It had been on the cards for ages, probably the last five years I reckon, although we hadn't acknowledged it. Although we got on ok a lot of the time and the sex was still pretty good though less frequent than previously, we rowed too much and were just not happy in each other's company. We had talked about it several times and had almost seen a counsellor, but hadn't made it, though we had tried swinging which was a major disappointment. So, we had 'done our own things' until we agreed that enough was enough and that we were both fed up with being married. So, we parted. At first, we agreed to a trial separation but after a couple of months by mutual consent it became semi-permanent. He lived in the house in a London suburb, I lived in the apartment in Docklands and we shared the holiday villa in Majorca. Our financial affairs were complicated and we didn't want the traumas and financial transparency demanded by a divorce so we handled everything ourselves and agreed not to take the final step in dissolving the marriage until one of us needed the freedom.
So, there I was in the autumn and winter of 2019 'footloose and fancy free' and ready to go with my new life as a single woman. However, it didn't work out anywhere near how I had hoped and expected. And why was that? Fucking COVID of course and the lifestyle restrictions brought about by the full and partial lockdowns.
From my rather debauched lifestyle of the last few years of my marriage I had a few 'contacts' lined up so, for the back end of 2019 and beginning of 2020 I enjoyed myself sexually as I reacquainted myself to dating and fucking near strangers as well as a few longer-term 'friends'. During this period when coronavirus was still some distant Chinese and then Italian thing, my husband, and I got on better apart than we had together. After initially avoiding seeing each other we became fairly comfortable at being in each other's company, at family and school events.
Then in March 2020 life changed completely. Our pathetic excuse for a Prime Minister announced the first lockdown far too late. No travel unless essential, shops, gyms and pretty much everything else other than supermarkets and other essentials closed, we were ordered to stay at home and work there if we could and no, or as limited as it could be, mixing with strangers. I worked full time from home and with the gym closed, there were no shops, restaurants, bars or cafes open and life as I knew it was mothballed. My new life as a single woman ended almost before it had begun.
I didn't have a steady boyfriend; I had used up my few old flames up and had little or no opportunities to meet anyone new. Overall, none of that was a great problem but the restriction on movement the and lack of sex was. I had not experienced such a situation before. Here I was a woman with thirty-plus years of active, frequent sex behind her and was now left with no other option than my fingers or my vibrator. But before that came about there was one notoriously momentous occasion.
Our son, Peter, was home from Dubai where he now lived and worked and was returning on Sunday, 15th of March, a week before the first lockdown; little did I know I wouldn't be able to see him for such a long time after that! Sara our daughter was in her final year at school before, hopefully attending Bristol University to study law. So, we organised a family lunch on the Saturday; Peter, Sara, John, who is now my 'nearex', and me. And what a mistake in some ways that was.
The lunch at a local restaurant we had used for years and where we and the kids were well known was excellent, though a little tense. It was the first time since the break-up that the four of us had been alone and, of course it brought back many memories of when we were a real family and John and I were partners. It was a long, lingering lunch and it was past four when John was presented with the bill as they were closing. It was a bit of a shock when Peter said that he had to meet some of his friends to say goodbye and invited Sara to go with him.
"Might set you up with someone," he grinned turning to Carlos and asking if he would call a cab.
Very quickly John and I were alone. 'So, what now?' I wondered just as John said smiling.
"So, Jayne, what now?"
I didn't know what to say so I said nothing and sipped my wine, my third glass. He went on.
"Well?"
"Well what John?"
"Seems a shame to end such a nice day so early, doesn't it?"
"Does it?" I asked half agreeing with him but not showing it.
Looking back on what happened next, as I have many times in the year or so since it happened, I am still not sure how and why half hour later we had shared a cab back to the 'family home' where we used to live together and were sitting in the lounge that I had furnished and decorated sipping brandy and coffee. I am even less sure how another half hour or so later I was laid back on the sofa, my blouse undone, breasts pulled out from my bra with my skirt up round my hips as we exchanged passionate kisses and I rubbed his familiar erection.
However, I am quite clear as to how less than a further half hour later I was naked in the bed that I had shared with him for so many years, with his head between my opened legs enjoying a strong and long orgasm. Then, of course, we fucked and it was lovely.
*
Before separating I had not, of course, been able to factor into my planning and thinking the affects of the pandemic and particularly not the lockdown that Boris announced just a week or so after that lunch and the sex with John. Little was I to know that he, my estranged husband was the last man I had full sex with during the main restrictions of the pandemic! I didn't think he would be and even as the lockdown began to bite, I still thought there were strangers, old flames and contacts to meet and enjoy. But there wasn't and to be truthful as more news was published about the terrible disease, I was not sure I wanted sex with anyone, let alone a stranger.
The spring and early summer were tough. They were difficult in many ways but as a newly, single woman to me the most difficult to cope with was, I guess inevitably, the lack of sex. I was nearly fifty and had been sexually active since my late teens. Despite the difficulties with my marriage the sex between us had always varied from being pretty good to bloody marvellous and there had always been plenty of it. The lockdown turned a feast into a veritable famine. As a result, masturbation became my hobby or pastime, well passion really. I bought a new, larger vibrator and a ton of batteries that gave it the life my new 'hobby' demanded which found areas of my body that I hadn't before realised were sensitive let alone erogenous zones. Also, I started using chat sites which, though generally disappointing in the quality of discussion, added another element to my masturbation practices! But of course, these were not enough. I realised it wasn't just penetrative sex I was missing but also simply the intimacy of being with a man, of holding hands, being held by him, having his body against mine and kissing; God did I miss that! Continually, my body cried out to be held and stroked, I wanted to be kissed and licked, sucked and rubbed, I wanted my breasts to be nibbled and my nipples pinched but most of all, above all else, I wanted to be fucked.
In late May as England drifted towards the slight easing of what turned out to be the first of several lockdowns so I began to gain confidence that I would be able to get my new life up and running and meet potential lovers. But it wasn't easy as we were all frightened of catching it. On top of that universities closed down and my daughter came home and stayed with me and there's nothing like having your 20-year-old daughter living with you as a sex stopper as! However, we were able to mingle more and business activities increased a little as some went back to work and meetings with strict conditions resumed. That's how I came to being driven home by Geoff one Thursday night in the summer of 2020.
I had known him for some years and although we had not gone all the way before we had enjoyed a few gropes, mainly drunken ones. He lived some 200 miles away from me and as I expected to drink more than the law allowed at the awards lunch, we were both attending I had got a cab from my London Docklands flat to the Savoy Hotel on the Embankment in Central London. Coming from the same award-winning team Geoff and I were seated at the same table.
"Lucky to be next to each other isn't it Jayne?" he had said as the tables were cleared of the dinner plates and replaced with bottles of wine that were free and hard liquor that we had to pay for.
Like most such ceremonies this advertising awards dinner was boring and had little purpose unless you were going to win something. Geoff and I were not going to win anything so we had to invent our own purpose and that was sitting close together and playing footsie under the table.
With the lights down so the audience could see the ads on the screen it was quite dim and comfortably suitable for extracurricular activity for those, like us, who had no interest in what was showing on the screen. Geoff became nicely ambitious with his hands and after having his arm round my shoulders, he stroked my back and rubbed my hips and buttocks near to the base of my spine. Being tipsy I didn't stop the odd kiss or two on my neck, his foot and leg pressing against my stockinged leg or his hand on my thigh in the thin, grey, pinstripe business suit.
"How you coping being on your own?" he asked between presentations.
"Fine I moved into that flat in Docklands we bought after the crash in 2009."
"So, he stayed in the house?"
"Yes."
"Are you divorcing?"
"No, not yet, our finances are complicated and we're happy as we are."
"Been dating have you?"
"Actually no, the lockdown put paid to that."
"So, am I one of the first?" he asked staring at me as there was loud applause for an award to a popular creative director.
I smiled at him and asked jokingly. "First what Geoff?"
"Whatever you'd like the first to be, date maybe, or......................" He grinned back leaving the sentence un finished
"Actually, the very first."
"What no sex at all?" he grinned.
Smiling, I replied. "Well, I do have a husband."
"So, the lucky bugger's getting his cake and eating you is he?"
