Bumbling Dad. Midlife dating tales from London.

One of the very last times I slept with someone, back when sex between consenting single people was still allowed, I woke the following morning with a couple of urges that needed to be fulfilled. Grasping between and behind my legs I eventually encountered something long, thin, and disconcertingly unfamiliar. Groping around delicately, I pinched the end of a what turned out to be a hair between my fingertips and pulled inch after tickling inch of it from my puckered balloon knot. Similar to a string of anal beads, except without the knobbly bits, perhaps fortunately. It wasn't entirely an unpleasant sensation, but I'm not convinced I'd subscribe to the YouTube channel. There was more to come. Well, there wasn't, because those  urges had been wonderfully mutual upon waking, but there were, unbeknownst to me, further treats in my lunchbox. It's quite difficult to describe the sensation of pulling what feels like a two foot long hair out from inside one