“If you’re not having sex then you’re totally celibate, and when you are, you’re a total whore”.
Being ever-so busy with a temporary magazine job, a writing degree and spending all my student loan on bouji nights out, my sex life had taken a back seat for a while. (Exact timing will not be disclosed). And so when it comes back you need to pound the hell out of it before the next drought; so that’s exactly what I did.
I knew I was going to have sex Friday night before it had even happened. “It’s like I have a fifth sense” – Karen Smith, Mean Girls. I already had the craving for it, a straight(ish) but fashion-aware outfit, fake tan, heaps of confidence (and bronzer) and so all that was missing from the recipe to get laid was copious amounts of vodka. And we all know that’s a department I never struggle in. It was time to put the cock back into cocktails.
It was 6.45pm and so we quickly picked at our salads (because Lord knows you can’t be seen eating in a gay bar after 7pm) and ordered a table of drinks. It was Happy Hour so would’ve been totes rude not to. Don’t get me wrong I’d of preferred a Happy Five to Happy Hour, but you gotta make do with what you got. After deliberation about where to spend our Friday night we taxi’d across town and ended up somewhere we’d not been on a Friday before. The lights were low, the club wasn’t that busy and the beats were dirty.
What night was this?! So we explored further. Oh, it was one of those nights. Where part of the club is turned into a dark room – AS IF. When did they start putting cruising grounds in clubs? What was this Europe?!
Oh yeah, we are part of Europe. But you know what I mean, non-English Europe. Whatever, I’m not a prude and I was curious, so I went to see what it was like. ‘See’ being the operative word. I felt like Stevie Wonder stumbling my way through horny clubbers; scuttling around like lost insects groping anything they could get their hands on. LATER. This was not what I had in mind when getting laid. Sick to death of the smell of desperation and puckering holes, I was ready to duck out – that was until I was groped by six-foot-four of pure muscle. I may not have been able to see as far as my own nose but even I knew he was HOT. We were lip-locking with my hands all over his bare bubble butt until I felt his hands on my waist, and my crotch, and my thigh and my arse – all at the same time. What the fuck – was he an octupus?! No, I just had half the dark rooms hands on me – LATER. I look down and Muscle Mary’s being sucked off by one gremlin and fingered by another – so NOT fierce. Even the shadows of the dark room couldn’t hide her shame. Needless to say, I left with clothes – and dignity, in tact, which is more than I can say for him.
I expect five minutes after I ‘skiddashed’ she’d probably one foot on the bar and one foot in the khaki net with a phallus in every orifice. Good for her, she’ll probably have renal failure before Summer’s over.
After an experience I would rather leave in the dark, I definitely needed a drink. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t traumatized or anything – I just wouldn’t repeat it. I wondered if the bar was situated at the end of a rainbow cos I’d met a wee Irish Leprechaun. Only kidding, he was about five-foot-nine – but he was Irish. And Lord knows I’m a sucker for an accent.
I’ll be the first to tell you that sex, like purchases, sometimes occur on impulse. We’re horny, drunk and confident, and next thing you know we wake up in Kingston in the Leprechaun’s bed. Are impulse actions damaging to our self-esteem? Who cares, just enjoy them. Even if they do have a mirrored wardrobe aside their bed. And if you’ve never wocked out a guy while watching yourself do it, I can tell you, part of you feels like an absolute Stallion, while the other part is wishing this room was now the dark one. Half of you is thinking; why did I skip the gym earlier?! The other half is thinking – I look HOT, I could do this for a living. Especially if you’re off your face. Although I’m sure anybody who’s had sex while they were high knows that you think you’re a pornstar – Ladies am I right?! And the kinkiest of pornstars at that.
Half way through our marathon of positions, roles and experiments, the inevitable happened. We ran out of condoms. He mentioned something about continuing anyway – This was a decision that I was NOT making on impulse. I may have been horny, but I wasn’t stupid. He was last tested a year ago – and there was NO WAY I was doing bareback with someone I’d just met, especially after my pornstar pounding had made him bleed. Still, was fun while it lasted and I was having another orgasm when I woke up – whether he could was having one too was totally irrelevant.
Gilet’s Moral: Impulse decisions are totes fine, if you don’t make some decisions on impulse you’re life is going to be more boring than an ITV period Drama. It’s when you side with EVERY impulse you have that it becomes reckless. Ditch dark rooms, enjoy one night stands, use condoms and don’t let your droughts drag!