Bumbling Dad. Midlife dating tales from London.

I was driving down from my villa this morning in search of breakfast at the nearest beach village when I realised I'd have to turn back for another poo. This, in itself, won't come as momentous news to anybody who experiences morning bowel movements.  Which, all being well, is most people, but I'd already had three between getting up, showering and leaving the property. For the record, I have diverticular disease.  This delightful piece of oversharing i s brought to you by the formation of small bulges in the wall of the colon, which has nothing to do with punctuation and everything to do with the passage of food and its by-products through the body.  It's also hereditary, which explains why both my brother and my mother have it too; although not the fact that I was diagnosed years before either of them, despite being the youngest of us.  Here comes the science bit: Who knew  I'd be younger than my mother? What it means, in real life, is that I have to be care

This was first published as a guest post for @Smutathon2019 (www.smutathon.com): Sex-positive bloggers writing this year in support of the National Network of Abortion Funds.   She :  I have a vision of drinks being finished, a general air of needing to get out of public gaze. You take my hand and we leave. We walk a short way, there’s a pretty alley on your left but it’s dark and there no people. You pull me into it, my back against the wall in deepest shadow, then… You look up at me. Our eyes meet. The gentlest touch of our clothing sends a tingle through us both. My hand on your waist is an electrically charged jolt. He :  I go to brush a piece of hair from your face. You misinterpret my movement. We bump noses. Laugh. Look at each other again. And can’t help ourselves from kissing. Gently at first, then a little more urgently. Feather touches interspersed with probing tongues and fingers in hair and on back of necks… You taste amazing. Your lips are soft, and warm and