Tuesday, 9 October 2018

Logical Man

Everyone was drunk. Well, I say everyone - I wasn't drunk. Most of us were, though. There was definitely a bar involved. Possibly two. Or more. I stopped counting and just followed the crowd (insofar as five people could be called a "crowd"). We had been rehearsing for our university's Christmas celebration, in which we had volunteered to play. As far as we knew, in fact, we were the only musicians in the university, so if we hadn't...

Anyway, after about five minutes talking shop and discussing how far one can go with untuned percussion, we started talking about sex, because that's what drunk students do, apparently.

"Awwwww, it's been too long," said one of our number - both the instigator of the whole idea and our representative to the LGBT+ society. "I want to kiss a girl."
"Well, nobody's going to stop you," I said.

Which was probably true. This was my final year, and I'd just endured two and a half years of watching other people kissing, in any and all combinations, as long as those combinations didn't involve me. By this point, getting a perfunctory hug from someone was starting to feel like third base. My friend, who also played the violin so we had at least that in common, was both hot and incredibly outgoing, so I'm fairly sure she could have found someone to kiss.

"It's not that simple," she said. "You see, I've kissed three girls, and had sex with two more. Girls don't want to just kiss; they always want long relationships. It's much easier with boys, because they just want kisses and sex."

I wasn't entirely sure that was true.

"I'm not entirely sure that's true," I said hesitantly. I wasn't sure how much more to add - one of our number had some incredibly interesting details on social media which indicated, to the contrary, that girls were completely uninterested in long relationships and were perfectly happy having lots of sex. She was a girl, so she probably knew.

I would have gone for either, but then again, I wasn't going to get anywhere, so I'd stopped trying.

"Isn't it true?" she asked.
"Well, you just said you've kissed five girls, with two of whom you've had sex."
"And how many of them have gone on to become your girlfriend?"
"Well, none."
"And how many boyfriends have you got?"
"Well... one, I suppose. Right now. I've had more, you know, in the past."

There was a pause, during which somebody threw up in the alleyway near where we were standing. Hooray, urban youth.

"Oh!" And she flashed a grin so dazzling that it briefly seemed like summer had made a repeat appearance. "You have a point."
"I miss sex," put in one of our number, unexpectedly. "I used to have it with my boyfriend, but not any more. I mean, he isn't my boyfriend any more. So I'm not having sex with him any more. Or anyone, really."

There was a general murmur of consent throughout our assembled musicians. Everyone wanted to have sex (with the exception of my violinist friend, who wanted to kiss girls); everyone had had it at some point in the past, but was missing it (with the exception of "Mouth", who was having plenty). And here I was, genuinely believing that I was the only one in the human population who wasn't having any sex. The consistent Trojan advertising in the student newspaper probably wasn't helping.

And then everyone looked at me, as if expecting me to say something about how much sex I wasn't having.

"Let's get some more drinks," I offered, "and then we'll see if we can find you a girl to kiss."
"Lead the way, squire."

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