Sex on a white sofa

When Guido and I were dating we’d take turns having sleepovers at each other’s homes.  I have to tell you, there wasn’t much sleeping going on. When I stayed at Guido’s he’d cook amazing Spanish meals to impress me and straight afterwards we’d get on his sofa and have the kind of sex which now gives me indigestion just thinking about it.   Unfortunately there was one tiny problem with reciprocal visiting arrangements.  It wasn’t the cooking.  I’d always get Chinese takeaway.  It wasn’t the sex.  I could have done it blindfolded, and on one occasion I’m pretty certain I did. No, the big elephant in the room was my sofa.  

I had a two-seat cotton covered white sofa. And when I say white, I mean pure white. It was perfect. It was pristine. If there was a speck of fluff on it I’d have to have oxygen just to recover from the trauma. It might as well have been in a museum with one of those electronic alarms around it where if you got too close to it with sticky fingers or black dye jeans it set a siren off and metal shutters collapsed from the ceiling to form a ring of steel. I even sat on a wool blanket to help protect it.  On occasion I was even known to stroke it.  When I finally moved in with Guido there was only enough room to bring two suitcases and a juicer with me so I gave my sofa to a friend with a brilliant white apartment in Islington.  Suddenly my life felt so empty.

Meanwhile back at the loft, Guido had a beaten-up torn leather three-seat chesterfield.  For years it has sat slap bang in the middle of the room like a sore thumb. It’s never needed any obvious protection.  Guido has always done this weird thing when he sits on it.  He positions his bottom between two cushions so it’s right on the crack. The result is that the edges of the cushions have slowly narrowed over the years to a shape not dissimilar to a wedge of cheese.  So if you sit down on it, it’s like sitting on an adverse camber. You sort of tilt. Which means if the two of us sit next to each other we have to try really hard to avoid banging our heads together.  Of course, back in the day we didn’t worry about that sort of thing because we didn’t sit on it that often.  We’d be laying down on it, either that or I was in some weird position on top of it and would have a blindfold on. 

Anyway to kick start our on-going loft revamp I suggested to Guido we ditch the chesterfield and invest in a three-seat white sofa.  I knew a guy who knew another guy who knew a contact at Furniture Village who was willing to do a nudge nudge wink wink zero percentage finance deal. 

“Could you live with that?” I said to Guido thinking about plastic protection covers and Scotch Guard. 

“But how will we have sex on it,” he said in all seriousness. 

“There’s only one thing for it,” I said, “you’ll have to learn to levitate above it.”

It does seem a very small price to pay. 


9 thoughts on “Sex on a white sofa

  1. White is beautiful – for photographing a room, but not for living in it, or in this case – on it. The angst will make you age. I suppose it could be a centerpiece which no one actually uses. My mother had an entire room for that. though I’m 99.9% sure my parents never had sex. That’s what I keep telling myself anyways.


  2. Hi. Just saw this post randomly at the end of your lastest “Robin Hood” post. Our lying has two white sofas, not the most comfortable for sex as they two seater oversized, however in our TV room we have one huge sofa, it’s not white but has seen some levitation. Ivan


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