As you are well aware, Mr P and I have been together for 5 and half years. I hate to admit it but passion does fade and you do grow out of those daily hour-long shagathons. This however should hopefully transform into a deeper, more intimate kind of relationship and although lamentable, it is probably for the best in the long run if you still adore each other once the spark has gone out.
Although I know this is inevitable, Mr P and I have a healthy sex life, usually managing to do it every other day. However, he has been working away a lot, working long hours, playing football and getting drunk with me so our bedroom antics haven’t been as prevalent recently.
This weekend, we stayed at our mate’s hotel (review to follow) for my birthday treat. Whether it was the dress I was wearing (aubergine, body con), the fact that Mr P hadn’t played football and had a lot of pent up energy bubbling away inside his loins that day or the vast quantities of Prosecco and rum consumed, something took hold of us that night, even after rolling to bed sometime shortly after 4am.
We had a fabulous night of noisy, passionate sex (sorry Room 2) and I put it down to the fact that we were in an unfamiliar hotel room with a new bed, new surroundings and the added bonus of mirrored wardrobe doors opposite the bed and a wet room. A new, sexy atmosphere in one contained space. And minimal cleaning up afterwards. Perfect.
We got up the next day at about 2:30pm. Mr P had the horn and so we got up to some more mischief, despite that strangely uncomfortable and yet erotic soreness one experiences after a night of lust. When we got back to our own gaff, we got frisky again.
Maybe he’s catching up on lost time or maybe I’ve suddenly become a hell of a lot more attractive: whatever, I’m not going to try to find the reason. All I know if that the reaction to a night away has been amazing. And we’ve got another one coming up tomorrow, as we travel to Birmingham for a Primal Scream gig. Better brace myself.