THE SEX DIARIES: French Louis was the hottest dad at the school gates. He pressed me against the wall of a bar… and we couldn’t control our lust

School has started again and as luck would have it I immediately bumped into Louis, the handsome French father, who was kissing his two beautifully dressed and adorable children goodbye.

After my five-year-old daughter Emi made her own reluctant and slightly unkempt way through the playground, I looked at Louis uncomfortably. The last time I had spoken to him properly was when I kissed him goodbye… in his bed.

It’s been a few months now since my boyfriend Eliot and I were going through a bad patch in terms of our on-again, off-again relationship.

The fact that Louis, who is divorced, had children of his own was an advantage.

I needed someone who could handle the hustle and bustle of family life; Eliot struggled with my having three children. The oldest, 15-year-old Hector, is closer to his age than mine.

Louis was a nice father and a familiar Dilf. He touched my arm. “Good to see you Annabel,” he said in his hot French accent.

I let out a silent prayer of thanks that I’d run a brush through my hair that morning and bothered to put on some real pants instead of my usual dog-haired leggings. Louis was dressed to the nines, as always: chic taupe shorts, an expensive-looking hoodie, and a pair of Adidas Sambas. His beard was carefully unkempt.

“What did you do last summer?” I asked. I was glad to have the dog to pet, my heart was beating uncomfortably fast.

“I worked all the time,” he said. “The kids were great to their mother all the time.”

While the other parents wandered off, Louis and I stayed for a while, making small talk. He was a lighting technician, but the money wasn’t enough as a freelancer, he said, to pay the rent and feed his kids.

I scanned his face for any signs of discomfort, but there were none. Perhaps there had been many more women this summer.

I knew he had passed at least one other single mother. At the same time, I was calculating whether I should ask him to walk the dog or get a drink. Was he boyfriend material? Louis was handsome, even if not as handsome as Eliot. He was younger than me, but only seven or eight, instead of Eliot’s 21, which would please my children, who were struggling with the age difference.

(Hector had recently asked me, “What’s wrong with Eliot that he only dates older people? Isn’t he embarrassed by you in front of his buddies?”)

During the summer period, after classes ended, Louis and I often sat in the park with other parents while the children played.

We talked about the benefits of stoicism and also about the usual parent-teacher conferences. I was impressed by his vocabulary, especially since he was French. And unlike me, he had managed to get a “good” divorce.

There was no atmosphere at all until I ran into Louis a week later in a local bar.

I was with my friends when I saw him downstairs on the dance floor. He looked out of place in his suit jacket and chinos. I was glad to see him. I had already had a few drinks; the music was too loud for philosophical discussions.

“I didn’t know you were here!” I yelled. He shrugged. It was the first French gesture I’d ever seen him make. “Me too,” he said. Meeting him in a dive bar changed everything. It was like we were both in on the joke, and we spent the evening spinning around together, his arm around my shoulders.

We drank quite a bit and didn’t talk about our children. Not even an hour later we were kissing, pressed against the wall. When the bar closed, it was clear I was going back to his. I was still tipsy when Louis threw his children’s toys and clothes off his bed to make room for me.

He was surprisingly messy and his two rented rooms were a bit gloomy, but who was I to judge?

I was only able to financially maintain my home thanks to my mother’s financial help.

We fell on the bed together, and he got on top of me and kissed me. His hands wandered under my shirt, squeezing my breasts.

The hilarity I had felt at the bar disappeared now that it was real. But Louis’ hands on my nipples felt good and I could feel how excited he was as he gyrated his hips.

It didn’t feel as good to kiss him as Eliot – I don’t like facial hair – and his biceps certainly weren’t as big.

He wasn’t lacking in other areas either… I had to stop comparing! I was here now, and Eliot wasn’t. Louis was charming and kind and raring to go, so I let him take off my tights and unzip my skirt.

We quickly moved on to the main act; I didn’t feel like swinging from the chandeliers, even if they had been there. Louis was attentive and gentle, waiting for me to come before he came.

He should have been perfect for me. But now, three months later, I’m standing at the school gates and falling in love with Eliot.

Was Louis boyfriend material? Probably. Just not for me, right now. I should be walking the dog by myself.

Annabel Bond is a pseudonym. Names have been changed.