Features: Magic number?

So, we can all put our knickers back on again, pull up the duvet, look at the person next to us and consider how many notches we have now etched into our metaphorical bedposts…

Is it single numbers?  Perhaps four, five or six? Or are we looking at the tens, twenties or even thirty plus? I have to admit (as you’d expect from a self-confessed drunken slut) that my number is over 30. In fact it’s either 32 or 34, as there’s one with which I can’t recall whether I had full sex and another I am sure I have missed off my list but the memories are too hazy.

This topic actually came up today at the place where I work. A conversation between four of us careered off at this tangent and everyone avoided making any admissions. But two of us said numbers could have a lot to do with how old one is when one ‘settles down’, whether one has been lucky enough to have found a fulfilling relationship or had a series of ‘unlucky’ entanglements.

But it’s also what is right for you at a particular time in your life, if it’s a relationship, fling, fuck-buddy or one night stand. If no one is being misled and both people understand what they are doing, whether it’s a one-off shag or something more, then neither person is doing anything wrong, surely.

But still, in these enlightened times women feel that they cannot be open about having had double numbers of sexual partners. There is still a stigma in normal society – even if it’s not disgust or name-calling, people still joke and snigger or even judge a woman who has put it about a bit.

I for one did not set out to sleep with 34 people, but it has happened and I am not going to apologise for it. In fact, I would say that I have benefited from the sexual knowledge it has given me – the variety of different penis shapes and sizes I have seen, the many different positions I have tried, the vast range of different men body types there are, their different odours and the fact that no two kisses are the same.

On the other hand, I’ve had some terrible nights of truly awful copulation – in fact at least a third of the 34 were truly forgettable (some I can barely remember at all now). There have also been the horrors of halitosis, body odour, slobbery kissing, pneumatic drill thrusting, slow and weary sex, near rib-crushing of someone lying with their full weight on top of me and ear-splitting snoring.

But at least if I live long enough to be old and still have the capacity to remember, I can look back at these episodes with a smile on my face while others in neighbouring armchairs in the nursing home watch Countdown or carry on with their knitting.

Read my blog at www.drunkenslutmum.co.uk






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