It was a time I always looked forward to: Tuesday night with a group of friends, mainly women, who got together at Nadia’s house to talk about whatever we wanted. It had started out as a church group, but as time had gone on and people had dropped out and others, non-Christians, had joined, it had changed slightly.

It was now a forum for grown-up discussion of anything from politics and world events to sex, although it kept to the carefully pitched code of mutual respect and decency. That extended to the absence of alcohol, which had itself been discussed and we had agreed that it might alter the balance and should be kept for after-groups which might meet later in a pub.

And that’s where we were, in the King’s Head lounge bar, Nadia, Louise and I. They were firm friends and I was a part-time addition, trusted because of my behavior at the early sessions. Nadia was about 40, with straight blonde hair parted on the side and a huge, ready smile which had been my first experience of her, at a school sports day.

I didn’t know many people and the Mums I did know were wary of talking to me, or so it felt, anyway. Nadia had shown no such reservations. She had two boys, eight and ten, the younger one, Kyle, having some sort of special needs of which I didn’t know the name. All I knew was that he was rather vacant and clingy and she had confided once that she and her husband would never know the bittersweet pleasure of empty nest syndrome because Kyle would always need parental support.

The husband, though, was already halfway out the door, having remained in England while the family nominally moved to Guernsey for tax reasons. He was successful in the finance industry (I wasn’t really sure what he did, in fact) and had a lot of money that he wanted to hang onto. So he visited at weekends when it suited him and Nadia got on with life as essentially a single mother.

Louise was about the same age and from a wealthy background, with the posh accent and a banker husband to keep her in the manner in which she had been brought up. Nadia was of working class stock and saw the people she met at school and socially in a different light, as I did. Louise, though, had a boarding school sort of naughty girl character and enjoyed risqué talk. As for me, I was a little older, but not much, and divorced.

The subject of the early session had been sex outside marriage, with two younger people we all knew from church struggling with the bible’s view that premarital sex was wrong. It’s a subject that has bothered believers since the very start. If God didn’t want us to have sex, why did he make it so irresistible? And with marriage now as unfashionable as hobnail boots and shampoo-and-sets, the world would have been chock full of frustrated people if they had all stuck to this teaching. As it was, the world was full of Christians who had tried and failed to live as they were told they should.

“It’s only shagging,” Louise had pronounced loudly and to riotous laughter just before the meeting ended, and the atmosphere bubbled as it normally didn’t.

When we continued talking about the frustrated couple, Nadia took the opportunity to throw her own problem into the ring.

“I know how they feel,” she said ruefully. Louise patted her hand as if they had had this conversation before.

“John still in the UK?” I ventured, and she nodded.

“I didn’t sign up to be a nun,” she sighed. There was a lull before she continued. “I’ve been reading about sex dating websites. They say they’re full of ordinary, nice people who just don’t have a regular sex partner like a husband or boyfriend, so they find someone suitable and just do it from time to time. Doesn’t even have to be the same person, just someone to ease the pain when it gets too bad.”

“Sounds risky,” Louise said.

“No riskier than conventional dating sites,” I offered. “Everybody’s got sex in the back of their mind. At least this way it’s more out in the open. And you still check people out before you meet them and then meet in a safe place. You just wouldn’t have to go through all the camouflage before you get down to it.”

“You seem very well informed,” Louise interjected.

“I know someone who’s tried it,” I admitted. “Takes a while to find the right one, though.”

“Isn’t Guernsey a bit small for that?” Louise asked. “God knows you can’t get away with anything around here.”

“Yes, it could be embarrassing,” I agreed.

“Well you won’t find me doing it,” Nadia said grimly.

“No,” Louise said with a twinkle in her eye. “Not you at all, is it? What you need is something much more secure. Someone you know, maybe. A fuck buddy.”

“I do not!” Nadia protested.

“Not a nice term,” Louise said, pouring oil on the water, “But you know what I mean. Anyway, I have to go.”

Louise’s exit, heading for the claustrophobic environs of her family, forced Nadia and me to rebalance the conversation.

“She may be right,” I said hesitantly.

“Oh. Right,” Nadia said accusingly. “So who would you have in mind?” Then her face melted a little and she smiled. “You?”

“I, err, well…” I said, fumbling for a standpoint.

“Sorry, I’ve embarrassed you,” Nadia said, and shepherded the conversation into a different direction.

o0o

I had a WhatsApp from Nadia two days later.

“Take pity on a poor spinster?” it said. “Dinner maybe? Got to get out of the house.”

I wasn’t doing anything, so I said yes and we met at a nearby restaurant. Nadia had an au pair to take care of babysitting. We had a pleasant meal; she was good company, although this was the first time I had enjoyed it alone. She told me a bit more about her marriage, and she sounded genuinely lonely.

After paying the bill, we stood in the doorway in an awkward what-now moment.

“We could have a drink at mine,” I offered. “Don’t get the idea that…”

She pushed me playfully. “I’m not afraid of you.”

So ten minutes later we were on my settee with glasses of port and Nadia decided to open up.

“See, Simon was my childhood sweetheart,” she said. “I never had the adventures that most girls do. Just with him. And it wasn’t very adventurous. He was nice enough and after we had sex the first time I thought we ought to make it official. Got married, very cosy, had the kids. And then, Kyle being like he is, I decided to make sure it couldn’t happen again, so I got sterilized. And then the sex petered out completely. So all in all, my sex life has been a non-event.”

She was clearly not as normal – not drunk, but in the mellow zone.

“So what do you think you need?” I asked.

“Well, I don’t need sex,” he said brusquely. “I’m not one of those women. I would just like a man in my life.”

“I don’t agree,” I said, desperately trying to get the tone right once I knew what was going to come out of my mouth. “It can be very difficult for a woman with kids to introduce a man into the equation. And anyway, you’re not even separated.”

“Not officially,” she said.

“So having another relationship could cause all sorts of problems,” I insisted.

“I know, I know,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s the wine talking. So what do you think I need?”

“I think you need some physical loving,” I said. “I think you need to be kissed and caressed and made to feel like a woman again.”

“But that’s such a big step,” she said. “That’s like being invaded.”

“Doesn’t have to be,” I said softly. “Just think about what sex really is. It’s two people getting naked together and being nice to each other. There’s nothing threatening about it.”

“There’s seduction and being undressed and expected to perform,” she said warily.

“Doesn’t have to be,” I countered. “It’s not a competitive sport. You don’t have to be ‘good’ at it. You just need to allow yourself to be romanced in a physical sense. And whatever you want to give in exchange is up to you.”

“What if we fall in love?” she asked seriously.

“Who’s we?” I said without looking at her.

“I don’t know, me and this guy,” she said evasively. “For argument’s sake, someone like you. We’re friends, I feel safe with you. And you seem to have it all figured out, going from normal to this sexual cocoon seamlessly.” She looked up at me. “Would you consider it? If it was on offer? Hypothetically?”

“I would love to,” I said. “As long as I thought you could handle it.”

“Who can say?” she replied. “We would have to try and just take it as it came. Deal with whatever came up. God, Gordon, help me out here.”

I put my arms around her and we kissed gently and then more strongly. In a few minutes we were in my bedroom. I put a small bedside light on.

“You can use the bathroom first,” I said, and went back into the lounge to waste a few minutes.

When I returned she was in bed, looking snug under the covers. After my shower I went in with my clothes clutched in front of me. She was pretending not to look. I climbed in beside her and cuddled her warmly.

“See?” I said. “No trauma. But here we are naked together in bed.” She put her arms around me and we kissed tenderly. “Now,” I continued, “I’m going to kiss you all over.”

“Is that standard procedure?” she asked, stalling.

“Nadia, just turn off the intellectual analysis for a while. Turn off your brain and turn up the senses.”

My hands were all over her as we kissed, stroking and tickling and generally playing with her. I stroked that sensationally silky skin of her inner thighs and then the little banks around her vagina. I traced the channels along the sides, that oddly redundant area that lay in her sex zone but only as part of the structure. I touched her pussy lips gently and slipped my finger in between them just a little. She wriggled as if she wanted more, so I plunged my finger all the way in. Nadia could now be in no doubt that she was having sex, and I could tell be her relaxed body that she was entering into the spirit of it, not thinking too much but just enjoying the journey.

I drew my finger from her hall of Venus and moved it between her buttocks, gently rubbing her there and enjoying the privilege.

I moved my head down to her breasts and sucked her nipples. She grabbed my right hand and put it back between her legs. While she was down there she took my cock in her hand carefully and just held it without moving. I could tell she was confirming to herself that she had an erect penis in her hand and it wasn’t her husband’s - and she liked it.

“I’m going to lick you,” I said softly, using the phrase that requires no more specific explanation.

Her crotch was fresh and natural, pristine, as I this was the first time it had ever been on offer to a tongue and its eager owner. I lapped at her and the innocent presentation vanished as she parted her legs further and encourage me to lick her further, deeper. She knew I was tasting her and she knew I loved it. I sucked her clitoris and she flinched and gasped. Her hands were on my head, not pulling me in but just being part of the act.

At this point the question for me is usually (unless we have discussed it in advance) whether she will let me lick her arse. Things were going so well with Nadia and she was so receptive and willing that I decided to go for it. The worst that can happen is that she pushes herself away and retreats up the bed, and you have to start again on the normal stuff and rebuild the confidence between you. And she won’t hold it against you, not really. No more than she will hold it against herself for being so prudish.

I delved deeper between her legs, pushing her thighs up so she got the message of what I was doing. And sure enough, after a bit of a lift she swiveled over not her front and raised her rump. She was in charge; she knew what I wanted and she was facilitating it. Maybe she had never known his before, maybe she had secretly always wanted it or maybe she was surprised but had made a split-second decision in my favour. Whatever the thought process had been, she was now presenting her arse to me and I licked it, my heart racing as it always does at the sheer naughtiness, the rewarded risk of even suggesting it and then the aroma, the taste and the feel of her anus. And perhaps most of all, the feeling of electric excitement that I knew was surging through her as someone did this to her. She began to whimper and call my name.

“Oh God, what are you doing? Don’t stop. Don’t stop…” And with a seismic shiver that crashed like a wave over her whole body, she had her orgasm and slumped to the bed.

We lay in ecstasy for a few moments, caressing each other, before she whispered, “Is that it? Are we finished?”

“We can be if you like,” I said. “Or we can do other things.”

“You haven’t come,” she said guiltily. “A man has to come, doesn’t he?”

“Not me, not necessarily,” I said. “That was the greatest thrill I could ever want, rimming you till you came. But if you won’t feel like you’ve really done it till I cum inside you, I will.”

I could tell without her speaking a word that that’s what she wanted. She wanted to be able to wake up the next day and look in the mirror and remind herself that not only had she had an orgasm but a man had uncontrollably lost his semen inside her. Because she was a woman and had this power.

I rolled on top of her and entered her. She was slippery and hot and eager. She grabbed my buttocks and pulled me further in. I fucked her fast and hard, released from the pressure of making her cum, because she had done so already and I knew she was only moments away from her second. And when I did pump my semen into her, she wrapped her legs and arms around me and whispered, “Oh shit, that was so wonderful.”

“It was wonderful for me too,” I replied, stroking her arm.