I couldn’t do the bootycall! Something from somewhere divinely intervened on my sexual behalf negating the possibility of a casual Friday night romp. I’m not sure what it was….my moral voice? my righteous voice? or perhaps it was my mother’s voice? but I did not get laid by a stranger that night – I just didn’t want to share my new tits with somebody undeserving. I want to be worshiped for longer than it takes to have an orgasm. I’ve never been very good at casual encounters of the sexual kind, anyway – I usually can’t come and most times the lay ends up in a pseudo-relationship. I wanted neither. So, I called up my tall Indian instead. Comfortable and intimate, we had a fantastic Friday night affair!

The moral of the story: I chickened out of something uncertain and placed all my eggs in one familiar basket. Is that so bad?

I’ve got my first date set for bootycall: I’ve cashed in on the offer for “friends with benefits” and taking full advantage of the privilege on Friday night. I’ve never had this sort of arrangement before so it should be interesting to see how the evening unfolds – I know where it will inevitably end up – but it’s all about the journey, n’est-ce pas? I wonder if there will be foreplay over dinner (hmm… a meal before hand, does that qualify for a date? or perhaps it’s the “grown up” route to getting some!) I can imagine playing footsies under the table, his hand on my knee (or maybe up my skirt!) my hand on his…. oh, the possibilities! How deliciously dirty! It’s amazing the lengths we will go, the games we must play, the lies we pretend to believe all to satisfy our most basic of needs! But really, last night I could have popped with all the pent up sexual energy I’ve managed to garner over the past month! Having sex without coming for six weeks is guaranteed to drive anybody up the sexual walls of frustration! I’m needing some serious RELEASE!

A friend with benefits couldn’t have come at a better time!

What is it about the promise of a Saturday night booty call that can end up in such disappointment? It must lay somewhere between the expectation of momentary bliss and overall next day glow of a really good shag. We put some seriously high hopes in those moments between the sheets – as if just that one night can cure a really bad work week, a month’s long sexual dry run or even a year’s worth of self-imposed celibacy. That’s just too much pressure to put on anyone.  But as girls do, and ladies we do, if that Saturday night booty call wasn’t any good – poor guy – word gets around. Sympathy for the friend ensues with a “O God I’m so sorry you had to experience that!” and a quick deletion of his phone number forever erases the bad memory (at least from the mobile).  The guy is tossed as useless and therefore ceases to serve a function as anybody’s booty call henceforth. It’s a sad situation, really, all the way round and it’s not as if it’s his fault (entirely), but if he can’t deliver the goods on that one occasion when we happen to be drunk and really horny – that what good is he?  After a booty call let down, this guy is not even worthy of fixing the leaky toilet, or wiring up the new flat screen or changing the oil on our car. O for shame, he’s not even worthy of quick cup of coffee on his way out the door!