Bumbling Dad. Midlife dating tales from London.

Over the last few years I've noticed that it typically takes me longer to find something I fancy having a wank to than it does to actually complete the task itself.  Not that I rely on visual stimuli, of course, but the profusion and availability of internet porn does offer a tempting jubilee of genitalia, a festival of flange, a carnival of cock, if you will, to the eager onanist; ready for those moments when the time is right, the hands are warm, and the mood is highly charged. Such times have been more readily available to me over the last 6 years of singledom, and would be even more so during the current lockdown were I not quarantining with my eldest child. As anyone who shares accommodation and fancies a little self-pleasure knows, the most sensitive organ of the body when masturbating is your ears.  And headphones really aren't recommended. So while circumstance or broadband outage might require a withdrawal from the dusty vaults of the wank bank, in order to make a

My Love Life. Part 3 Part 1  and  Part 2  are right here. You really should read them first. They're better than this one. It was almost another two years until I had sex again.  But I fell for nearly everyone in the meantime. After a clutch of 'O' levels (which were like GCSEs but  much  harder, fact fans), I changed schools once again for Sixth Form.  For the very first time in the seventeen years of my life, it was my own choice, unlike my first nine schools.  It meant a move from the small town to the big city, from a white middle-class comprehensive to a mixed demographic community school surrounded by burnt out stolen cars and populated by burned out, sullen, teachers.  'Fame' hadn't long finished on TV and I was genuinely hoping someone would teach me to breakdance, or at least spin on my head. Nobody did. I didn't know a soul there.  But on induction day I met a couple of girls who took me under their collective wing.  In the years to follo