**I wrote this for the magazine The Spectator and they may or may not have ever published it, but they’ve given me permission to publish it on the blog, so enjoy**
They say that your musical and cultural tastes are frozen by the time you’re in your early twenties, but what about your sexual tastes? Are you ever too old to experiment? Even though I am still in my early twenties, I feel as if my sexual taste is probably going to be frozen in its current state forever, because I like my sex how I like my trains: frequent.
What is bound to change as I grow older is the frequency with which I change partners, and the maturity of those partners. Having slept with men from various degrees of the age spectrum, I think I am in my prime when it comes to the options I have with whom I wish to sleep with. Meaning, everyone past their teens and before retirement. What concerns me a bit is that who’s to say that once I’m older that my taste in men will have caught up with my age? What if I find myself fifty and still attracted to twenty year olds? Sometimes I feel like my destiny as a cougar is set in stone.
Having had my share of monogamous relationships I can say that while they’re interesting, they can also be boring. There’s something about the freedom of being single, the freedom of choice. Granted it isn’t for everyone, but if you think it’s hard to find someone completely happy with being single, try finding someone who is completely happy with being in a relationship.
When I was in a relationship, I would fondly look back on my days of singledom. And now that I’m single, I rarely look back fondly on my days with my exes. There is, however, one day I will always look back fondly on. One of the best dates and shags I’ve had ever was with a very good friend of mine last year. He’s graduated from uni and has a job in London. I was travelling to London for the day to meet him for lunch.
This friend of mine is very cheeky, but very charming, and he knows it. ‘Womanizer’ isn’t exactly the term that comes to mind, but he has definitely slept with his share of women. Though we’d known each other for years, for whatever reason we had never slept together. The occasional snog here and there, yes, but nothing serious.
As our lunch date loomed I thought about the prospects of the said date. It could end the way our last date had, with a kiss on the cheek and a goodbye outside the restaurant, but at that point I was still somewhat with The Ex and was in no mood to be messing around with other boys. This last time however I was ready to do more than lunch.
Our lunch was fantastic and reminded me of why I am friends with this man. He is hilarious and charming and the date was perfect. We talked about the joys and freedom of being single.
‘I just don’t trust myself to be with someone right now. I’m too selfish,’ he said.
‘I know! I don’t have time to be worrying about someone else,’ I agreed.
Our conversation went on for about half an hour and I, unlike some women who say these things in hopes of winning men like this over, meant every word. I had absolutely no desire to make this self-proclaimed happy bachelor my boyfriend. None whatsoever. We even spoke about girls who had slept with him and then been surprised when he didn’t want to be their boyfriend, despite him laying out his philosophy on being single in front of them as well.
After a long lunch he looked at the clock. ‘Shit, I wanted to get home for the football game.’
‘Oh, who’s playing?’ I asked. He told me and then invited me to come along. ‘Sounds like fun,’ I said, ‘I don’t have anything else going on today.’
We walked back to his place, talking and laughing the whole way. Once we arrived I gawked at the amazing flat he had. Having been accustomed to college accommodation, his flat was like a palace. We sat down on his large sofa, drank beer and watched the football. About a quarter of the way through the game he put his arm around me and we sat in silent contentment, swigging our beer and making the occasional comment on the match.
Leading into halftime he had slid his hand down from my shoulder to around my waist and began mindlessly running his hand up and down my thigh. I tried not to react, but in all honestly, it was turning me on. I placed my hand on his knee and we watched the end of the first half in a state of complete sexual tension. As soon as the whistle for halftime blew he was on top of me.
How we went from side-to-side to him on top of me and my legs around his waist I’m not exactly sure, but there we were, making out. In another act of contortionist-magic he managed to sit me up into a position where I was sitting in his lap, legs still wrapped around his waist and then he stood up and walked to the bedroom, carrying me and kissing me the along the way.
Halfway down the hallway I felt my foot tap something and then we heard a loud smash. Startled we both stopped what we were doing, and he spun us around to see what had happened.
I gasped, ‘I am so sorry!’ I said as we looked at a giant vase I had kicked over that was now in pieces on the floor.
He started laughing, ‘It’s okay, I always thought it was ugly anyway.’ Then we were laughing and kissing all the way to the bedroom.
We made it to the bed and snogged for a good ten minutes before I broke away and said, ‘Wait, how long is halftime?’
‘Why?’ he asked, perplexed.
‘Don’t you want to watch the rest of the game?’
He laughed, ‘Fuck the game.’ Then we continued to kiss and discard clothing. It had been raining, and I had a ridiculous amount of layers on so the getting naked part lasted about three times as long as usual.
Once we were finally naked I asked if he had a condom. ‘Not yet,’ he said, and we continued to kiss for another five minutes before we got down to business.
The sex was extraordinary. I’ve never been in so many different positions during one sex session in my life. At one point he even lifted me off the bed and pinned me against the wall, holding my legs around his waist. A position I highly recommend to those of you strong enough to hold up a woman.
My date with this friend was hands down the most entertaining afternoon I’ve ever had. We were lying in bed together once we were finished and he looked me in the eyes. ‘Well that was fun, you’re pretty amazing in bed.’ I said.
‘Ha, you’re not so bad yourself!’ he said, still out of breath.
There was a bit of a pause and then I said, ‘So … want to finish watching the football?’
He looked at me for a moment, squinting his eyes a bit before relaxing his face and saying, ‘I think I love you.’
‘I think you’re crazy.’ I said, then kissed him and got up to collect my clothes from around the flat.
As I’ve said, that has got to be the most fun I’ve ever had in the bedroom. Does that mean I want it to remain the pinnacle of my sexual experiences? Heavens, no. If on my deathbed the peak of my sex life came in my early twenties I am going to be quite upset actually. This man was a bit older than me and thus with age clearly comes experience and skill. That said, I can’t wait to see what the future has in store.