As you know this blog is rarely ever topical. But travelling on the London Underground yesterday morning I found myself reading a newspaper article about a Hollywood celebrity who claims to have slept with five thousand women over a four year period. That’s an awful lot of sex, and let’s face it, statistically I was hoping some of it was awful too. I immediately got out my calculator and crunched the numbers. You’d need to sleep with one hundred and four different sexual partners a month just to keep up. I closed my eyes and thought about the logistics. I tried to imagine who would be interested enough to make out with me and where I might find them all and whether I would be cheating numbers wise if I asked if any of them would be willing to do it more than once. In the end I got exhausted just thinking about having to change the sheets. If I fitted that much sex in during the month of December I don’t think I’d be able to walk my way through January. So thank goodness for monogamy and thank God I can rely on Guido every other Tuesday but twice on a Saturday.
Coincidentally, right next to that newspaper article was another about the most popular polled things people would choose to do, rather than have sex. And one of them was to pilot a helicopter. No really, I am honestly not making this up. So I threw it wide open in bed last night.
“If you had a choice between having sex or doing anything else, what would it be and would it involve a spinning rotor?” I asked Guido.
“Is this another one of your stupid trick questions to catch me out?” he said groaning.
“Straight up,” I said shaking my head.
There was a very long and satisfying pause. Which I have to say was gratifying considering what I was asking him. At least he had the manners to show some hesitation.
“Okay,” he said rubbing his chin. “It would obviously have to be pleasurable. It would need to be flexible. I’d have to be able fit it in comfortably, oh, and it couldn’t be too short or too long.”
I wondered where we were going with this and if it would be printable on a blog.
“I’d probably say – stuffing a big Krispy Kreme chocolate dream into my mouth. Right in there. Whole. Straight down. All in one go. Yum.” He gave a big mmm noise, had a strange look in his eye and he was blinking a lot when he said it. I’ll admit the choice was a turn up for the books. It seemed strange, though highly encouraging, that my only competition in the sex stakes turned out to be with an iced doughnut.
I lay in the dark thinking. Was I about to marry a weirdo? The question was rhetorical but please feel free to post a comment.