Mari's Misfortunes With Men.

Hot, excited female

Shoving back the Laura Ashley quilt, feeling the cold bedroom air

coax her midlife nipples into reluctant action,

Mari stretched her dumbelled arms up to the ceiling

of her sweet Saturday hopes.

Last night’s dreams lodged lovingly in her sleepy head, and

April’s sunshine kick-started her latent longing for romance.

Fat chance.

Gwyn from Grovesend lacked that something special, being too grand,

rather beige-skinned bland and silky smooth.

Boring as hell, to tell the truth,

failing to excite or ignite her faltering forty-ish flame , during the

fumbled tumble in the high-tech jungle of his macho bedroom.

Best forgotten.

Peter from Penclawdd was particularly pernickety, preferring cool conversation

and lots of inhibition to any wild and wonderful freelance stuff.

Cold as a fish, if you must know,

freezing  with one chilly look any fleeting hope of passion or lust of any fashion

 in Mari’s middle-aged mind.

The fridge would be warmer.

Pedantic plonker.

Llew from Llanelli was altogether far too nice, devoid of any fizz or spice

to warm that casual connection.

His hair was brown, jeans precisely pressed, like the Ever-Ready

smile that lit his boyish face,

which switched to dimmer when she ordered her second tequila slammer.

Little lush Mari!

Immaculate perfection?

In his modest dreams...

Marc from Maengwyn was much the worst.

Slick compliments, flowery words and saccharine  sweetness won the heart of

poor Mari.

He had his own agenda, a dark list of missed chances and dances forgotten,

whilst his outer shell glistened with a glossy veneer of ill-gotten

 succulent and sensuous glamour.

God, he was fantastic.

But no oil painting, just terrible teeth, flabbily fat and with hair that would not comply with his

vain requests.

With Svengalian skill he sucked Mari into his web of lies.

 From which she emerged half-devoured and sad.

Bad man.

Spanish-maid slippers awaited  her tangerine-toed feet, ready for the easing in....

As she teased her M&S dressing-gown over her spray-tanned shoulders,

Mari closed her still-lustrous eyes in glorious anticipation of the wonders

yet to be delivered.

He should arrive at around ten, with a purposeful stride up the garden path and then

should knock on the door.....and maybe ring her bell?

Her heart beat faster, her breathing quickened, a swift glance in the mirror

at the sultry golden features;

 the Malteser eyes were glowing , the L’Oreal black hair was flowing

 luxuriantly, reassuringly down to her whippet-slim waist.

She licked her lips.

Not past it yet....

Pearly beads of sweat glittered on her excited face as she hastened to meet

this handsome young devil.

A delicate coral flushed her smooth cheeks; she felt the heat rising in her soul.

No peri-menopausal hormonal rush this time, just sheer, giddy anticipation of

achieving her goal.

The doorbell rang.

Mari swallowed.

Opening the door with a dazzling smile, she greeted the man

 with her usual style.

Then grabbed it, with no preliminary niceties.

Fiercely ripping it apart, Mari ravenously fell upon her

new Next Directory.