The Bachelor Files: Ep 11 – No Distance Left
The Bachelor Files: Ep 11 – No Distance Left
After Dark Diaries
Reader Intro…
Lee Marsden is used to living in cycles of three months offshore, three months back home, never staying long enough for anything to fully take root. But at a family celebration in the English countryside, a chance meeting in a hidden garden begins to challenge everything he thought he understood about distance, connection, and what it means to finally want to stay.
Life Offshore: The Man Behind the Rotations
My name’s Lee Marsden. Thirty-eight. Offshore worker.
Three months on. Three months off.
That had been my life for nearly twenty years.
I started out in the North Sea not long after leaving college, following my old man into the oil rigs because, where I came from, that sort of work meant security. Good money. Hard graft. Men coming home weathered and tired but able to pay mortgages and keep food on tables.
Back then, the UK waters were busy. Platforms lit up the horizon like floating cities. Helicopters constantly moving men in and out. You could build a solid future offshore if you were willing to sacrifice enough of your normal life to do it.
Turns out, that’s exactly what most of us did.
Then the closures started.
Contracts disappeared. Companies downsized. One by one, lads I’d worked beside for years either retrained or chased work overseas. I ended up doing the same.
Qatar. Abu Dhabi. The Gulf.
Didn’t really matter where the rig sat eventually. After enough years offshore they all blended together into the same routine of steel staircases, salt air, humming generators, twelve-hour shifts, and cabins that never truly went dark.
People think offshore workers live some glamorous life because of the wages.
Truth is, most of your life disappears while you’re earning it.
Birthdays missed.
Weddings skipped.
Relationships strained through bad Wi-Fi calls and time zones.
Then one day you’re sitting in a departure lounge staring at your reflection in an airport window wondering where half your thirties actually went.
I’d never married.
Never even come close if I was honest.
That wasn’t because I hated commitment. It was because I’d already seen what this life could do to people growing up.
My dad spent over thirty years offshore. I still remember my mum standing at the kitchen window some nights waiting for headlights that never appeared because weather delays had grounded flights coming back from the rigs.
No arguments. No dramatic affairs.
Just distance.
The kind that turns a house into two people just managing life under the same roof.
Watching that as a kid sticks with you.
So I kept things simple instead.
No promises I couldn’t keep.
No woman sat at home wondering when I’d leave again.
Did I have relationships? Of course.
Plenty of women over the years. Some, beautiful too. Nights in Aberdeen bars after rotations. Hotel rooms in Stavanger. Dubai rooftops. Weekends that started with chemistry and ended with exchanged numbers, neither of us ever really intended to use.
At first, that life felt exciting.
Then one day it just started feeling repetitive.
You realise you’re having the same conversations. Telling the same stories. Waking up beside someone and already thinking about leaving before breakfast.
That was the part nobody talks about.
Loneliness doesn’t show up loud.
It just becomes part of your routine until you stop noticing it.
When I came home between rotations, I stayed in Southampton.
I had a top-floor apartment near the marina that my mates jokingly called “the penthouse,” mostly because it sounded more impressive than it actually was. Truthfully, it was just a decent modern flat with sliding glass doors leading onto a modest deck area with a barbecue, a couple of chairs, and enough space to sit outside with a beer, watching boats drift through the water.
I liked it, though.
It was peaceful.
Clean.
Mine.
Still, after my last overseas rotation, something felt different coming home.
The flat felt quieter than usual.
Maybe I was getting older. Maybe I was just tired.
Or maybe after twenty years of living temporary life after temporary life, my soul had finally started wanting something permanent.
That thought stayed with me longer than I wanted to admit.
Which is probably why my younger sister Rachel’s thirtieth birthday party ended up affecting me the way it did.
Rachel had gone all out for it.
The venue was the Brook Hotel, a huge countryside hotel surrounded by landscaped gardens and old woodland just outside Southampton. Apparently, she’d been planning the party for nearly a year.
“Don’t show up looking like you’ve just walked off a rig,” she warned me on the phone two days before.
“I’ll even shave for the occasion,” I told her.
“Good. Try not to scare my friends.”
That was Rachel all over. Same dry humour she’d had since we were kids.
I took my mate Richard with me. He’d worked offshore with me years ago before moving into marine engineering onshore. Divorced. Single again. The kind of bloke who could start a conversation with literally anyone after two beers.
“Open bar?” he asked as we pulled into the hotel car park.
“Behave yourself,” I laughed.
“No promises.”
Rachel’s Birthday at the Brook Hotel
The Brook Hotel looked incredible that evening.
Warm lights glowed beneath the trees. Water features shimmered in the dusk. A huge white canopy stretched from the function suite out toward the gardens, where music drifted softly through the summer air.
There were people everywhere.
Women in dresses moving between tables with cocktails in hand. Men laughing too loudly near the outdoor bar. Couples danced beneath hanging lanterns while older relatives claimed quieter corners with wine glasses and stories.
It had that perfect atmosphere where everyone seemed relaxed enough, actually, to enjoy themselves.
For the first hour, the night was exactly what I expected.
Family conversations.
Old school friends recognise me from years ago.
Rachel is dragging me into photographs every five minutes.
Richard disappeared almost immediately after spotting a brunette near the dancefloor who looked like she belonged on reality television.
“Wish me luck,” he muttered, adjusting his shirt.
“You’re forty-two. If you still need luck, you’re done.”
“Easy for you to say.”
Then he was gone.
I laughed to myself and headed toward the outdoor bar for another drink.
That’s when I saw her.
And the strange thing was… she didn’t stand out because she was trying to.
If anything, it was the opposite.
In a party full of glamorous dresses, fake lashes, polished makeup, and people wanting attention, she looked completely natural.
Simple white cotton dress.
Long blonde hair resting over bare shoulders.
Minimal makeup.
No performance.
No loudness.
Just calm.
I noticed her because she looked comfortable in herself, and these days that felt rare.
She stood near the edge of the garden speaking to an older couple, smiling softly while they talked. Every now and then she tucked her hair behind one ear as the breeze caught it.
There was something peaceful about her.
And after years of noisy bars, temporary women, and offshore chaos, peace suddenly felt attractive as hell.
I found myself walking over before I’d fully decided to.
“Lee,” I said with a small smile as I reached her. “Rachel’s older brother.”
She turned toward me.
Blue eyes.
Clear skin.
And a smile that somehow immediately lowered every defence I didn’t realise I was carrying.
“Lucy,” she said.
Her voice was soft but confident.
We shook hands, though neither of us let go quite as quickly as strangers normally do.
“How long have you known Rachel?” I asked.
“Since college,” she replied. “We caused each other a lot of trouble back then.”
“That sounds about right.”
She laughed quietly.
It wasn’t forced either. That was the first thing I noticed.
There wasn’t any of that fake flirting or trying hard to please.
Just easy conversation.
And honestly, easy felt refreshing.
We talked for ages without me even realising time had passed.
I told her stories about Rachel as a kid. About the time she’d convinced me she’d broken her arm falling from a tree only for my mum to discover she’d stuffed a rolled-up sock under her jumper for dramatic effect.
Lucy laughed properly at that.
“Your sister still does that face when she’s pretending to be innocent,” she said.
“I know exactly the face you mean.”
There was something strange about how natural it felt talking to her.
Usually with women there’s a rhythm to these things. You assess each other. Figure out intentions. Decide whether attraction exists.
With Lucy, none of that seemed necessary.
We didn’t run out of things to say.
Eventually she nodded toward the gardens behind us.
“I actually work here,” she said.
“At the hotel?”
She smiled.
“Horticulture manager.”
I looked back toward the grounds properly then.
Once you noticed it, you could see how much care had gone into everything. The flower beds were immaculate. Hidden lighting glowed beneath trees and stone pathways curved naturally through thick gardens without looking overly designed.
“You’re responsible for all this?”
“Not just me. I’ve got a big team. But yes, this is my world.”
There was pride in her voice when she said it.
Not arrogance.
Just genuine love for what she did.
“What exactly does a horticulture manager do?” I asked.
“A bit of everything,” she replied. “Planning planting seasons. Managing the grounds team. Designing layouts. The lighting in the Enchanted Garden was mostly my idea.”
“The Enchanted Garden?”
Her smile widened slightly.
“You haven’t seen it?”
I shook my head.
“Well then,” she said, lifting her drink. “That feels like a problem we should fix.”
I followed her across the grounds, away from the music and laughter spilling from the party.
The further we walked, the quieter everything became.
Into the Enchanted Garden
The path eventually led toward an archway hidden behind climbing ivy and low lantern light.
Lucy glanced back at me.
“You do realise this garden sits on nearly five acres?” she said. “There’s every chance you’ll never find your way back to the party.”
I laughed.
“Sounds risky.”
“It is,” she replied playfully. “People get lost in there all the time.”
Then she stepped through the entrance.
And I followed her.
The garden changed the moment we stepped inside. Quieter. Slower.
Tall hedges created winding pathways beneath strings of warm hanging lights. Water features glowed softly through trees. Hidden benches appeared unexpectedly between flower walls and old stone statues half-covered in ivy gave parts of the maze an almost surreal atmosphere.
Somewhere in the distance I could still faintly hear music from the party, but out there it felt far away.
Quiet.
Private.
“You designed all this?” I asked.
Lucy nodded.
“We wanted it to feel magical without looking artificial. Like people could discover things accidentally.”
“You’ve done that.”
She just nodded, like she was used to people reacting like that.
A cool evening breeze drifted through the gardens, lifting strands of her hair again.
I took my jacket off and handed it to her.
“You’ll freeze in that dress.”
“I’m alright.”
“Humour me.”
She hesitated before accepting it.
And when she slipped her arms into my jacket and looked up at me again, something changed.
It wasn’t dramatic.
She held my gaze longer than she needed to.
The kind of eye contact that lasts a second too long before both people realise they’ve stopped pretending not to feel something.
Neither of us spoke.
We just stood there beside the softly lit garden path with fountains trickling quietly somewhere ahead of us.
Then Lucy smiled slightly.
“You’ve got kind eyes, Lee.”
I actually laughed under my breath at that.
“No woman’s ever opened with that before.”
“I’m serious.”
There was something dangerous about sincerity when it comes unexpectedly.
I looked at her properly then.
Not just attractive.
Not just beautiful.
Present.
Like she was actually there with me completely instead of half distracted by phones, appearances, or whatever came next.
And suddenly I became aware of how long it had been since I’d felt that from anyone.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
Probably Richard.
Or Rachel wondering where I’d disappeared to.
I glanced at the screen briefly before switching it off entirely.
Lucy noticed.
“Popular?”
“Not tonight.”
For a second neither of us moved again.
Then she stepped closer.
Close enough now that I could smell her perfume mixed softly with flowers and fresh night air.
“You feel that?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “I do.”
The Night Everything Shifted
We walked deeper into the garden.
Her hand slipped into mine naturally, fingers warm and steady.
The paths narrowed, the hedges grew taller, and the soft amber lights became spaced further apart.
The outside world faded until only the sound of hidden water and rustling leaves remained.
At some point, the conversation died down, and the silence between us felt comfortable.
We eventually reached a wider clearing under taller trees. The grass was softer here, the lighting lower and more intimate.
A long, low water feature reflected broken gold across the ground. The space felt completely private.
Lucy slowed and turned to face me.
“You’re not really a stay-in-one-place person, are you?” she asked quietly.
“No,” I admitted. “I’m not.”
She nodded, a small flicker of vulnerability crossing her face.
“I don’t usually do this either,” she said softly. “Meet someone at a party and let things move this fast. I’m usually more careful.”
That honesty pulled me in even more. I brushed her hair back as the breeze caught it. She leaned into the touch. The distance between us disappeared.
I kissed her. It started slow but quickly grew deeper, heat building fast between us.
Her hands gripped my shirt as I reached for the zipper at the back of her dress. I paused, checking her eyes. She gave the smallest nod.
I unzipped her dress. The dress slipped from her shoulders and fell to the grass with a soft hush, pooling around her feet. She stepped out of it, standing bare in the cool night air.
She was breathtaking.
The soft garden lights traced every curve of her body.
I ran my hands over her slowly, savoring how incredible she felt… warm, smooth skin against the cool night, the gentle weight of her breasts, the soft curve of her waist, the way her hips filled my hands perfectly.
She shivered once, then pressed herself tight against me.
I lowered her onto the grass. It was cool and slightly damp beneath us, a sharp contrast to the heat between our bodies.
My clothes joined hers. Skin against skin, her legs wrapping around me, her hands exploring my back with quiet urgency.
We stayed there until everything slowed down.
The way she breathed my name when I entered her, the way her body arched and tightened around me, the soft, honest sounds she made until everything undid me. I lost myself in her warmth, in how responsive and present she was.
We moved together in perfect rhythm, completely absorbed in each other.
Time lost all meaning.
There was only the cool grass, the distant water, her heartbeat against mine, and the deep sense that this was something far beyond casual.
Afterwards, we stayed tangled together, our breathing slowing. Lucy rested her head on my chest, one leg draped over mine. Neither of us wanted to move.
“You alright?” she whispered.
“Yeah,” I said, running my fingers through her hair. “I’m really good.”
She smiled against my skin. “Me too.”
Morning After the Garden
Pale light filtered through the trees. The garden looked different now — quieter, almost ordinary again. Dew covered the grass, and the air smelled fresh and alive.
I woke first. Lucy was still curled against me, our naked bodies were the only thing keeping us warm. I stayed still while she slept, just watching her, something I rarely did. Usually I was already thinking about leaving.
This morning I wasn’t.
She stirred and opened her eyes, giving me a sleepy smile.
“Morning,” she whispered.
“Morning.”
We got dressed slowly, brushing leaves off each other as we went. We laughed about it, exchanging a few looks. No awkwardness… It felt good.
Eventually the hotel started waking up around us. My phone wouldn’t stop buzzing.
Lucy looked at me. “You didn’t leave.”
“No. I didn’t.”
“Do you regret staying?”
“Not for a second,” I said.
I brushed grass from her hair. “You?”
She shook her head with a small laugh. “No. Though I don’t usually wake up in a garden naked and next to someone I met the night before.”
I checked my phone, saw the missed calls, then switched it off.
Lucy watched me. “That’s a big move for you.”
“Yeah… it is.” I met her eyes. “I’m not done yet.”
We walked back slowly. At the edge of the garden, where the wild planting met the manicured lawn, we stopped.
Lucy turned to me.
“You’ll leave again,” she said quietly.
“I will,” I admitted. Eight more months on this contract. But last night and this morning… I can’t just pack this away when I fly out. I like you, Lucy.
She searched my face. “What does it feel like then?”
I took a slow breath and told her the truth.
“It feels like leaving something important behind. And even if I wanted to… I’m not sure I know how to do that anymore. I think I’ve found what I’ve been longing for. I just didn’t expect it to happen in one night.”
Lucy’s expression softened. She stepped forward, placed her hand against the side of my neck, and kissed me… slow, deep, and full of quiet emotion. When she pulled back, her forehead rested against mine.
“That’ll do for now,” she said with a grin.
She let go of my hand and walked toward the hotel without looking back. I watched her until she disappeared… my jacket still over her shoulders, dress slightly creased, hair moving in the morning breeze.
For the first time in years, leaving didn’t feel like freedom.
It felt like the start of something worth holding on to.
Let yourself be carried away into the exciting world of sex swings. Give into the enchantment of the romance, passion, and deep sensuality that come with celebrating your love together. Surrender to the unique feeling of deep intimacy through shared peaks of passion.
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📧 Drop Me a Line, You Naughty Wanderers…
Hey, my deliciously daring darlings… I can practically feel the secrets tingling between your toes. That midnight tiptoe across a hotel carpet, the sly brush of an ankle under the dinner table, the time your feet led you straight into trouble, and you loved every scandalous second.
Why hoard those toe-curling tales? Kick off your heels, wiggle free, and spill the juiciest, most wicked foot-fetish confessions you’ve got. I want the stories that make my pulse race, my cheeks flush, and my soles itch to join the fun.
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