You can go back, you can definitely go back…

My date with May was fabulous fun, starting in a buzzy Mayfair hotel bar, several cocktails hardly touched the sides as she related to me what she’d been up to in the Gulf.

She looked amazing, she’s fortunate to be one of those redheads who can carry a tan and her long red hair was set off quite strikingly against a cream cocktail dress and a pair of nude Louboutin’s, which, if my memory hasn’t turned to complete mush, I had bought her.

Life in the Gulf sounded interesting, as a specialist, she is well paid, but living, especially food, is expensive. She’d had a couple of affairs with married doctors, but nothing serious.

We moved on to a favourite sushi place and by 11 we were all over each other, I have to admit that being the weak-willed Daddy I am, I invited her back to my flat.

Now, I don’t know about you, but I’ve always found that being one of two horny, pissed people in the back of a taxi is one of life’s pleasures.

We were soon kissing amorously, like the pair of pissed fuckbuddies we used to be.

My hand moved up her thigh to check if she was still a Good Girl, she certainly was, no panties and a bare, wet pussy.

Weeks of frustration melted away with my judgement and no sooner were we out of the cab and through my front door, we were in bed.

Sometimes, some frantic vanilla sex can be just what body and soul needs.

As we lay there exhausted, in that wonderful clammy closeness, I was expecting to hear May ask if we could pick up where we left off 18 months before, but  I looked over and she was dead to the world.

I would have to wait until morning.