Ok, so the separation is all over bar a few bits of admin. You go your way, I go mine...
Mine that week takes me to a corporate boondoggle at Ascot races. I'm not into horses in any sense, but getting away from the office for two days seems like a good idea. We're in a hotel a few miles from the track, about thirty of us. The average age, bar the big bosses, is well below my 37 and most of the women won't be seeing thirty for some years. That makes them out of my league, because I have neither a seat in the boardroom nor the sort of physical attributes that they seem to see as vital. I don't frighten the horses that shoot past on that first afternoon, but I'm not George Clooney. Six foot tall and well maintained, yes, but drop-dead gorgeous probably not.
So they stick me at dinner-time next to a pleasant lady who is probably the only female on my side of thirty. She's an accountant, but as we talk, she becomes a far more interesting person than I'd thought at first.
Her name is Aurore, which is a good starting point. An interesting name. She's from the Indian Ocean island of Réunion, and I can see traces of her various ancestral ethnicities in her face and skin colour. She's brown, with crinkly black hair and the vestiges of Chinese in the shape of her eyes. The dress she's wearing is loose and I'm guessing has been chosen to hide some extra kilos. She has a magnificent pair of breasts. I'm not an expert, but we're looking at 36 at least, with a C or D cup. I've never been to Réunion and she's never been to Ireland, so we exchange childhood stories and career experiences.
Gradually, I become aware that we're almost the only people still at the table, and that the staff are hovering, keen to get home. We stand up, and I realise that she's almost as tall as me. We wander off towards the foyer and the lifts. We're waiting for one to arrive when she says :
"I could really do with a no-strings fuck tonight. Can I tempt you?"
My mouth says yes before my brain kicks in and demands that I think this over first. The door of my room has barely shut behind us before she's on her knees, grappling with my fly. By the time she extricates my dick from my boxers, it's rock solid and ready for action.
The action starts with a very expert blowjob. Her lips are soft and she sucks like a vacuum cleaner. If I thought I was hard before, I was mistaken...
"I'm not going to let you finish, because I want that thing inside me," she says. She stands up and strips off. This is not an artistic minute or so, as she flings her dress, bra, knickers and hold-ups to the four corners of the room. The body that is revealed is plump, but firm and smooth. Her tits are quite as spectacular as I'd imagined and her long nipples are standing out like pencil erasers. She has coarse black pubic hair, but relatively little of it.
Meanwhile I'm down to my boxers, which don't survive long. She yanks them down and pulls me onto the bed.
"No kissing," she says. "Just fucking."
She's pulling hard on her nipples, making them even longer, so I wrap my lips round them and suck as hard as I can.
"That's good," she growls. "Harder!"
My room is a single, so the bed is inadequate as a battlefield. We fuck on the floor and it is as if two wild animals are coupling. I bite her, she bites me, my back is a mass of scratches the next morning and her buttocks are still red from the slapping she insists she wants. Because it's a single room, it's also miles away from everyone else from the organisation, for which I'm very grateful when she sneaks away to get ready for public consumption. Before she goes, though, I get the mother and father of all blowjobs from her. It feels as if I'm draining a bucketful into her mouth and she has to close her tips very firmly before swallowing my load.
"I'll tell you about that later," she says. Still no kissing, but a brief hug as she leaves.
We ignore each other through the racing the following day, but there's a tap on my door that night, at around one in the morning. I wake up, let her in and she slides into the bed with me.
"Let's talk," she says. "This bed isn't wide enough for anything else, and I'm raw from last night."
So we talk, and she tells me about the boyfriend from whom she has escaped. No physical violence but a constant erosion of her sense of self worth. He knows she loves to give blowjobs, so he rations her to only when he says so. He knows she loves to swallow, so he always pulls out and shoots in her face, especially up her nose. He calls her a fat slug. Aurore is no waif-like model, but she's two good handfuls of thirty-year-old woman, and right now that's perfect for me. I tell her about me and why my marriage has fallen apart. I try not to blame the property-developing bastard my soon-to-be-ex replaced me with. I suspect I'll be better off without having to ignore her sneaking out and coming back with her knickers in her bag. Eventually, despite the bed, we even sleep.
We wander down late to breakfast, to avoid our colleagues who have all rushed back to the City grind. We each get into our car and drive off.
Over the following few months, we both know that any time either of us wants a fuck, we have a willing partner. We never spend the night together and we both know that the other might be seeing someone... or not. No strings.
Being from Réunion, Aurore speaks good French, so she is a prime candidate when troubles need sorting in the Paris branch. I have some leave available, so when she asks if I'll go along I say yes.
She has a double room in a hotel in Pigalle, because that's where the offices are. We arrive late morning, check in, find a good restaurant for lunch, then it's back to the hotel. She has prep work to do for a serious bollocking to dish out the following day, so I go for a walk, and discover that this is the red light district of Paris. I get back around six, just in time for Aurore to drag me out again to a local street market, where she buys a loose linen dress, bright yellow. It's just above knee-length and hangs nicely from her tits. She asks me to take it back to the hotel while she does what she says is strictly girly shopping.
When she comes back, with a couple of expensive-looking carrier bags, she locks herself in the bathroom. When she comes out, she's wearing the dress, but something has happened to her tits. She laughs like a drain at my stunned expression and lifts the dress up to her chin. Ok. Yes, she is wearing a bra...but what a bra! It supports her tits, but without covering them at all. Her nipples are standing out and are very noticeable even when she drops the dress back down.
"You look as if you're anticipating an orgy tonight!"
"I am."
"That's very flattering."
"No, it isn't. Tonight you're taking me to a sex club."
"What?"
I've heard about the Paris swinger scene, but I never thought I'd be experiencing it at first hand. It's ridiculous, but my first thought is that my minimal French will be a problem.
She explains that she's been planning this for some time. She's decided that she wants to find out what happens in these clubs and whether she, a brown woman will be welcome and appreciated.
"Why would you not be appreciated?"
