Now in no way do I want to endorse promiscuity in my readers – as all of you who know me will know, I am an absolute “portrait” of the moral high-ground and chastity. However, I am aware that some of my readers are slightly less chaste, and may be closer to trailer trash 2006 Britney than the 1999 purely ‘virginal’ version. So, in light of this, I have decided to give you some tips on how not to act when acting promiscuously. Because if ‘town bike’ is your thing, you might as well do it well.
As I head out for my 8am run every Sunday morning (this is clearly fictitious) Wellington city is full of bleary eyed girls carrying their shoes and stopping every few metres in order to evaluate the curb and assess their need to vomit in it. On the odd occasion when I was submitted to the fateful walk of shame in my mini-dress with stilletos and stockings, naturally ripped from the night before, I couldn’t help but stare longingly at the wholesome citizens. The young mums in little haggles taking their apple pie children for power walks, the 40-somethings out for their morning run, clearly training for some life changing marathon, or the couples out hand in hand with newspapers and Pandoro pastries under their arms. As I would amble down Mt. Victoria (always seemed to end up there), dodging my family friends’ houses, I wished that I, like the normal citizens, did not have a thumping headache, felt real self-worth, and knew the name of the person with whom I had fornicated the night before.
However, in hindsight, I realise that those that I envied probably longed for their own crazy ‘hazy days of summer’ when they saw me – perhaps I made them feel boring, fragile and insecure (well one can only hope). The young mums were probably all high on Prozac and sleepless too, the 40- somethings training for their marathon were probably all going through a tragic mid-life crisis over their loss of hair and libido, and the couples were probably all sexless and secretly in loathe of each other and their smarmy love.
What’s the moral of the walk of shame guilts? Don’t have one night stands? No, don’t go overboard, merely play a home game – it tends to be much less stressful. You’ll feel more secure, in charge, and know that you have all emergency supplies that might be needed, like razors in case of hairy legs and flatmates in the event of your chosen mate being psychotic. Yet, be careful, as in playing on your pitch the boy/girl in question will know where you live and may stalk you for the next few weeks if you don’t play your cards right. Take this for example: My friend Andrea brought a boy home once, and then promptly decided that he wasn’t the man of her dreams, so decided to give him (rather meanly) a fake number, therefore thinking that she was off completely scot-free. Until, that is, three days later, she found a letter in a pot plant beside the front door, penned by Romeo himself confessing his undying love for her. In it he said there was no way he could go on without giving her his number, as clearly, she had written down the wrong number. There was no way his love was not reciprocated.
The moral of this story? Simply that you cannot ever expect love to blossom from a fling. Particularly the typical kiwi, booze filled mash of a fling. This is not romance – it is animalistic, carnal knowledge. Many people walk into one night stands looking for fulfillment, and you will get a filling up, but very few people get anything else from it, much to Andrea’s suitor’s disappointment. Unless you are hooking up with some tantric or kama sutra expert, one night stand sex is, lets face it, pretty bad. Give me a woman who orgasms during one night stands more often that not, and you’ve shown me the elusive eighth wonder of the world (that bitch).
Another key pointer – under no circumstance should you leave any bodily fluids behind at the scene of the crime. Another friend of mine had a drunken rumble and was so drunk that he reverted to his eight-year old self and wet the bed. This is a little habit that A-town is infamous for, however, this was the first time he had done it in the presence of a lady friend. He woke up with a warming sensation running down his legs and desperately hoped that his sleeping partner had rigged up some elaborate pelvis warming electric blanket. But alas, as it turned cold about a minute later he realised that he had firetrucked, and to his embarrassment, so did she.
I can’t decide whether humans are wired for monogamy and intimacy – or whether we are meant to get about rooting each other in a desperate hope to procreate. Either way, the kind of sex that you get from a pick up at GoGo is not likely to rock your socks or give you any emotional booster. That said though, if you can take charge, enjoy the moment, and allow it to make you feel sexy rather than tacky, there is merit to the whole process. Just try to avoid bringing home anyone who forms emotional attachments within six hours or drunkenly wets the bed.