Yesterday I accidentally sat on a bottle of water that was stood upright on the ground and it’s the most sex I’ve had in weeks. Just lately I made this vow to myself that I need to stay away from alcohol and men, as one almost always leads to the other… I’ll let you decide which way around that goes. The most recent affirmation of the vow was called J, a guy I know from college who just happened to be in Thailand when I was this Christmas.
“I want you to come inside me.” I lied. It was actually the last thing I wanted but I had sand in my butt crack and I was getting leg cramp so I said the one thing that had always helped me speed these things along. I was awkwardly riding him on a chair in the middle of the deserted hotel beach. Remember those white plastic chairs your mum would get out when an uninvited guest would turn up at your BBQ, wearing his new Oakley sunglasses and carrying a tray of Somerfield sausage baps? Yeah, one of them. Romantic and comfortable this was not.
The previous night I’d been very adventurous and decided to leave my family at the resort and go drinking alone in the middle of the Phuket strip. I left at 3pm and returned at 1am the following day. I vaguely remember pole dancing with an Irish gypsy lad and running away from a group of randy, middle aged, Aussie men – is there any other kind? One of said men was adamant on taking me home (we had bonded over a stage show where a Thai woman pulled a metre of crystal beads out of her vagina and I’d been told off for pointing) but luckily I had flagged down a tuk tuk and made it back to my room alive and un penetrated, for one night anyway.
Through the beauty of social media, J and I had discovered that our paths would cross in South East Asia and being a sexually starved, hot blooded female, my mind began to wander quickly and excitedly about the prospect of getting it on with him. However, I told myself to refrain for once; I even left my bikini line overgrown so as to stop myself if that moment would in fact ‘arise’.
We were getting on swimmingly. We had both brought our respective brothers and were forming a strong wolfpack-like bond. The night progressed and we meandered across the Thai streets. At a certain point, I found myself sat between J and his brother, moving my head from side to side like a tennis spectator as each of them spoke at me and I figuratively fluttered my eyelashes. I’d completely forgotten the rule I had made myself back when I was sober and was now drunk enough to ignore my bristly undercarriage, or as I often like to refer to it, The David Gest.
J kissed me first and although I’m pretty sure I’d just told his brother I’d go home with him, I continued to snog J until the group dispersed and we were left to our own devices.
Fast forward to the hotel, hand in hand we clamber out of the taxi, only to be met in the foyer by the glaring eyes of my father.
It’s 2am, I’m wasted and I’ve just bumped into my dad whilst attempting a one night stand. I would not have been opposed to the lethal injection right there and then. “Dad this is J, J meet my dad,” Why introduce them? I have no idea. “What are you doing? It’s 2 o clock in the morning and your brother has just thrown up in reception. I can’t believe you let him go home on his own in that state.” Shit. Double the guilt! There is no easy way to get out of this.
“Off for a walk on the beach.” J stripped off and splashed around in the ocean like he’d lived in a sand pit his entire life. Naturally, I followed suit. We struggled to get in the right position for the Thomson holiday approved in-the-sea intercourse and I’m pretty sure I almost drown trying to give him a blowie under water.
We resigned to straddling the lone white chair in the sand and I did what I could to get an orgasm out of him (any pleasure I might have had was washed away when I was almost killed by the attempted sub aquatic sucking). “I want to come inside YOU!” He seemed giddy about this but I just wanted to get it over with so I could go to my room, pack my case and move to Azerbaijan… It was the only logical way to escape the inevitable family interrogation I was facing.
In Thailand, morning after pills are £1. A POUND! I almost considered stocking up but my brother was paying so it didn’t really seem fair. Yes, you read that right. I might have abandoned my intoxicated younger brother to go have sex on a white plastic BBQ chair with a guy from our hometown but at least the very next day I made him pay for my emergency contraception. I mean, hey, what are Sisters for?
Is that lethal injection ready yet?