divorcedlondon

I’m sure there’s only one question on all of your minds as you read this.

How did my big job interview go?

It went incredibly, indescribably well! I really think it couldn’t have gone better; it was a virtuoso performance from yours truly. I was at my most charming, confident and cocksure; you all would have been proud of me!

But did I get the job?

Good question! The answer is: not yet. I do know that I made the short list along with one other guy.

How do I know this?

Bob’s mate is my inside source at the firm and he’s spoken with the MD about it already. I received a full and detailed report. Everyone needs an edge!

According to Bob’s mate, the MD really liked me, but this other guy has slightly more managerial experience.

Experience is over-rated! What I’ve got that I’m sure my competition lacks is personality. I’ve got that in spades!

Rather than have a follow-up interview, the MD has decided to take a less formal approach and is planning on taking us both out for separate drinks evenings. This is to see which of the two of us is better suited for the social side of sales directoring.

My inside source says that the MD belongs to a posh gentleman’s club in Mayfair and that’s where he will bring us both, on successive evenings. I’m hoping I can engineer it so my night is the second one.

Why? Because I know a little something about sales, and he who does his closing pitch last, often does it best.

I’m feeling more than quietly confident about this; I think I really hit it off with the MD. He’s one of those posh middle-aged men who are well spoken and relaxed, exuding the sort of infinite confidence that only good breeding and family wealth can provide.

He looks a lot like Peter Lawford, an actor, long dead, who used to be part of Frank Sinatra’s “Rat Pack”.

If you search on the ‘net, I’m sure you could find a photo of him without too much difficulty. Mainly, it’s his hair, which is “salt and pepper”, much like Lawford’s, with pronounced greying bits near his temples. I saw a documentary on television about the “Rat Pack” recently, which is why he’s fresh in my mind.

The MD was charm personified, but I’m sure you know the type. He’s smooth, humorous, witty and a keen storyteller. I’m sure he likes a drink and probably has an eye for the ladies. I got along with him very well indeed.

And the job itself?

Well, what can I say? It’s even better than I had hoped it would be. The basic salary is very high and with the bonuses, it’s incredibly lucrative.

And there’re loads of perks and benefits, like private health insurance, a company car, eight weeks annual leave, my own assistant and what sounds like a liberal expense account. What more could I ask for?

That the job will be well and truly mine! I’m nearly there; or rather I’m a lot closer than I was a week ago!

Bob’s mate says I should expect a call from the MD to arrange something for later this week.

I can’t imagine this other guy having a chance against me in this arena! I don’t know that for certain, but I just can’t see anyone beating me at this.

I might even be a bit sneaky. This might sound ridiculous, but I was already thinking that I should have some sort of special plan to impress the MD.

My idea is to choose a second venue to visit after drinks at his private club, then have my new girlfriend, “Candy” plus a friend of hers waiting at the bar when we arrive.

I’ll impress the MD by pulling these two young women while making sure “Candy’s” friend shows the MD an especially good time!

Let’s face it, if I can get the old guy laid by another nineteen-year old hottie, then I can pretty much guarantee the job will go to the best man for it! Me!

All this waiting is driving me mad. I want that damn job so bad I can taste it!

Luckily, I’ve had other matters to keep me occupied and distracted.

Namely, as I just mentioned, my new special friend, the lovely, luscious and delectable “Candy”. If she were any sweeter, I’d probably need insulin!

She’s incredibly hot, but then aren’t all nineteen-year-olds? And I love the way she dresses. Her wardrobe can be described in one word: skimpy! Even her thongs are especially tiny, even I’ve never seen them that flimsy before. I feel like the luckiest middle-aged sex maniac in London! Well, maybe the whole world!

I met “Candy” a couple of weeks ago in a club and we’ve been spending a lot of time together ever since. Mainly, she’s been visiting me at my flat and we’ve gone out a couple of times. She is a university student, studying in central London.

I have to say that I find it a bit pointless going out with “Candy”. I mean, what’s the purpose of heading out to some club when I’ve already pulled the hottest girl in the place before I’ve even walked through the door?

I don’t mind going out for dinner or drinks, actually I enjoy that, but to put myself through hours of tedium in some hot, sweaty, loud club only to go home with the same woman I arrived with, is a bit much for me to take.

Still, I need to keep “Candy” happy and if she wants to party in some club for hours on a Saturday night, who am I to complain? Besides, she likes charlie as much as I do, perhaps even more. She’s adorable; she calls it “toot”.

My one complaint about “Candy”, if you pushed me to make one, is that she’s only spent the night at my place twice so far; that first Saturday when we met and the Saturday just gone.

Every other night we’ve been together, after I’ve had my wicked way with her a couple of times and given her countless orgasms (ok, I count them!), she’s insisted she return to her hall of residence. I’d prefer it if she could stay all night, because then I get the chance for a little more of what I need in the morning…!

And “Candy” is experienced; she really knows how to push my buttons. I know how to push hers too and I’ve maintained my rather high OR.

OR? Orgasm ratio! Do keep up!

And with the Apcalis, an extra round in the morning is no problem at all! Actually, it’s a necessity otherwise, if I go out to the shops, it can be embarrassing. Erection detection becomes unavoidable!

And yes, you read that correctly, she’s a uni student.

To be honest, I don’t really mind the age difference and haven’t really noticed it causing us any problems so far. She’s nineteen; I’m nearly thirty-nine. What’s twenty-years anyway?

I don’t want anyone to think that my relationship with Candy is getting serious, even if it is becoming regular. I’m not interested in settling down with anyone, at least not any time soon.

I’d be crazy to want to limit myself to one woman, even one as young and delectable as “Candy”.

There are so many hot women out there; it would be nearly criminal to deprive them of the chance for the full discreetlondon treatment!

I know I can’t administer it to every single hot woman in London, that just wouldn’t be practical, but I can provide this extra-special service to as many ladies as possible!

If I can bring the tiniest amount of sensual joy and pleasure to even a few women in London, I’ll have served my purpose and fulfilled my potential. Trust me; I’ve got more than a few in mind already!

“Candy” and I have talked about this, well, not specifically about me wishing to pleasure all the hot women of London, but about how our relationship will not become serious or monogamous. She’s fine with this and understands completely. She really is a great woman!

She’s also been really good about the fact that I’m a father. So far, it hasn’t had any noticeable impact on our socialising but that may change soon. I’ve been speaking to my wife about some sort of formal access arrangement.

I need to come up with something, I’ve only seen my little girl twice in the last month and a half and that’s not enough. Even my wife acknowledges that I deserve more time with our daughter.

Of course, my wife has ulterior motives and wants to spend time with me herself. She thinks I haven’t realised this, but of course, I have.

I’ve told my wife that once access is sorted, I’ll set up a standing order to pay child support. I’ve even told her I’ll backdate it to my daughter’s birth. I’ve wanted to do this anyway, but linking it to some sort of access schedule should give my wife some incentive to come up with something workable.

She has suggested I take my daughter every other weekend, which is substantially more than I was expecting! I certainly don’t feel ready to do this; I need more experience handling everything before I would be comfortable with this sort of arrangement. Changing her nappy is one thing; dealing with her crying for hours on end is too scary to even consider!

I can understand my wife’s rationale for this; she wants weekends free half the time. She’s planning on returning to work soon, initially on a part time basis and I’m certain if I had our daughter every other weekend, her childcare issues would be somewhat simplified.

I’m not opposed to this plan, not at all. I’m just nervous.

“Candy” says she used to baby-sit for her neighbours and knows her way around a nappy so I might call upon her to help. That is, if I could convince her to spend an entire weekend with me!

But that complicates things slightly, as my wife doesn’t know or need to know about my rather active social life. Something tells me my wife wouldn’t be too keen on “Candy”.

Remember, I’m still counting on my wife to file for the “decree absolute”, which would finalise our divorce. The last thing I want to do is piss her off.

She still thinks there’s a chance we might get back together and I haven’t pointed out how unlikely this really is. I should though and soon, otherwise it could get trickier. I’m just waiting for the right moment!

Besides, this blog is called “divorcedlondon” and that title becomes pointless if I’m still married. I’ll be single again soon enough, not that it is really making any perceptible difference to anything except the name of this blog!

Ok, now on to my latest internet confession.

Last Tuesday night, “Candy” came to see me. We did what you would expect, which meant fucked like bunnies, though the OR was extremely high. Perhaps too high, which is something I would not expect to be saying.

Basically, I popped once, she came at least a dozen times. That’s an OR of twelve, which is good for “Candy” but bad for me.

“Candy” left around midnight, leaving me with a stiff cock and nowhere to put it. I really needed to cum a second time, but it was my fault, I wasn’t watching the clock and I didn’t make sure I had a second go before she had to go.

We had been partying, with a bit of charlie and some drink, so I was quite comfortably toasted. I briefly debated booking a quick massage or escort girl, but decided it was too late in the evening to start that process.

Instead, I put on my coat and headed up Sussex Gardens. I wandered up and down this street a couple of times, but it being late on a very cold Tuesday night, there were no whores to be had!

Well, that’s not strictly true. I was approached by one very tall hooker who didn’t seem to mind the cold so much.

Once she was close enough, I spotted a key fact. I didn’t think she was a she at all, but a he. Yes, I’m fairly certain it was a guy in a frock and up close, he wasn’t very convincing.

Naturally, I declined his/her generous offer of sex. I mean, come on, I’m easy, but I’m not desperate! Or stupid! Or blind! I didn’t wait around for the “high pressure sell” after that!

So in the end, I returned to my place, empty handed except for a rather large, throbbing hard-on. My own! Don’t be disgusting!

I wanked myself off three times in quick succession before drifting off into a deep, restful sleep.

So that’s my confession. After my hot little friend left, I tried to get more.

I failed, but that’s not the point. I’m being honest here. Sometimes, I really just can’t get enough!

If I’m lucky, I’ll have lots to celebrate this weekend. I’m hoping that job will be mine, I should have a rough idea of when I can see my daughter regularly and I’m pushing for “Candy” to come around on Friday night and stay right through until Sunday!

Even if two out of those three things happen, I’ll be extremely happy.

And you’ll all be happy too, because don’t you want your friend DL to see all his dreams come true?