Day Zero

I am not sure how I should write this, hell I’m not even sure if I should write it. I was a happily married man with a boring job in a secretive world that required a security clearance, a job that I could not discuss.  As a result of my oh so boring job and it’s slightly more than average salary, I had the benefits of a wonderful four bedroomed executive house in a designer estate with all the essential mod cons and a beautiful wife who was attentive to my every need. Every need that is, except one. She refused any form of sexual contact with me. 

So why does it happen to so many men? Their eyes wander. Is it because their wives and loved one’s tire of sex? Many men have an insatiable appetite, so I am told, mine, I feel is satiable. It just wasn’t getting sated.

My dreams were erotic; my life was anything but. So, one day, back then before the events that I am about to relate, things changed. I was sat on my leather sofa, watching some chap getting his every need attended to on my larger than life TV with its sound surround system giving us the benefit of every sigh and groan. I say “us” because I was not alone. On the single chair next to the sofa sat my wife and we were watching the latest film release on DVD, and amongst all the action sequences were the inevitable romantic distractions, and this being a modern and liberated day, we the viewers were treated to all the full frontal nudity, bums, boobs and balls that we could wish for.  On TV I was watching the very thing I couldn’t have. Sex.

“Quite a juicy bit.” I said to Ronnie my wife.

“Don’t get any ideas Robin,” She said, “It’s just acting.”

“Well,” I said, “How about we do a bit of acting ourselves?”

“No, now shut up and watch the film.”

So. That was it, that moment was the straw breaking the camels back, I am surprised there wasn’t a loud “crack” as it broke. If my wife would not do the deed, then I decided that I had to cast my seed to a wider audience.

It is interesting, almost, how, in a moment, I went from a respectable married man to the old tired cliché, a man looking for something on the side. The why was simple, Ronnie, would not have sex. There was always an excuse for her. She was too tired, or has an ache, or “it hurts”, well ‘see a doctor’ was my view, after all, they had tablets for everything.

The next morning my new role as a sexual adventurer, in training, would begin. I would go out on the hunt. Little did I know of the drama that would unfold. This is the story of that unfolding drama written in a style mix of diary, blog and historical account. Oh, and it is a bit explicit in places. Stop here if you get offended but be aware that no animals were harmed in the writing of this tale.

 

2 And We”re Off

Ronnie told me she was off to see her mum and that I should see to my own tea. On the way back from the office I popped into Asda. I wandered around and selected a pack of Trout, some almonds, a few herbs, fresh steamable veg, and a bottle of Chablis, and off to the checkouts. One checkout, luckily, was about to become free, so I hurried to it and put my food on the belt. The woman at the checkout was smiling as she put my few bits through, and she commented on how someone was going to be lucky tonight. Of course, there was enough food for a meal for two, she did not know that I am a bit of a greedy sod on the vegetables front and planned to freeze the second trout for another time. I did not really explain, the man inside me went into overdrive. I told her no, only me being unlucky and eating alone. I flirted, probably very badly as I am out of practice, and called her by the name on her tag, Amanda, as often as I could. She wore no ring, but then neither did I.

I had been too long without sex for my civilised side to be able to further control my physical side. I was having erotic thoughts for the first time in ages. Needs rise as needs do, but that was not all that was rising.

It was quite amazing how much ‘contact’ is out there, quite a revelation to me. I had never noticed before, probably because I hadn’t been looking. My lovely wife had met all my needs, and I would like to think I had met all of hers. So back then I wandered through life accepting comments on face value, never noticing a double entendre here or there, never recognised a flirt for what it was. God how blind was I?

But then as I had told my conscience as I shaved this morning, an occasional shag from the wife, and I wouldn’t be thinking that way.

It wasn’t Ronnie’s fault, after all, she hadn’t designed my body chemistry, she had just exploited it, like every other woman on the planet had exploited her man. Women are designed to be beautiful, gorgeous, attractive beings, (okay, so that is obvious), and men are designed to be the poor unfortunate prey that fall under their spell. Men are driven by the need to have sex. It is built into their very being, and therefore they are the willing victims being led to the slaughter of domesticity.

And that is fine, for most men, just keep drip feeding them sex and they will be happy, and they will not stop and think, and they won’t realise the truth. Well, conscience, the dripping tap was turned off, I stopped, and I thought. And I looked at all the men around me and I realised what a sad bunch we are. Driven by biological needs over which we have little or no control, conditioned by society to be monogamous, threatened by the STDs of nature should we stray from the marital bed.

Amanda wasn’t on the tills the next day – I had looked before I shopped. So, deciding that playing more than one target in the same place at the same time wasn’t a good idea, I decided to shop elsewhere and see what was on offer, and Tesco was the next place for me to go. As I entered the shop I saw two women, obviously twins, and that set me laughing, twins, would that be buy one, get one free?

Well I wandered the aisles with my small sized ‘trolley for one’ and picked up this, and looked at that. But I only selected Finest’ or ‘Premium’ brands, and always in sight of women displaying the right characteristics. It was obvious to me how to behave ‘on the hunt’ now that I think about it.

Large trolley equals tribe to feed, could be more trouble than it’s worth.

Small trolley means an interesting possibility; you need to look what goes into it. (Venus shaving gear is okay and potentially fantastic (I do like a trimmed garden) Gillette is almost certainly a NO, NO, NO!!). Hand basket - honey I’m looking at what you’re buying and selling!

Three selections later I had discussed the various benefits of honeydew versus cantaloupe with a woman who worked, according to her name tag, at the building society next door. Her name was Sarah, and she was prospect number two. I decided that I may need to open an account, then reconsidered, no, too confining. I decided to just enquire.

I needed to start preparing the way at home. A few more business trips away, ready so that I could sensibly justify overnighters when the time comes, and a few discrete hotels in neighbouring towns needed to be researched for pleasurable interludes. I decided to keep to the East for my prospects, and the West for Ronnie just in case she wanted a weekender.

Oh, the game was afoot, and the game was good.