On sexual behaviours and other such things.

Thank you D, for your Wikipedia entry.

As possibly, no - definitely the only other of the four who can appreciate your situation, I should perhaps elaborate to our readers that I have yet to pop my cherry. Well, rather, it is not yet popped by anyone else. There are many reasons for this, amongst them many insecurities when I was younger and now, older and wiser, knowing that if I've waited this long, I can wait to have sex with someone who I trust slightly more than the stranger I meet while ordering my next G&T. I DO have to trust them - it's not that I would judge anyone who did not know the name of their cherry picker (I myself am not completely averse to this theory) - simply, whether I know his name or not, I have to be sure that the man is not going to run off screaming when he sees me in my birthday suit - stretch marks, thunderthighs (actually, the thighs aren't my main concern!) and all. Don't get me wrong - I've become perfectly happy in the person I am, I just think my ME deserves a respectful man and in order to respect me, one should know me well (I can often leave a strange impression upon first meeting). I'm lovely but a little kooky, y'know?

So anyway, this leads me back to my search for the Fruit Man. For a long time, I just wanted a boyfriend. I thought I was missing out on something because I wasn't in love. Then I threw myself in to being the Single Girl, but to be the SG, one goes the complete opposite direction from Relationship Girl. In fact, one runs screaming towards the pub and gives the majority of men scathing looks, even in response to a simple 'Hello' or 'I'm so sorry, could you move? Your chair is on my coat'. This worked for me for a while as I thought I was proving to myself I could do it alone, whatever IT was. THEN my friends started p-a-i-r-i-n-g off. Not all of them but enough to realise that I had to find a middle ground in my dealings with men. What did I do? I threw myself in to work and drinking and smoking and DVDs. And chocolate. And then I realised I hadn't actually met any nice men recently. And then I contemplated lesbianism, only to realise however much I wished I could be, I wasn't a lesbian. A one night fling, maybe, but not something where I really knew their name... Shallow? Yes. Bad? Certainly not. So the only other option is men, unfortunately, and this truly was a disaster - some weeks ago I realised I wasn't sexually attracted to, well, anyone, at least, not recently. Recently meaning as far back as I can remember (this isn't necessarily a VERY long stretch of time - alchohol and age begin to play dirty tricks!). Even men I once wished to have passionate affairs with have become drinking buddies who excite me sexually no more than a dustball would. Yes, I had become asexual. As I stood in front of Waterloo station today waiting for a bus, five men passed me in quick succession and the only enthusiasm I could muster was that they all looked strange, just slightly off. Not attractive, not ugly, not even average. STRANGE. It was as if these men's faces had an alien appeal - something I had never seen and so could not place in any category I had previously considered. I just didn't recognise them as something that could ever appeal to me. If those five men (bless them, I hope they wouldn't take offence to this) were lined up and I was told I would have to choose one to have sex with to save my life, I wouldn't differentiate at all between them, probably choosing one based on the quality or look of his suit.

WHY GOD, WHY!? I like an orgasm as much as anyone else. I like a good make-out session as much as the next girl. Why oh why is it that nothing excites me more than a new episode of Grey's Anatomy? This, by the way, is a catastrophe as the 3rd season has now ended and I will be excitementless (and frustrationless) until the Autumn. Let us just hope one less distraction will drive me to drink as a cure for boredom and this will make all men around me so blurry that that one will begin to look like Colin Firth (ok, I suppose I'm not completely asexual) and the next morning I'll vaguely recall promising to go out with him next week and be pressured in to being nice him, to the point that I might kiss him and realise he's good at it. And that I enjoy it. And then just forget the issues and go for 3rd base because I've forgotten what 3rd base feels like.

Fingers crossed ladies.