PSHE at my secondary school was wholesome and happy. Our blindly optimistic PSHE teacher drew some concentric circles on the floor. The centre, sickeningly, represented our soul and we were expected to indicate how ‘close’ to us a respectable adult male would have to be before we invited them to exchange bodily fluids. Hovering ditheringly over the diagram, I eventually put a thoughtful cross in the penultimate ring. Prince Charming, when he finally arrived, would be my best friend. It has always been a matter of trust – I knew that ’cos Billy Joel said so.
Six years later, I couldn’t tell you exactly when I mislaid my gentle sentimentality. But it’s now wandering the murky marshes of Small Expectations, pursued by a taunting pack of lustful wildebeests. Casual sex is fun, and the high turn-over of willy doesn’t require us to waste time getting to know the willy’s owner. Objectification is welcome; participants are polite, straightforward, and gone in the morning in a puff of spunk. But this week I found out just how little personal trust is required of my conquests before I entrust them to my quivering groin.
I picked Sexy Simon up on a girly night out; he was fun, suave, and had great hair. I was brain-dodderingly, clit-poundingly pissed, but to my delight succeeded in luring him through our front door. Stopping suddenly halfway through the delicious unwrapping process, I slurred in panic, “Where my keys?! Oh for fucksh shake, I losht them where ARE theeey?!” Sexy Simon padded behind me bewildered as I uprooted houseplants. He gently pointed out that I must’ve used them to get into the house, but I was in no mood for reason.
I suddenly halted my crazed hunt and fixed an accusatory eye upon my one night stand. “YOU. You stole them!” Of course, I thought smugly. The bastard thinks he can take me for a ride, in more ways than one. “Prick! Give them ba- oh…” My keys glinted maliciously from underneath the doormat. Sheepish, I scooped them up. Then we trotted upstairs and fired up the engines again. Unscrupulous thief or gallant lover? Does it matter? All roads lead to orgasm. And in the morning Sexy Simon left in a puff of spunk.
