Like sex used to be

So, my legs ache before I even get to 5-a-side tonight.

The reason? Bonking, basically. Well, that and a bit of Laser Quest over the weekend. But mostly down to bonking.

I remember when these thigh muscles used to be athlete muscles and I could go at it for hours. Actually that was probably never true - even back then I used to fall asleep quite readily as soon as I had done. But whilst my stamina has either remained or waned slightly, my sexual urge has increased; hence waking up three or four times during the night to go at it again. I think the positions have also changed and I am now more active about it whereas before I just used to lay back and let them bounce around.

And there is something with my bedsheets. I don't know if the cotton is a particularly slippery type of cotton, or if the boys I am bonking (well, it's usually only one at a time) are particularly smooth-backed but I really do seem to chase people around the bed. I have noticed that I currently have no hairs on my knees, presumably from having been rubbed off whilst sliding around the sheets simply trying to get some purchase. I could do with some velcro knee-pads; although preparation for sex is already off-putting enough what with having to find a condom, check it is still in date, then get it on. And all this time trying to keep the other party not only interested but positively engaged with the process.

Still, at least the bed is big enough. I do recall when buying the bed wondering whether it was really worthwhile investing in a King Size. Afterall, for around 90% of the time I am the only person in it and have a habit of hugging the side, leaving a good 3/4 of the bed entirely unused. Maybe this is another reason for the slipperyness - those areas of the sheet simply haven't had the use, the roughing-up that the rest has had. I do still find it bizarre that as one of the tallest men I know, I use probably the least amount of bedwidth available and still decided to get the biggest bed I could.

And I suppose I should accentuate the positives - I did get sex. It's not every weekend that happens. Although at the minute it's not far off. I think I am currently just trying to find as many ways as possible to cause gossip: a friend of mine is in New Zealand and likes things to talk about when she calls me. She doesn't have much going on (despite what one would have assumed would have been an exciting time relocating and expatriating to the other side of the world) mostly due to a lack of friends until she settles, and a lack of money associated with the cost of moving and time until she found a decent job. As such she doesn't have much excitement and is living vicariously through me. I therefore have to have twice as much fun as I would ordinarily have. Hence snogging lots of people in London the weekend before and doing lots of bonking prior to that.

At least on this occasion there was no debate about "your place or mine?" This is an odd question which fills me with no end of debate. If they come back to mine, they will know where I live. They may turn into a weird stalker and not leave me alone. Or I may not be able to get rid of them in the morning, if they are particularly heavy sleepers or socially inept enough to not realise that I am trying to get rid of them. Or they may steal things from me whilst I am in the bathroom getting ready or downstairs sorting out my sausage.

If I go back to theirs, I may not know where they live and spend days wandering around in a wilderness looking for public transport. Or I may just come across as though I were a burglar should I stumble onto any flatmates whilst trying to sneak out (having left my mobile number scribbled on the back of a receipt by their bedside if they are really lucky). Or you may get stuck with unusable or unsuitable facilities (the most common for me, at 6'4" tall, is a shower which barely aims at my chest). Usually it is that they come back to mine because I own my place, live on my own, and only a £5 taxi-ride from the centre of the city. I do get a certain frisson of a thrill if they are still in student halls. There is a certain something about having sex in a bed 3/4 the size of a standard single and waking up surrounded by empty bottles of vodka and unsavoury posters.

I did add to the 'things you shouldn't say to the person you are having sex with or have just had sex with' list: when they are dressing it is apparently bad form to say "Oh, you're not the one I fancied last night. He had a red t-shirt on."