The first fuck was the sweetest

After the trauma of the end of a long and painful(ly boring) marriage in which we’d barely even ‘made love’ for the last couple of years, yet alone fuck with wild abandon; I decided to see if the other cliches in life were true.

So, I booked myself and my excited slightly broken heart on a fight to Bangkok, wondering what the fuck I was doing, whether this was a big mistake, whether I’d be okay travelling on my own in a place I knew nothing about. I felt scared and alone.

Little did I know, that in a matter of hours, I’d rediscover the naughty adventurous me and that I’d be having the wildest, sweetest sex with a beautiful blonde cheeky Canadian who became (& still is) my boy in Bangkok.

It’s strange how you can carry around these mental shackles that are created in routine and over-familiarity and under-imagination. They can feel formidable and permanent, so much a part of you that you don’t even know that they are there anymore. They become disguised as pieces of mental furniture, rather than chains.

I landed, found my way to the backpacking district on a wild-eyed and hairy tuk-tuk journey through the brightly lit chaotic streets of Bangkok. I clutched a piece of paper with a list of hostels that someone on the fight had kindly made for me, and hoped for the best, walking down this noisy street, overwhelmed with the crowds of beautiful tanned and drunken people around me.

I walked into the first hostel I saw, took a room, changed, took a deep breath and forced my wobbly legs to take me outside, to see what this brave new world of mine had to offer. I didn’t make it very far. A group sat at a table outside the hostel were sat under a tree drinking and laughing and I got invited over. A few toasts to liberty and adventure later and I was drunk on the feeling of liberty and adventure, I was giggly & witty & I caught the eye of this cheeky, naughty Canadian, who kept teasing me. We went for a little walk and underneath a big palm tree, he grabbed me and asked me to kiss him.

I froze, but only for a moment. I hadn’t really been thinking about sex and men on this trip until then. I had thought that part of me was broken, if not dead. That’s how become to increasingly feel when I was married. All that was forgotten as I felt his arms tighten around me as I tiptoed up to kiss him.

The silver lining on the cloud of sexual repression, frustration and forgetting what your libido is, is that it’s all there underneath, brewing, whether you’re aware of it or not, and the pleasure of relief is like no other.  I was taken by surprise by the urgency that suddenly overwhelmed me and I dragged this cheeky thing back to my room, trying to remember where the condoms I’d packed just-in-case were.

It was a beautiful beginning to a wonderful trip. Without realising it, I’d somehow managed to instantly forget what I thought I knew. I’d forgotten that sex was supposed to be fun, funny and exciting, and it was. Sex was a beautiful and good thing, no sex was better than bad sex, and it was so good to have good sex again! I could barely walk for the first couple of days, such pain in my muscles, but such pleasant pain, and such a big smile on my face, in spite of my wincing.

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