In life, things really are a matter of perspective. I think one thing, you think another, or maybe we meet somewhere in the middle and agree. Either way, it’s each to their own. Well can the same be said of sex? And if so, is there any such thing as normal?
I’m beginning to wonder.
You keep your ears open and your eyes peeled, it’s surprising the things you pick up on. Like that the lady across the road from my friend (I may need to add here that he’s a boy, it may help clarify things) likes to do her housework in a bikini and heels. Strangely enough, she’s particularly fussy about windows. Those windows of hers must sparkle and shine once she’s done with them. It did make me wonder if she was aware of the houseful of boys peering out from across the road, or is that exactly the point? She was very, tantalizingly, hyper aware of them. All that testosterone brooding just a small headgerow and tarmac path away.
The thing is, this story had me strangely struck with indecision, is this a desperate cry for attention by a forty something has been, or simply a confident woman who has her own form of kink?
Later in the same week I’m having dinner with Pete. The conversations takes a swift turn from new foundling relationships to the loves and sex of the past. Turns out he’s been around the block a few times and learnt a little along the way. Like about door cuffs that release on your collapse (because apparently you’re likely to collapse if things are done right) and the female ejaculation (yes, really. That’s a whole other blog). Women who like to give the golden shower and others who must be slapped and abused if they’re to reach climax.
‘This is all a bit nuts,’ I laughed, cracking open the second bottle of wine.
‘Nah,’ he said vaguely, ‘just you think what gets you off is normal.’ Just like that, flippant and accepting, he tossed more crisps into his mouth. I suddenly wondered, was he right? Was it that we all think we’re normal? Even the kinkiest of people make love and have sleepy sex. Even the most extreme, kiss and cuddle. Those times they want that little bit more, it’s not necessarily a kink, just more of a change. A bit of adventure.
Maybe before Fifty Shades, people were up to no good in the bedroom anyway; they just kept their mouths shut about it. Or did that blow a can of worms wide open to infiltrate even the most normal of relationships?
It’s not that I didn’t think naughty things went on, but did I think every Tom, Dick and Harry was swinging from the chandelier on a Saturday night - and by swinging I mean from handcuffs with a blindfold? Eh, honestly, no but now I really am beginning to wonder. Are we really as innocent as we look?