A man who was very good with his hands.
The seven year itch exists - fact. It might not always be seven years, but that kind of equates to the time in a serious relationship when there might well be small children about.

It did for us; I was on maternity leave for the second time. Our eldest was almost four and the baby was just a few months old when my father-in-law died and we came into about £15k. This was the early 1990s and that was a lot of money. We'd been living in our little house in Isleworth for about five years and still hadn't got around to replacing the kitchen that had been there when we moved in - and for the previous ten years, by the look of it. Ben (my husband in those days) kept promising to do something about it, but his skills in the DIY department would have left the Chuckle Brothers tutting and shaking their heads.

At this time, our marriage was looking a little bit shaky. The reduced income while I was on leave, plus the increased out-goings due to the baby would have been bad enough, but she was one of those babies that wouldn't get into a regular sleeping pattern no matter what we tried. Kid 1 had been brilliant, Kid 2 was a nightmare, which meant that neither of us had had a good night's sleep for fucking ever. Or rather, I hadn't; Ben had taken to sleeping downstairs on the sofa-bed during the week so that he could function at work.

I still can't figure out whether I had post-natal depression or just chronic fatigue exacerbated by lack of sex, or any physical contact really (with anyone over three feet tall anyway). I assumed that Ben 'got his' on the sofa, courtesy of late night channel four, as he rarely pestered me for sex at this time. Looking back on this time later, after I kicked him out, I suspect that he might have had a bit on the side too, though I can't be certain.

Wow - that's quite a back-story isn't it. Paints a picture though - a blurred, impressionistic picture - like one of Turner's maybe: 'The River Thames on a Misty Morning with Boats and Smoke'. We both knew that things couldn't carry on as they were; we both knew that things would get better once Kid 2 learnt to sleep through the night, but meanwhile...

It was the start of the summer holidays, so I was practically living in my dressing gown, baggy leggings and tee-shirt at this time, as I didn't have to take Kid 1 to school. They were permanently stained with baby sick and breast milk and I must have looked a total fright. When Ben suggested that we use a chunk of his inheritance money to get a new kitchen fitted, I actually cried, as it felt like the nicest thing anyone had said to me ever. Once I got control of myself and thanked him properly, he said he'd do some asking around at work for a recommendation.

Later that week, a guy came round to have a chat about it. His name was Mark and I was a bit scared of him. He came in the evening when Ben was there, but he was still scary, he had his sleeves rolled up and there were tattoos all over his forearms and I guessed they didn't stop there. I'd already decided that I didn't want to be alone in the house with him when he showed us some photos of other kitchens he'd done, brought out samples of woods and finishes, discussed the merits of Belfast sinks and dishwashers. By the end of an hour I'd changed my mind and he started work four weeks later.

At first I was nervous about being in the house with just him and the kids, but very soon he showed that he was not just a very good kitchen designer/maker, but he was brilliant with kids. It turned out that after a bit of a rough start to life, which included children's homes, a spell in the navy and a couple of spells in prison, he'd turned his life around when his girlfriend gave birth to their first child and he'd had to miss being there because he was inside. He'd trained as a joiner and had never looked back. His kids were all teenagers and somehow, he showed me that my kids were at the best possible age. I started to enjoy being a mum again.

Gradually, I pulled myself together. I started doing yoga again, showered every morning, got dressed, went to the hairdresser's, bought some new clothes, took the kids out to the park everyday, chatted to Mark, saw my lovely kitchen coming together.

I don't even know if this was a flirtation, or just a very nice man helping out a struggling woman in need. I tend to think it was just that, but knowing men, I can't be sure. Sure, when I got back from the hairdresser's he commented on how nice I looked, sure he made me laugh, boosted my confidence. Sure he changed somehow when Ben got home from work, or if he worked on a weekend...

By the time the kitchen was finished, Kid 2 was sleeping through the night and I'd persuaded Ben to come back to our bed. He hadn't taken a lot of persuasion - when you whisper into a man's ear "How would you like a blow-job?" I've found that that can be pretty persuasive. He wasn't to know that I was imagining myself on my knees in the kitchen with my mouth round Mark's cock, or later, that I was imagining myself lying on my back on the kitchen table with my heels up on Mark's shoulders as he fucked me amid the scent of freshly sawn pine.

There are some things that are best kept to yourself.
(K.W.A. Knickers With Attitude, Fri 19 Feb 2010, 11:37, 15 replies)

Good story
He just put you back in touch with humanity.
( The Scrunt Wants a Dozen Pints, Fri 19 Feb 2010, 11:47, closed)

Thanks,
for the work stiffy. I was going to get up and go for a fag, but I'll have to wait!
(robbersdog, Fri 19 Feb 2010, 12:00, closed)

Hmmmmmmm
This is really rather sexy... In a sexy sex sex kind of way.
( SpankyHanky, Fri 19 Feb 2010, 12:04, closed)

Why Spanky!
Are you flirting with me?

Or do you do the meat spin for everyone?

Very impressive I must say.
(K.W.A. Knickers With Attitude, Fri 19 Feb 2010, 12:15, closed)

You scare me ever so slightly
and I like it!!! Grrrrrrrrrr!!!
( SpankyHanky, Fri 19 Feb 2010, 12:42, closed)

The question is
Yummy mummy or milf?
(Obi wanker nobi Its not a bug, its an unexpected feature, Fri 19 Feb 2010, 12:55, closed)

what's the difference?

(ElectricSexPants would like to be the Sultan of something, Fri 19 Feb 2010, 13:08, closed)

I think my yummy mummy days are behind me
but I like to think I'm something of a MILF.

I'd guess that you'd have to have teenage kids to qualify for MILFdom, whereas any cute chick with a baby can be a YM.
(K.W.A. Knickers With Attitude, Fri 19 Feb 2010, 13:29, closed)

I see!
So the late twenties woman in Ugg boots and leggings, pushing one of those Humvee size prams, is a Yummy Mummy who'd get cum on her tummy?

And a 35+ mum of a mate is a MILF who'd [someone think if a rhyme]?
(ElectricSexPants would like to be the Sultan of something, Fri 19 Feb 2010, 14:22, closed)

Butter
....treat it like Clover, and spread it all over.

I thank you.
( Ultimate Cakes & Sweets Why,what are you planning to do - photosynthesize?, Fri 19 Feb 2010, 15:42, closed)

Unles you're using some previously unknown form of assonance, butter does not rhyme with MILF.
(ElectricSexPants would like to be the Sultan of something, Fri 19 Feb 2010, 16:12, closed)

Hahahaa a mighty riposte

( Monty Boyce, My cheese game is strong, Fri 19 Feb 2010, 23:58, closed)

This is wonderful.
Although it's not particularly close factually to anything through which I've lived personally, it strikes a very strong chord emotionally speaking.
( .Yeti., Fri 19 Feb 2010, 16:17, closed)

Now see, I read this...
Not in tune with the QOTW, but as a story, and was thinking "OMG, NO!" thinking it would end with KWA getting some length from Mark.

But no, it turned out to be an awesome story :)

You got my click :)
( snee held his breath since, Fri 19 Feb 2010, 16:56, closed)

This is pretty tenuous
but it's so well-told I don't care. Have a click.
( Noeli overtheshoulderboulderholderthingstraplatchboobs, Fri 19 Feb 2010, 20:17, closed)