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After an embarrassing post-gym groan in the health food store, I met a sexy vegan, who after forgiving me for accidently dissing the vegan diet, asked me to a vegan picnic on Saturday. He got my number, text and arranged everything. I cooked my first vegan dish – a roasted vegie salad. Yes, I admit Google was my hero and I found a great recipe online: http://www.thedailygreen.com/healthy-eating/recipes/roasted-root-vegetable-salad

So wearing a cute sundress, plastic ballet shoes (I rang my bff Alice for fashion advice and she warned me not to wear any leather if I wanted to get any love from my Vegan man) I arrived roughly on time, only thirty minutes late – I didn’t want to be too eager and have that awkward first people to arrive can’t escape and talk to anyone else moment.

Sexy vegan spotted me straight away.

‘Amai’ he greeted me, I think I saw masculine approval and appreciation light those very sexy brown eyes.

‘Sexy vegan,’ I replied.

He pulled me into a full contact – and I mean thigh-to-thigh, groin-to-groin, belly-to-belly, chest to breast – hug. It was sublime. And it seemed to last an age. It was a really long, personal hug. It felt like he was indicating to the herd that I was his woman. I felt deliciously warm and womanly post hug.

He introduced me around, nobody asked if I was vegan or not. There was a picnic rug full of food, and people just ambled around: talking, eating, and drinking. It was lovely to sit around in the lazy afternoon sun. Sexy vegan kept by my side. Such good manners. A plus.

After thirty minutes or so, I realized I still didn’t know much about him. What he did, where he went to school, how single he was? So I switched gears from polite, general chitchat to the serious stuff.

I wasn’t subtle, ‘So, what do you do?’

He leant forward, his eyes warm and serious and offered me a tortilla with avocado and salsa. I opened my mouth and accepted his offering. Delicious.

He kept his body close, and smiled. Have I re-mentioned how much this man oozed sexiness. He was wearing a dark blue tee shirt that showed off his physique with a Buddhist prayer beads necklace, showing off that he was spiritual. I was getting aroused just sitting with him.

‘I’m a tantric body worker.’ He said, his voice low and deep.

I swallowed the tortilla whole. And promptly started coughing.

What the oath was a tantric body worker? I needed Google! Tantra was some Indian Kama Sutra sex position thing, right?

He gently rubbed circles on my back, which did nothing for the coughing but certainly soothed other parts of me, and offered me water. I took a sip.

He looked amused.

‘What’s that?’ I asked, trying for a non-judgmental tone.

‘I assist people, and couples, on their sexual energy and life force, through breath and touch.’

‘Oh.’ I was floundering.

He elaborated, ‘A woman might come to me for healing as she’s never had an orgasm, or has problems orgasming with her partner. A man might be concerned with sustaining erections or pre-maturely ejecting.’

He was still rubbing soft circles on my back. He definitely knew how to touch a woman, and how to look at her like she had been made just for him.

I swallowed.

He leant forward and kissed me. It was expert. It started with a soft brush of the lips. Then a nibble. I could feel him smile. Then his tongue brushed against my lips. I sighed. I could feel our breaths mingling; thank goodness I’d avoided the garlic hummus dip. Just when I thought he was going to really start kissing me. He softened off, pressing a few quick chaste kisses against my lips.

I looked up at him, soft and dreamy. It had been too long since I’d been kissed.

‘I would like to see you again. Cook you dinner.’

I smiled, shyly. I wanted that too. If he had taken my hand and lead me anywhere, I would have gone with him. I wanted to strip off his clothes and explore his body. I wanted to have sex with him. I wanted him. The need nearly hurt, it was so strong within me. My body was screaming out ‘This is the One’, have sex NOW!!!

‘That would be nice,’ I said instead.

His smile intensified.

‘Tomorrow night?’ He asked, running his knuckles down my cheek.

Wow, keen I love that in a man. Maybe he felt as strongly as I did.

‘Tomorrow night,’ I replied with a smile.

It didn’t hit me until later that I was going to his house for dinner. Which is code for dinner and sex. Which meant I was committing to sleeping with the second guy I’d ever slept with! I was officially breaking the vows of faithfulness I’d made when I’d married my husband. Terror and excitement. Arousal and fear.

I could do this. I was thirty years old. Most women my age had slept with twenty plus men. I had said that this is what I wanted: to have some sexual adventures. And this was the first opportunity post divorce that it had been offered to me, in an appropriate, non-sleazy manner.

I escaped the picnic shortly after, the terror making it hard to sit still and breathe. Old memories of abstinence club – swearing no sex before marriage, how strongly I believed in it – swarmed up. For twenty four hours I went to and fro between ‘I’m going’ and ‘I’m not going’ and ‘I can do this,’ and ‘I can’t do this’.

Until I got his text.

With his address and time to arrive.

And a xx at the end of the message.

Then I made my decision.

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