burner as I got on with my, up until recently, quite busy life. With just my part time editing from home, my children gone, Richard away as much as he was at home, no lovers or affairs on the go, my life lost its busyness and in some ways its purpose.

So I decided to start another novel. An idea had been rattling round my mind for some time about a story for a typical 'airport' book. Code named Savannah it was about an American woman whose family owned a cotton plantation in the 1850s. After marrying a gambler and living in London for several years she divorces and returns to run the plantation when her mother and father die.

As the Civil War looms, an old friend from years back, who has made it big in the Union military intelligence asks her to gather information on what the Confederates are planning. So she becomes a Marta Hari of her time spying for both sides and using all of her womanly wiles to get the required information.

As I wrote it I realised I was probably putting in far too much sex. It was intended to be a raunchy story, but it was turning into a highly erotic if not a pornographic one. I realised two things after I had written around fifty thousands words. Firstly, I would never publish it. I knew that I would never be able to stand the embarrassment of people reading some of the stuff I had composed, which was pretty extreme. And as to what Richard would say and my children would think just wasn't worth even considering. Secondly, and in many ways more importantly, I realised just how much I was enjoying writing in general and erotica in particular.

Several times as I had gone into some detail about a sexual adventure I had found that I was touching myself, undoing buttons and slipping my hands into my clothing. A few times I had masturbated as I visualised myself in those situations. It was fun, exciting, enjoyable, secret and no one was getting hurt.

I wasn't that confident, though, of how to write raunchy stuff. I knew what appealed to me, but I wanted more information on what appealed to others. Sinop Escort I googled 'erotic writing.' One name stood out, 'Literotica.' I went there and was absolutely amazed. There was so much on so many different topics. Apart from a quite natural lower age limit of eighteen, it seemed that pretty much anything goes on the site, it was exactly what I was after. It seemed to me that this was a natural bedfellow for me; a place where I could try out my writing, get other peoples' opinions, maybe hone my skills and find out what out what appealed to other people.

I spent hours a day for several days devouring loads of stories across a range of genres. Rather too many of them, regrettably, were not really to my taste for a number of reasons: too basic, lack of structure, story and 'message,' overly demeaning to women, unrealistic scenarios, poorly written and too quickly to the sex. That said, I found nearly as many that I enjoyed. I read such topics as spanking, mild bondage, incest, humiliation and bi sexual experiences by both men and women in which I had no realisation I would be interested. I was, though. One lesson I learned from my 'erotic readathon' was that one should not judge a sexual experience by its name, read about it and you will generally find some form of interest and pleasure. I did from so many different aspects of sexual reading, but I drew the line at animals, the use of bodily wastes and hard core S