So I told you I'd write a post about my friend who is sleeping with a boy who wears skirts.
I would like to add that at the time when she told me, I was sleeping with a boy who has a life-size Alexandr the Meercat tattoo on his leg which he got for a bet, so despite my screeches of laughter, I didn't really have a leg to stand on. So to speak.
Anyway. My friend, who we shall call Steph for reasons of anonymity and her not having an aneurism when she reads this, had recently come out of a relationship with her first serious boyfriend. They'd been together since university, and consequently was the only guy she'd ever danced the horizontal tango with. She was starting to entertain the idea of other guys and a safe starter bet seemed to be a guy she met at Oxford, a highly intelligent nutter called David who described himself as "sex positive". This basically means you get fuck whoever you want whenever and wherever takes your fancy. So pretty much an excuse to be a total whorebag but make it into a social movement.
They had a lot of highly descriptive virtual sex on Facebook chat which she breathlessly described as being intense and beautiful but seemed to me to be extremely long-winded. (Example: "I want to take your top off but I'm nervous, so I just hold your hand and gaze deeply into your eyes" ad Infinitim). If it takes you six hours to achieve orgasm it's taking too long. Sorry Sting.
At the time I was engaging in frequent, equally virtual but rather quicker text coitus with someone I usually refer to as "hot tattooed guy" on twitter. Steph and I lived together at the time and so frequent became our bleary eyed breakfast table stories of spending the previous night engaged in some kind of technologically foreplay that we began to refer to these as "HTS" (hot text sex) "HFS" (hot Facebook sex), "HPS" (hot phone sex, etc).
Anyway Steph decided it was time to go and visit David at Oxford and sample the real thing. She'd met him before several times and she was quite happy to spend a weekend with him and visit other university friends. So I wished her well, told her to pack plenty of condoms and not do anything she didnt want to do.
When she got back a few days later, she came straight into my room and sat on my bed.
"So how was it?" I demanded immediately. She made a funny face and I could tell she was holding something in.
"Um yeah it was great, I had a really good time. We did loads of fun stuff around Oxford and went out partying last night."
"Whatever, did you get some?!"
"Erm yeah, we did, it was really amazing (I mean he always made out he had a huge cock but WOW) but uh, afterwards we got up and started to get dressed and he um...put a skirt on."
What.
"A skirt? What kind of skirt??"
"You know, just a normal, knee length denim skirt. And socks."
"A skirt??!"
"Yeah...he said it's because he finds them comfortable and refuses to be bound by social conventions."
"Well what happened next?"
"Then we went out for dinner. Me in a skirt. Him in a skirt."
Gents. No matter how good the sex is, how big your knob is or how many orgasms you give her, if you put on a skirt afterwards, it renders the whole experience a little obsolete. Although she is still sleeping with him from time to time so it can't have been too off-putting, but I suspect she is just tolerant. And horny.
Here endeth today's lesson.
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