My Late Twenties: When Life Had Two Faces - Part 4

June 21, 2026

Hi my dear friends of the group,

I will continue directly from where we left off in Part 3: My Late Twenties: When Life Had Two Faces - Part 3.

However, those visits from clients or friends to Francis's studio were only occasional, and the routine of a normal day without visitors was far less exciting. Keep in mind that my relationship with Francis had begun about five years earlier and, during that time, I had had much more and much better sex with him than with my husband, including a rather kinky component involving BDSM experiences, some of them quite hardcore. I know I have mentioned this several times before, but it is worth emphasizing.

That is why, when Francis was immersed in a painting project or working on a series of drawings, once I arrived at his apartment-studio in the afternoon after work, we did not jump straight into sex after our welcoming kiss. Instead, I would go to the part of the apartment that served as both his painting and photography studio, although, in truth, Francis's entire home was a continuous landscape of artistic tools and materials: easels, new canvases, half-finished paintings, completed works waiting to be delivered to galleries or clients... In short, it did not really look like a conventional home, but rather like an artist's workshop that happened to have a bed... a bed that we put to extensive and intensive use.

Being an artist's model can be quite boring, since you may have to remain perfectly still for hours in the same pose, sometimes in rather uncomfortable positions. However, Francis is a very cultured man and an excellent conversationalist, and we always had lively and fascinating discussions about all sorts of subjects: from painting, drawing and photography techniques to the lives of famous painters. But we also talked about less elevated matters, such as our own aspirations, our hopes for the future, and the plans we made for those weekends that he and I occasionally spent alone in a country house in the mountains of northern Castile (a region in northern Spain). Sometimes we even managed to persuade my husband not to study and work so much and to come along with us (curious, isn't it? Normally it is the married couple who invite a friend, but in our case the roles were reversed).

Regarding photographic techniques, I would often give Francis information about some of the tricks used by professional photographers I had posed for, for example Diego (summary 15 in Post No. 3). However, I tried to remain somewhat vague when discussing those topics because, as I have mentioned before, Francis was rather jealous and did not particularly like the idea of me posing nude for other men. Besides, since he knew me so well, he was fully aware that there was always some "intimacy" with the photographer once the photo session was over.

Anyway, I was not going to give up having a life of my own. If my husband allowed me to have sex with other men, beginning with Francis himself, I was certainly not going to stop doing so just because Francis disliked it or felt jealous; that was his problem, not mine. The only man Francis was never jealous of, as one would expect, was my husband, to whom he always remained more loyal than I did myself.

And I insist: Francis and I were never in love. We were the best friends you could possibly imagine, accomplices in many aspects of life, and the sex between us was absolutely wonderful, among the best of my entire life. We liked each other enormously, I loved posing for him, and we both enjoyed a life full of adventures and transgressions. But the man I was in love with was my husband. After all, I have said many times that, for me, love and sex are not necessarily connected: I can be in love with one man and still enjoy having sex with others, and naturally also with the man I love.

Just as my husband loves hearing about my experiences with other men, Francis did not enjoy that at all, so I usually spared him the more salacious details unless he specifically asked, which he occasionally did out of sheer curiosity, especially in those cases when he encouraged me to have sex with some of his clients... well, saying that he "sent me" would be not entirely accurate. He simply suggested it, and if I found the man attractive I would do it; if I did not like him, or simply did not get along with him, then I would not.

During posing sessions, without really interrupting them, we would often grab something light on the go for dinner, since neither Francis nor I were particularly fond of eating much or of what the French call bonne cuisine. Afterwards, in a way that required no discussion or decision, we would simply end up in bed and make love. Every day I went to his place to pose, we had sex at least once.

In addition, on many days I did not need to pose at all, or only for a few minutes, for instance when Francis was working on the background of a painting or adding the final touches. In those moments, we would spend the entire time together making love. I do not really know how to put it more clearly or honestly: Francis and I were addicted to sex, and to each other. Although I also had sexual relationships with other men, I know that during the twenty years that lasted our relationship as artist and model, and as lovers, Francis did not have sex with any other woman. He was therefore always, in a sense, very “needy” of me.

A typical day would end around half past nine in the evening, when Francis would walk me to where I had parked my car. We would say goodbye with a kiss, and I would drive back home, arriving just before 10pm, where my husband would already be waiting for me, although sometimes he was still not back from work. Normally, from Monday to Thursday, he would return home around 9:30. We would talk while he also had a light dinner, since my husband is also an excellent conversationalist. Afterwards, we would go to bed and make love, I would say, every other day, as my husband has never been anywhere near as passionate as Francis. In addition, by that time of the evening, despite our youth and energy, we were both quite exhausted, and I, who have always been the more sexually driven of the two, already had my daily needs satisfied after usually having had two “rounds” with Francis.

On one or two days a week, I would stay overnight at Francis’s place, either because the weather was bad and it was inconvenient to go back home, or because the posing session had run late and it was too late to return, or simply because we both felt like having one of our “wild nights of sex”, during which we would make love three or four times, in addition to at least once during the afternoon, which was something we never skipped.

When I decided to stay with Francis, I would call my husband from the landline at home (of course, there were no mobile phones in the 1980s). We would exchange a few affectionate words and say goodnight until the next day. And, naturally, on those occasions Francis would always take the phone as well and speak for a couple of minutes with his friend, my husband.

Francis’s apartment was, for all practical purposes, my second home, so I kept there a good selection of clothes of all kinds in a wardrobe, as well as my toiletries and cosmetics. This meant that when I went directly from Francis’s place to work without stopping at home, I could change clothes there quite naturally, and nobody at my workplace had any idea where I had spent the night, or with whom.

When my husband travelled for work, attending scientific conferences and various academic committees, if Francis had important ongoing commissions, I would stay with him in his apartment-studio during those days. However, there were also times when both of us preferred the feeling of living together as a couple in the flat my husband and I rented, sleeping in my own double bed, which was far more comfortable than Francis’s bed, which was in reality a rather small and simple cot.

Just as I had my wardrobe and personal belongings at Francis’s place, he also kept a good number of painting and drawing materials in our apartment. On those occasions, he would usually work while I was at my job, although I often took my afternoons off, and sometimes even an entire day, using up my overtime hours. And frankly, if you leave two young lovers alone in a comfortable apartment, both of them deeply passionate and addicted to sex and, in my case, frankly highly sexually driven… hypersexual (in a non-pathological sense), you can easily imagine what happened: sex and more sex until exhaustion.

That, in essence, is what happens when one lives a kind of menage a trois.

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[[ Image 1. One of a long series of photographs taken by Francis during one of those periods when my husband was away and we stayed at my home. I was twenty-seven years old and had already started working occasionally as a hostess, mainly at the gentlemen’s club in Logrono, and I was also working as a photographic model for Diego in Pamplona (summary 15 in Post No. 3).
The fact that, when my husband is away, even today, he feels more at ease if I am not alone has been a constant throughout my life. Naturally, I stay with the “current lover” of the moment. For twenty years that was Francis, although at times I was also with others, and more recently with Dean (summary 21 in Post No. 5), as well as the previously mentioned Jose Manuel. ]]

But since I am talking about my Life B, I should also remind you that Francis was not my only extramarital relationship. Naturally, there were times when he had family commitments or was away for three or four days. On weekdays, in those periods, I would usually go straight home from work, but on some occasions I would stop at an elegant and welcoming pub in the centre of Bilbao, well known for being a place where it was relatively easy to meet attractive strangers and end up sharing a spontaneous intimate encounter.

I was quite friendly with the owner of the place, yes, indeed, I had a discreet physical relationship with him a couple of times a year since I first started going there regularly at the age of eighteen. Over time, I also came to know a small circle of regular acquaintances. With them, without much flirting or prolonged courtship, and simply if both of us were in the right mood, things could occasionally move quite quickly towards private encounters in the restrooms, in general quickies, which were always impeccably clean.

The owner was perfectly aware of how some of his clients used the place and had no objection, since the reputation of the pub as a lively and permissive meeting point was, in his view, simply good business.

If Francis was away for a weekend, I would often go out alone to meet men, to “hunt” for them, usually on Saturday evenings. At times I did so in the role of a follower of the Order of Mary Magdalene, although in Bilbao I only did this very occasionally when I was around twenty-seven or twenty-eight years old. This was a different matter from when I worked at the gentlemen’s clubs in Pamplona or Logroño, where that role was part of my work. I have already spoken about that in other posts, and I will return to it later in this series, especially to describe in detail the rules of the Logroño club, where I often collaborated as a hostess.

In Bilbao, I would usually go to the same pub I have already mentioned, or to another more popular one, or to a ballroom in the city center, and less often to nightclubs. The reason I went to clubs less frequently was that most of them were located on the outskirts, in industrial areas, which meant I had to drive. And since I always went alone, although sometimes with my friend Victoria, if I did not find a suitable companion within a reasonable time, I would have to drive to another venue, pay another entrance fee, and try my luck again. This made the whole process less practical and less appealing.

The positive side of it was that, since those nightclubs were in rather isolated areas and it was night-time, it was sometimes possible to have sex in some corner or alley between the surrounding buildings, which at that hour were not in use, or in a nearby empty field or small wooded area. There was also, of course, the option of the car, either his or mine, in the club’s parking lot.

As for drinking and driving, well, in Spain there were no truly strict breathalyzer controls until the early 1990s, so I must confess that I drove slightly intoxicated on more than a few occasions. In any case, I generally preferred going out “on the hunt” alone by taking the bus to the city’s nightlife and red-light districts, which is why I went less often to nightclubs, most of which required the use of a car.

That did not prevent me, of course, from sometimes meeting a man in a central pub and then going with him in his car to an out-of-town nightclub. And, more than once, after he had satisfied himself with me (and I with him), they simply left and abandoned me there without any means of transport to get back home. In those situations I had to call my husband to come and pick me up… sometimes in a rather sorry state, I must admit: slightly or more than slightly drunk, without underwear, and smelling of sex, tobacco, and alcohol. Yet my husband never reproached me for anything.

And yes, I also had a couple of rather unpleasant and dangerous experiences when I was left abandoned, tipsy and only half-dressed in desolate areas in very unsafe surroundings. Those situations always involved men I had met while working in the “Mary Magdalene” role, because once their “needs” had been satisfied with me, they seemed to feel they had no further connection with me, and after having sex in the car in a secluded place, they would make me get out and leave me there without any consideration.

But these dangerous experiences, which were only two or three in total, one of them with a particularly problematic and almost disastrous outcome, I will describe in another post.

And I think I will leave it here for now regarding my relationship with Francis when I was twenty-seven and twenty-eight years old, which represented a significant part of my Life B at the time. As I do not want to make this post any longer, I will close it at this point, and in Part 5 I will talk about my other “stable” relationships during that period, which were several: above all Diego, Jose Manuel, Olaso and Paco, although Nestor had already begun to reappear in my life as well. Not to forget my five days torrid affair with Zoran in the summer when I was 27 years old (summary 16 in Post No. 4).

All of them, as you may remember, are summarised in Posts No. 2 and No. 3, but they also appear repeatedly both in my blog My Intimate Diaries: Lust, Passion, and a Life Lived Fully and here in other posts within the group.

Sweet kisses
Aura