Conditional perfect

Perverts these days. They don’t know how good they’ve got it.
Let me explain, Dear Reader.

In a comment for Party. Part. Party, when one of my Favorite Commenters said she was feeling too ill to masturbate, I jokingly reeplied …

If I could lend you my fingers, tongue and dick, I would gladly do so, if just to aid your recovery. (If only I could lend them to so many of my readers. Now wouldn’t that be fun!)

She replied …

Ah, if only! But thanks for the thought!

And then Another Commenter said …

Oh, lend me, lend me! (Hands way up in the air, I probably should get in line.) 😉

As my ego and erection swelled in unison, there was then a brief conversation between my two Delightful Readers. Though it was obviously all good humoured, there was a suggestion that they could fight for the aforementioned loan. Don’t get me wrong, Dear Third Party, I realise none of this can be taken seriously, and the whole exchange only came about because someone happened to get turned on by something I wrote about the sex I’d just had. There was no evidence that that sex was even remotely as good as the description for anyone other than myself, and any value of the loan of my fingers, tongue and dick was, in the circumstances, mere conjecture. That said in different circumstances, maybe a couple of decades ago, it might have been possible to test that conjecture. If only I’d had an online sex blog back then.

Meanwhile …

Sat in the pub a couple of weeks later, in a mixed crowd, there was much discussion and (predominantly female) interrogation of a male attendee, some 20yrs my junior, about how much fun he’s having courtesy of Tinder. I’d heard of Grindr quite a while ago, and it didn’t take toomuch research to find out Tinder is used in a very similar way: officially it is doubtless regarded as social networking, but I’m sure most of you know it has other uses.

Anyway …

I was looking at one of my favorite websites, that of a rubber fetish club night (sadly not one I have been in a position to visit in nearly a decade) and noticed they now run fetish speed dating events. How cool is that – you get to sit across a table from a potential partner, and from the start be out and proud of the fact you like getting dressed up in rubber and being fucked in the arse? How much time and angst must that save?!

And these things got me thinking.

When I was in the dating game, there was no internet on which to do it, let alone websites like Tinder, over run by horny boys and girls who’s primary interest was some no-holes-bared NSA sex with girls and boys they’d never have to see again.

There was no speed dating. If you wanted to get your leg over, you had to do some hard graft, splash out on a gallon of Chardonnay and it was often a protracted game.

For those for whom dating has always been too traumatic a process, there’s been to the company of the oldest profession. But when the oldest profession was just a little younger, you couldn’t check out field reports on your smartphone – you needed to take pot luck on a card from a phonebox.


If your budget didn’t stretch to a prostitute, and you just fancied some pictorial inspiration for a wank, you were mostly limited to what now would be regarded as soft core. Porn depicting explicit sex, real cocks in real cunts, was ostensibly Danish imports from under the counter and most of the men were overweight, hairy and ugly. If you wanted porn depicting anal, bondage, or anything remotely fetishistic, the men were REALLY hairy, REALLY ugly, and the porn was REALLY expensive. Skin flicks and mags that favoured a female audience just didn’t exist.

Speaking of hairy, balls were even hairier than muffs. The idea of manscaping hadn’t been conceived.


If a man walked into a salon and asked for a Back, Crack ‘n’ Sack Wax, he could expect either, a confused look, a slap round the face or a call to be made to the police.

And there were no sex blogs. There were no blogs. If you wanted to read about sex, you could only choose between porn, teenage magazines and the likes of Dr Ruth.


I was obviously born before my time. If, when I was younger, there had been Tinder, fetish speed dating, online escort agencies, Erika Lust’s female friendly porno movies, and cock and ball waxing, I would doubtless have fucked more, wanked more (if that were possible), been kinkier, poorer and a whole lot more tired. But boy would I have had some fun!
To quote Rod Stewart, I wish that I knew what I know now when I was younger …
And not just for my sake.

Whilst I make no claims about how great a lover my Delightful Readers might have discovered me to be, I have to confess that 25yrs ago my approach wasn’t a million miles away from any hole is a goal. A quarter of a century later and I’ve not only got a much better idea of how to get to first, second, third, and fourth base, I’ve also learned a thing or two about helping the batter, pitcher, quarterback, ball boy, jockey and half the away fans all get a hole in one. Everyone could have been a winner.

If my younger self knew half of what I now know, and had half the resources we now have, my sexual partners and I would probably have died of exhaustion by now.

One Response to “Conditional perfect”

  1. revealedwoman Says:

    Yes, those were the days – no internet dating or even mobile phones. The only options were meet someone at a party, a nightclub or, most commonly, at work. And the only way to meet again was to phone them up, if you’d exchanged numbers – not even the option of email to contact the object of your lust!

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