My Late Twenties: When Life Had Two Faces - Part 1

June 12, 2026

Hi my dear friends of this cozy discrete group,

In the previous post, When I was a nude model and a hostess in private clubs, but also the girl next door, which was rather short by my usual standards, I touched on an episode that I think deserves a little more detail and context. As you know, I have always liked my posts not to be isolated pieces, but part of a larger whole: the story of my erotic and sexual life, which is what I focus on here in the group and in my blog,&My Intimate Diaries.

But my erotic and sexual life, understood as having sex with other people, is a very long story indeed. It began half a century ago and, over those years, a great many things have happened, and many men have come and gone from my life. Well, "come and gone" may not be entirely accurate, and the expression carries a rather amusing double meaning in this context, especially given all the coming in and going out involved… never mind me. As many of you already know, far more men have come into my life than have left it, because I have always been reluctant to let go of my friends and lovers, the people I genuinely care about.

For that reason, I am going to focus on my twenty-seventh and twenty-eighth years, which were, broadly speaking, very similar to one another. There were no major changes in my life during that period, at least not until I was almost twenty-nine and finally became pregnant. Then everything changed... although, in the end, much of it remained surprisingly the same.

I know that many of you have just had the same question pop into your heads, and I can almost see the smiles forming already. So, in a suitably mischievous tone, I should perhaps say: I assume it was my husband's child, but one can never be completely certain.

Well, yes, of course it was my husband's child... I guess. LOL

Forgive me, I simply could not resist the joke. Anyway, Aura, behave yourself!

The aspects of my life during those two years that I would like to describe in a little more detail, though without becoming exhaustive, are the following:

First, I will tell you about my relationship with my husband, Dan (summary 10 in Post No. 3 of my blog). Closely connected to that is what I shall call my "Life A": the visible one, the life of a professional woman, happily married, the version of me that everyone could see, or at least imagine.

But I will also tell you about my "Life B", the less conventional side of my existence. This can be divided into two closely related parts: I will describe the more or less stable relationships I had with other men during that period. And I will talk about my secondary work as a photographic and art model and, from time to time at 27 and 28, as a hostess in two gentlemen's clubs: one in Pamplona and, above all, the one in Logrono, where I collaborated far more frequently.

In summary, I will talk about four main areas: first, my husband; second, my main profession; third, my special friends; and fourth, my secondary work as a model and other related activities.

In this way, the previous post will hopefully make more sense, and those of you who are interested will also be able to get to know me a little better. Because I am not as frivolous or as reckless as that brief text might have suggested.

This post will be somewhat longer than the previous one, but do not worry, it will not be one of the longest I have published. And I will focus mainly on the more juicy details, and if, while writing, I find that it becomes too extensive, I will simply divide it into two or more parts.

My "Life A" was that of a woman happily married for five years to a promising university professor and researcher. I was a woman with an MSc-level degree, working as a senior technician at the central offices of the electricity company that supplied energy to the vast majority of households in Spain. At the same time, I was also pursuing doctoral studies at the university.

As for my main job, to me, its primary purpose was simple: to provide a stable income. Working for a company like that meant security, a salary as solid as one could reasonably achieve, and the possibility of living comfortably in the way I liked, saving money, and ultimately leaving the job as early as possible. I achieved that goal at the age of fifty-three, after thirty years of work: intense and dedicated, but, to be honest, not especially harsh… let us say, comfortably demanding.

And, anticipating what I will explain later, I should add that my "Life B": my work as a model and other related activities, was “never” motivated by the need of money. It has always been my true vocation, I would even say my passion. Of course, when I was hired, I always negotiated my fees and conditions of the contract, as any competent professional should, fully aware of both my strengths and my limitations. Not needing money is one thing; working for free, even though I love the job is quite another. But more on that later.

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[[ Image 1. In line with the idea of the image from post When I was a nude model and a hostess in private clubs, but also the girl next door, here you can see me in two photographs from the same period, in this case when I was twenty-seven. The one on the left shows me one night working as hostess at the gentlemen's club in Logroño.
It is a photograph taken by Diego, the photographer from Pamplona who frequently hired me as a model and who was also responsible for the promotional campaign of the club. We are talking about 1989, and at that time mobile phones did not exist, let alone cameras integrated into them. In any case, cameras were, of course, strictly forbidden inside the club, with the obvious exception of the official photographer, Diego himself.
There are several aspects of this photograph worth noting. First, it is a Polaroid, but taken with a professional camera by a professional photographer, which gives it a remarkable quality for an instant-developing image. He used this type of camera for test shots before producing the final series with his Nikon SLR using 35mm slides film, which offered significantly higher quality; typically Agfachrome for indoor shoots and Kodachrome for outdoor work. In his studio he sometimes used a Rolleiflex medium-format camera when large copies were required.
As you can see, although the Polaroid photograph is of good quality overall, the limitations of instant film are evident in its color rendition. A photographer cannot perform miracles, and the color balance is not entirely accurate. For example, the gold jewelry appears brownish-red rather than golden. This is largely due to the more limited color gamut of the Polaroid emulsion compared with the 35 mm slide films mentioned above, which were capable of reproducing colors with greater fidelity.
The bluish light reflection against the black background comes from a colored spotlight used to illuminate part of the stage area dedicated to striptease performances and other erotic shows that occasionally took place in the club. Diego preferred black backgrounds for photographic work, although the color backgrounds used in the club shows were more varied.
If you look closely, you can also see the “spintria” pendant around my neck, whose meaning and purpose I explained in the previous post.
On my right hand I am wearing my wedding ring, which in Spain is traditionally worn on that hand. This was a subject of ongoing discussion between the two owners of the club, as one of them, Emilio, insisted that married hostesses should wear their wedding rings because was more erotic and fairer with the club members, while the other strongly disagreed. I will write a full post about that disagreement one day, as both had valid arguments.
In practice, I did not usually wear my wedding ring, although on occasion Emilio would ask me to put it on during the night.
On my left hand I am wearing another ring, this one set with a 0.15-carat diamond. It was a gift from Emilio, given to me during breakfast after the third night we spent together. I only wore it at the club when he was present.
On the other side, the photograph on the right was taken by my husband in the very place where we had declared our love four years earlier.
I do not usually speak much about my intimate life with my husband, as this group and my blog are dedicated mainly to my sexual adventures, and my husband is not an adventure, but rather the reason I am who I am. However, from time to time I like to share something about us that is not directly related to other men. ]]

In my "Life A", everything was, and still is, entirely respectable, perhaps even a little too respectable. And yet, that is precisely the version of me known to the vast majority of people around me: colleagues at work, family members, acquaintances, and my conventional friends, of whom, to be frank, I have never had many.

By conventional friends I mean those with whom there has never been any sexual or at least erotic dimension to the relationship, in contrast to my special friends, with whom such a dimension has existed, or still exists.

As for my neighbors, well, some of them might wonder why so many different men have visited my house over the years, even when my husband was away, but many of those neighbors also have their own little skeletons in the closet and we all pretend that nothing is wrong.

I should clarify, however, that even my special friends do not all know the full extent of my other "Life B" activities. The only person who has always known everything I have done in this area is my husband. Even then, with certain nuances: he is aware of all my extramarital sexual experiences, but not of every detail surrounding them. I am not entirely sure if I am perfectly clear here, but I suspect you will understand what I mean:

For example, if on any given night: one of those nights I go out alone, I give handjobs to two or three different men in a pub or nightclub (pretty often when I was young), or they finger me to orgasm (often while I'm dancing, with their hands inside my skirt or pants: I loved it when they did that to me), what I would tell my husband would be deliberately vague. I would describe the general experience, the number of encounters in approximate terms, and the overall atmosphere, without going into precise details about each situation, identity, or sequence of events. But when a stranger I've flirted with is more interesting or handsome than my usual flings, then I go into more detail.

To me mutual masturbation is not real sex, just a fun mischief, and jerking off a stranger that got a really hard erection while dancing with me was only fair, an act of empathy, because I know how much men suffer when they have a persistent unsolved erection, so I, who had been the cause of that boner, relieved them. I was often the one who suggested that therapeutic masturbation to them, to the surprise of many, and I say all this without irony... they all, well: most, said "yes" and I solved his problem. Most handjobs that I have done to strangers, and are countless, have been for free or perhaps in exchange for a couple drinks or a playful, symbolic tip: just for fun.

With blowjobs, I tend to be slightly more precise with my husband in what I jokingly call my reporting, almost like a playful military debrief. And I would naturally go into much greater detail when it came to penetrative sex.

But my husband is especially particular about the level of detail when a man sodomizes me, since he's never been able to do it himself. Frankly, my husband's cock is too thick and doesn't get hard enough, which is why he failed when he tried to sodomize me when we were newlyweds… He couldn't impale my ass and it hurt me, so since then he hasn't tried to have anal sex with me, although when we're in a threesome, he loves to watch other, better-gifted and more skilled men sodomize me to orgasm, while he watches sitting in an armchair sipping a glass of his favorite whisky enjoying the show.

This way of sharing my experiences with my husband has two dimensions. The first is that it forms part of our agreement, established before we married, which allows me to have sexual relationships with other men: a prerogative I made full use of over time. The second is that it is deeply arousing for both of us, especially for my husband, to hear about what I had done with the other man, what I had felt, how many times and how I came, where the encounters had taken place in general terms, what the guy wanted to do, and how I perceived his reactions.

It is so arousing, in fact, that it often leads naturally to a very intense sex session between my husband and me afterwards, sometimes even echoing elements of what I had experienced earlier with the other man.

Note that I have spoken in the present tense, since even today I still have sexual encounters with other men from time to time; the most recent one only three weeks ago, with my old friend Olaso (summary 9 in Post No. 2).

Of course, my sexual life at twenty-seven and twenty-eight was ten times more intense and varied than it is now. In fact, I suspect I am being rather conservative in that estimation. I would have sexual encounters daily, most times two or three times a day, and I am only counting the times leading to an orgasm. With my husband, however, it would typically be three or four times a week, so you can easily do the arithmetic yourself regarding how often I had sex with other men; though, in practice, it was usually with the same few men, Francis being the main one (summary 11 in Post 3).

But time spares no one, and thirty-five years later my sexual needs are simply less demanding than they once were.

When I was younger, I would quite often have sexual encounters even during my period. Not penetrative, of course, but there were times when I needed the comforting attention of my husband or a trusted friend, someone who would bring me to orgasm fingering my clitoris while kissing me and whispering affectionate words. In return, either before or afterwards, I would pleasure him in the ways that were part of our mutual understanding: with my hands or my mouth, his choice.

I suppose one could say I am addicted to sex, and to orgasms, but specifically to those given by a man. I don't particularly enjoy to masturbate myself, and I only do it when the need becomes irresistible, or when a sexual partner wants to see me doing it with my fingers, a dildo, or the handle of my faithful hairbrush, the one that comforted me so many times when I was very young and didn't have easy access to any attractive man willing to calm my needs giving me a good fuck.

I have never hidden from you that I am, in a sense, hypersexual, although not in a pathological way. I generally manage it with no great difficulty. It is simply part of who I am: yes, I am hypersexual or if you want to be more polite: a woman with an extraordinary erotic appetite.

As it happened, when I was twenty-seven my reproductive instincts suddenly awoke. Hormones and maternal instincts follow mysterious paths, and one day I told my husband that I wanted us to have a child.

His response was loving and gentle, but also very practical. He tried to persuade me that it was not the ideal moment and that we would be wiser to wait another two or three years, until our lives: and especially mine, had become somewhat less hectic.

About a year earlier he had obtained a full professorship with tenure at the age of twenty-nine, about ten years younger than was usual, something unprecedented in his scientific field at the time. He now faced the challenge of consolidating that position and building a research group around it, working 60 to 70 hours a week: literally. In addition, he travelled constantly: conferences, scientific meetings, professional conventions, and visits to companies with which he hoped to establish collaborative research agreements through the university.

He was exceptionally good at all of this. He has always been a natural leader, with remarkable social skills and an ability to inspire confidence in others. In fact, that talent was not entirely unrelated to how he managed to win my heart in the first place.

As for me, my own schedule was hardly less demanding. I spent my mornings working for the electricity company and most afternoons at the university, advancing my doctoral research. On top of that, I frequently travelled to Madrid on company business, and attended conferences and technical meetings as part of my doctoral training requirements.

Looking back, it is difficult to deny that my husband had a point. We were both living intensely busy lives, professionally ambitious, constantly occupied, and rarely still for very long.

On top of all that, I was Francis's art model and lover, and most afternoons after leaving the university I would go to his studio apartment to pose for him and, of course, have sex. A couple of nights each week I would also stay with him overnight.

Then, when I was twenty-six, I began working as Diego's photographic model as well (summary 15 in Post No. 3), which meant travelling to Pamplona, about 180 kilometers from my home. Roughly every six weeks I would spend four days there, living and working alongside Diego, as his model and his couple, his lover if you will, before returning to my normal routine on Monday morning.

In addition, I occasionally worked as a hostess, mainly at the gentlemen's club in Logrono, some 150 kilometers away. Whenever I went there, it usually involved an entire weekend, typically from Friday lunchtime until Sunday morning. During those visits I would stay with one of the club's owners, Emilio.

And then there were various other commitments which would be tedious to describe in detail: my regular monthly meetings with Jose Manuel, with Olaso, and, during the summers, with Paco (summarized in Posts No. 2 and No. 3 for those curious enough to investigate).

Taken together, all of this strongly suggested that it was not the ideal moment for us to have our first child. Once again, my husband was right.

He is almost always right, in fact.

That can be infuriating at times. Yet it is also one of the principal reasons why I love him.

The thing is, hormones and maternal instinct don't always go hand in hand with reason, so I got angry with my husband. It wasn't one of those arguments that can end a marriage, not yet at least, but one that creates a bit of distance; it was our little crisis around our five-year wedding anniversary, when I decided to sleep with every good-looking man I could get my hands on. My hypersexuality didn't quite spiral out of control and turn into a full-blown nympho streak… but almost, although the main reason for my somewhat uncontrolled sexual activity with others was spite, the anger and frustration at seeing that my husband didn't want to get me pregnant.

As for my husband's opinion regarding my extramarital affairs, well, he was delighted with my model-lover relationship with Francis, his best friend, living in a textbook menage a trois. He didn't entirely disapprove of my relationships with Jose Manuel, Olaso, and Paco, but he wasn't at all keen on Diego and especially my work at the gentlemen's clubs, and advised against it; not out of jealousy! Because, as he said, "If you're already fucking with five or six guys regularly, I don't care if it's double that", but because he didn't really know what was going on there, he didn't know that world, and he was worried that someone might do something bad to me.

He knew Francis and my other special friends personally and understood the environment in which those relationships existed; in fact I knew Olaso six years before my husband (!), and Jose Manuel one year. The clubs, on the other hand, were a world he did not know. He had little idea what happened there, who the people involved might be, or what risks could exist. His fear was never that I might meet another man and fall in love with him; it was that someone, somewhere, might take advantage of me or place me in danger.

You have to bear in mind that my husband had already seen me in all sorts of situations that many people would have considered scandalous. He had watched me countless times having sex with Francis during our weekly MFM encounters. He had seen me flirting with men on nudist beaches, and on ordinary beaches where I was always topless and usually the girl wearing the smallest bikini bottoms. He had watched me playing with beach flings those innocent-looking games in the water that somehow always involve a great deal of physical contact of two wet hot bodies almost naked, when decency codes seem not apply.

But even more: he had seen me pose for nude photos on the beach for more than one man, and then go arm in arm with him to his apartment to have sex, sometimes spending the night together, as I recount for example in the posts in this group of the series that ends in post Sun, Sand, and Secrets: My Summer ‘Beach Deal’ with a Charming English Gentleman; Part ...

He had seen me dancing with strangers in nightclubs, sometimes becoming far more familiar with them than convention would normally permit. He knew perfectly well that, from time to time, a flirtation could develop into something more in the toilets, the back alley or the parking lot.

In other words, it was not as though my husband was shocked by my behavior or suffered terribly when he imagined me working at the gentlemen's club. By that point, he knew me far too well for that.

The difference was something else entirely.

All those other places where he had seen me naked, flirting, or behaving in ways that might be described as intimate were not places whose explicit purpose was sex, and I was not working there. A beach is a beach. A nightclub is a nightclub. People may go there and end up having sex, but that is not the stated purpose of the place.

A gentlemen's club is different.

Whatever polite name one wishes to give it, it was fundamentally a sex venue. Men, members, went there because sex was part of the business model, part of the atmosphere, and part of the reason the club existed in the first place.

And, unlike on a beach, in a nightclub, or at a private party, I was not in the club as a guest. I was working there as a hostess, part of the club's staff. An important part of my role was to socialize with the members and, if mutual interest existed, to be available for intimate encounters with them.

That said, I always retained complete freedom to decline any proposal. I could say no whenever I wished, and I was expected to do so politely and professionally if a situation did not appeal to me. Nobody was entitled to my company merely because they were members of the club.

Nevertheless, from my husband's point of view, the distinction remained significant. In all those other situations, any intimacy that occurred arose naturally from social interaction. At the club, sex was one of the reasons the establishment existed and one of the services around which its activities revolved. To him, that was an entirely different world.

That was what troubled my husband. Not jealousy, but the fact that I was entering a world that operated according to different rules from those of ordinary social life, a world he did not know and therefore could not easily judge or understand.

Those fears of my husband’s were, in reality, completely unfounded. In those clubs: especially the one in Logroño, I was far safer than I ever was in my own home. And yet, it was still understandable that he worried.

So much so that I spoke to the owner of the Logroño club, with whom I had, let us say, an intimate relationship, and he agreed to allow my husband to come and see me working there on two evenings.

There was, however, one strict condition: my husband would have no special interaction with me. To him, I would appear simply as another hostess, a stranger among others.

It was a very unusual arrangement, and a rather special favor, because the club’s rules strictly prohibited the entry of any man who was not a member. But that, of course, is precisely what owners are for: to be able to bend their own rules when they choose to do so.

The owner of the club, whom I shall call Emilio in this group and on my blog, was initially concerned that my husband might lose his composure and create a scene if he saw me working naked there, flirting and interacting with other men. In that club I was permanently nude, as were the other hostesses as it is CMNF style, and Emilio had no idea how a husband might react when confronted with that reality.

What Emilio did not know was that my husband was probably the last man in the world likely to create such a scene.

I explained to Emilio exactly who my husband is. I told him about his natural leadership, his common sense, his remarkable diplomatic skills, and his ability to remain calm in almost any situation. I also reminded him that my husband had seen me in comparable, and indeed more explicit, situations involving other men on many previous occasions.

What I wanted my husband to see was that I was not working in some sordid dive populated by gangsters and drug sellers. Quite the contrary. It was an elegant and exclusive environment, frequented by mature, educated, and successful men who simply wanted to relax after work in an atmosphere that was discreetly decadent and erotically charged.

Another important difference was that the club was not open to the general public. No one could simply walk in from the street. Membership was by selection only, subject to the approval of the owners, and required both a substantial joining fee and a significant annual subscription. In total, there were fewer than thirty members.

As a result, the club felt more like a private social circle than a commercial establishment. The members knew the hostesses, and the hostesses knew the members, usually by name or at least by nickname. In those circles, I was known as “Laura”, which was close enough to Aura to feel natural, while still being an entirely different identity.

In the end, after listening to my arguments… and after I employed a certain amount of charm, I managed to persuade Emilio. I pointed out that if my husband came away with a negative impression and asked me to stop working at the club, Emilio and I would no longer be able to enjoy each other's company during my stays in Logrono.

That argument, more than any other, seemed to make an impression.

So, Emilio agreed to allow my husband to enter the club on two evenings as if he were an ordinary member, despite the fact that doing so required him to make an exception to one of the club's strictest rules…

Naturally, Emilio took advantage of both my request and my delight at obtaining his agreement to ask for something very personal in return, something I had consistently refused until then. And this time, I accepted.

But that is a story for another day, and one that deserves a post of its own.

As a result, my husband was able to see the club for himself and form his own opinion of the place, the members, and the environment in which I worked.

My husband went to the club two nights in a row, where we initially treated each other like strangers, as if he were just another member. We only exchanged a few complicity phrases in hushed tones, and he complimented me for my splendid feminine beauty and mi social skills when I served him a couple of drinks the first night, one of them accompanied by a brief lap dance. He saw me chatting and flirting naked with members, dancing embraced with some while his hands discreetly but openly caressed areas of my body normally covered by clothing.

But I'll stop there, because I'm saving that adventure to tell in full detail in a separate post, as it was one of the most exciting and kinky experiences my husband and I have had together as a married couple.

As a final point, I should add that my husband’s concerns disappeared once he had the opportunity to see the club for himself and understand how it actually operated.

He observed the level of quality, cleanliness, and security, as well as the general atmosphere. The members, far from fitting any simplistic stereotype, were in fact men of a very high social and cultural standing. Among them there were professionals such as a judge, a chief of police, several lawyers, architects and engineers, as well as wine industry entrepreneurs; Logroño, after all, is the capital of La Rioja, a region internationally known for producing some of Spain’s finest wines.

He also understood that I was, in a sense, the favorite of one of the owners, Emilio, with whom I stayed during my time in Logroño. This naturally ensured an additional layer of familiarity and care, of safety, in my day-to-day situation there.

Finally, the room manager was a man who inspired complete confidence, both in his professionalism and in his manner of dealing with people.

Taken together, all of this helped my husband feel reassured. He could see that I was not only comfortable, but also well looked after, protected, and operating within an environment that, for all its unconventional nature, was orderly, structured, and far safer and classy than he had initially imagined.

Well; In this post I have set the scene and described what my marriage was like at that time, when I was twenty-seven and twenty-eight years old.

In the next post, Part 2, which will continue this one, I will talk about my relationships with my special friends, always in connection with my secondary work as a model and as a hostess, particularly at the Logroño club.

In any case, I should make it clear that my work in clubs has been not extensive. I only ever worked as a hostess in three private gentlemen's clubs, all of a very high standard and only from twenty-seven to thirty years: There were a few occasions in a club in Pamplona when I was twenty-seven. There were several dozen evenings in the Logroño club during my twenty-seven and twenty-eight years. And later, at twenty-nine, I worked in a similar but even more exclusive club in Bilbao, where I was a hostess three afternoons a week for eight months.

From the age of thirty, such opportunities never arose again, even though I auditioned for a few hostess positions at other similar private clubs, but I was not chosen. And I must admit, with some regret, that I missed that work. I truly enjoyed it. I learned a great deal about life and about people, I met extraordinary men, and I formed friendships that in some cases have lasted throughout my entire life.

Looking back, that period of my life feels almost like a long and intense corridor of experiences, where everything seemed to be happening at once and nothing felt final or closed.

At the time, I did not think in terms of chapters or conclusions. I was simply living, moving between different roles, different places, and different kinds of relationships, without any clear sense of where it would all lead. But being my husband the central pivot that sustained, and continues to sustain, my entire life and gave it meaning.

Only now, with the distance that time inevitably brings, can I see that those years formed a very distinct part of my life: demanding, stimulating, sometimes chaotic, but undeniably formative… and a lot of fun.

And perhaps, in their own way, some of the most vivid years I have ever lived.

Kisses
Aura