Imagine the scenario, the two of you are away in the beautiful city of York on a bitter winter’s weekend; covering up as many inches of flesh as possible, holding hands in pockets and only doing as much outdoor sightseeing as is absolutely necessary so as still to appear cultured to one another.
It’s even more romantic when you check into your little B&B with a wooden staircase and sherry in a decanter to the right of the fire place. A perfect place to pull each other’s clothes off and kick start the lust of the weekend. And that we did. Normal, nice, enjoyable sex. Not too long, not too short.
After this satisfactory embrace we dragged our post-coital bodies out to indulge in the culinary delights York had to offer. It was lovely, the height of civilised. He asked if we wanted to stay out for more drinks to which I declined – I knew which underwear I’d packed ready to seductively slip on later that evening. Boy, was he in for a treat!
We got in, he jumped in the shower and I dressed to impress: black stockings, matching black lace and silk set (snapped up from an extraordinarily priced brand in the sale) and a willingness to go the extra mile, on top even. As the shower went off and he emerged from the bathroom I was lying on the bed and he…well, he glanced around the room for the TV remote.
I wasn’t impressed, but I let it go. Men aren’t known for being observant, least of all this one. He proceeded to lie next to me and switched on Match of the Day, not the most romantic of choices. Nor was the line that followed ‘Can you not take this stuff off, it’s itchy?’ to which I suggested he took it off for me, I thought it was worth a shot…
…As it turns out we’d already fulfilled our quota of sex for that weekend before we’d gone out for tea. He wasn’t interested. I wish I’d been warned; at least I could have pulled my lace knickers out earlier, even if they weren’t going to be appreciated I could have started reducing their cost-per-wear.
Our sex drives just weren’t aliened, as was further proven in the morning when I went out on a limb to ask if he fancied joining me for a shower to which is response was honest and fair (although not at all promising) ‘No, I had a shower last night. I don’t need one.’ And with that our romantic weekend was complete.