Sex or Friendship

Walking down Whitehall today, mood buoyant. The days after an escort, freedom from nagging hormonal drag.

Three women now over about six weeks, maybe I’ve just been lucky, they’ve all been lovely, all in different ways.

Yesterday, a real connection with Kylie4Sex. If it had been another context, feels like we could easily have been friends. Going for a trip somewhere together, it would be real fun, we’d have a lot to talk about, I would be delighted she was there, can’t help thinking she’d feel the same.

Today, riding the Underground, hanging on to the chrome pillar, imagining her next to me, discussing something, maybe the porcelain chips at the Tate Modern, how you can’t walk on them now, health risk, Seeing her respond. Suggesting maybe we go there, have a coffee. Making her smile and blush if I can, if she has to go, at least make sure I can kiss her goodbye, make a date to meet up again.

Different from the other escorts, they were lovely but half an hour was plenty, more and it would become strained, not much to talk about. And yet, Kylie4Sex, the one I’d like to spend time with, probably the least sexually accomplished, too nervous, probably not much libido.

Wonder why women with a low sex drive make the best friends. Thinking through my past, the ones where the sex was exciting, the sex seemed to take everything over, there wasn’t any room left for just an easygoing low-key friendship. Like overheating engines, exciting whilst it lasts but not too long and they break down, nothing quite as useless as a broken-down engine.

Trudging up the stairs out of the Underground, looking at the crowds. How many of them are settled in relationships, I wonder, and of those, how many of them feel like friends with their partners. Of the friends, how many have good sex? Not many, I would think, or not for many years anyway. Well, better the friendship than the sex, you can easily get that elsewhere.