It was a Saturday night not so long ago. I was out for dinner in one of the new ‘must try’ restaurants in town, joined by four very different, very interesting women. One was a Londoner, one a southerner and the other two, well they were quaint essential NI ladies. They all shared two things, an eye for fashion and an experience with an extreme dirty talker.
‘Let’s talk dirty then ladies,’ I said.
First things first. We’ve all come across a dirty talker on our travels, the only thing of notable difference may be the extremity of it or perhaps worse, the necessity for it. I was about to find out.
I had to admit, right up there, it wasn’t my thing. Not really. Well, come to think of it, this one guy I dated was pretty into the dirty talk, and by the time he was done I was starting to see why. It’s like that little taster of what’s to come. Or narration during the process. I never did find out if it was essential to his Big Bang but I have a sneaky suspicion that it just may have been. That would have taken the aaaaah out of my O. No thanks to that one. I do enough talking at the best of times without having to do it for a pay off. Every now and then, yes please but every single time, hell no. Really, what would happen to sleepy sex with this guy? Roll over and wake up at 3am, flick on the kink switch and let’s get rolling. Seesh, that’s too much like hard work.
Miss London had had a few of those it seems. No happy ending before you write one. She got sick of it and mailed them onto the next smooth talker. Have you ever looked in a thesaurus? There are only so many words for wet, horny, harder. It gets boring after a while.
Well up sparked little Miss Southerner. Seems for her pretty face, she had quite the dirty mouth. ‘I like it,’ she said, sipping on the end of her metal straw and be it my grubby mind or the subject at hand but I just couldn’t help seeing her doing all kinds of terrible things with that mouth. ‘It makes me want it more.’ There we have it – roll up, roll up and view the woman who likes hot chat when things get hot. ‘Especially when he begs me to tell him he’s shit.’ This silenced the table. Then someone laughed. No idea who.
Her face lit up like Christmas. ‘Really. Tell him to do it better, that it’s shit. That I need it harder. Want it faster.’
Good god but the heat at our table was melting the candle pieces.
‘Oh, no.’ Added Miss London. ‘My guy didn’t want that, he was all about’ and at this point she went into panty, sex voice, ‘tell me how much you love it. Does that feel good for you? How good? Do you want me to tell you how it feels for me?’ Voice reverts to normal. ‘No I don’t fucking want you to tell me how it feels for you, I want you to shut up and let me feel it.’
The table erupted. Really, who wouldn’t laugh.