One Night Planned.
By Dan Siron.
For Eve NI Magazine.
Last week, nature relented and offered me the chance to sit in a lush green garden and soak up the infrequent sunshine, drink in the ingenuity of creation’s own masterpiece and take a closer look at those creatures that often live amongst us unseen. My attention settled on a song thrush, confidently perched on electricity lines that conveniently circumvent the oasis of tranquility that I found myself resting. His song was loud, proud and a much varied musical homage befitting the purity of both the moment and the environment.
It gave me time to reflect on what my eyes and ears were revelling in. This is not a good thing. My limited knowledge of nature tells me that this was a male thrush, belting out ornithology’s greatest hits. The truth be told, it was more of a compilation with a specific and disturbing intent. This sweet, little fellah was screaming out for a shag. And I don’t mean the seabird with a genus of Phalacrocorax aristotelis. The reason this geezer is standing tall and busting a lung is because he wants to get his skinny leg over. And who can blame him? He is surrounded by birds, after-all. Well you get my drift.
Almost every song in his extremely varied repertoire (I picked out 30 distinct ditties) is designed to impress the ladies. If you like, this avian Lothario was vocally going through his little black feathery book. Every song was a ringtone, a sext message; a feather shaking booty call. And he doesn’t even have any thumbs.
Sex is the driving influence in every animals life. Even eating is merely a function that allows a creature to venture out and fulfil the urge to procreate. And man is no different, except that we do it for physical pleasure as well, a trait that isn’t shared by many animals. Perhaps the most famous is the bonobo, which joins the chimpanzee as human’s nearest relative to indulge in a bit of swinging, branch based and otherwise. The main difference is that we are made to feel bad about it afterwards.
The predominant view is that men are the characters who are more likely to jump into bed with someone that they know even less than their local butcher, but this cannot be so. Taking homosexual parties out of the equation to concentrate on heterosexual encounters, there has to be one boy and one girl. Unless I have been doing it wrong.
So the maths prove the “men are more likely to have a one night stand” theory incorrect by virtue of the fact that they need someone to have one with. I invited people on Twitter and Facebook to share their experiences and thoughts about one night stands and found that, not only are girls just as likely to indulge in a night of carnal pleasure without strings, but they seem to be more willing to tell an anonymous nosey parker on the internet!
As one contributor stated, “More girls like them (one night stands) than guys seem to think. A lot of men think girls will want more but in actual fact they don’t want the hassle of a relationship and don’t have the time. You can still be fussy who its with and it doesn’t have to be sleazy as long as both parties are happy and hassle free.“
Another went even further and suggested that it isn’t just the town bike being used by many cyclists; “Everyone has one night stands. If they say they don’t, they are liars.” And who am I to argue? As long as everyone involved is happy with the arrangement and avoids handing over something drippy and burny, where is the damage? That most intimate, and welcome, of itches gets scratched and no one gets hurt. Except, maybe, one’s reputation.
This is where the sexes divide. Despite the ludicrous logic involved, it is more acceptable for a guy to leap into bed with a perfect stranger than for a fair maiden to roll in the hay with a handsome visitor to town. The man enhances his reputation and is regarded as a stud for such trysts, while the girl in question becomes regarded as a well ridden bike that people would be happy to steal for a half an hours joyful leg stretch, but you wouldn’t want it parked outside your house. And she reacts by removing all responsibility for her actions by blaming alcohol and being very embarrassed.
While I am not about to suggest that a full relationship cannot blossom from a night that begins with an introduction and ends with a request for tissues, it is an up hill road from the start.
Why not just say what you see? “I fancied sex. I found someone who also fancied sex. We had sex.” Incidentally, I now picture Roy Walker making that statement and I apologise if you do too. Add to that, “It’s good but it’s not quite right, now put your knickers back on.” Sorry.
My head tells me that if everyone is willing and agreeable, and the parties take healthy precautions, then what is the problem? Who gets hurt? I think it may be a question of what, rather than who. The male ego is extremely fragile and once again it may be subliminally responsible for a mans inability to accept that a woman having casual sex is nothing more than meeting a need. If a woman has met those needs with a variety of partners, then the likelihood is that she will have experienced someone bigger and better than her current squeeze. This plays havoc with the ever competitive male ego. To diminish her social standing and morality as a result make this shortcoming a little easier to swallow.
On rare occasions, it isn’t just male ego that suffers from a one night stand. Thanks to my Twitter and Facebook contributors I found many stories that induce cringes even though I have read them several times now. The first was that of a lady who was enjoying a girls night out and saw a guy 14 years her junior that she “just had to have”. And have him she did. From her account, he put in a very manly, disciplined performance in the circumstances. Circumstances that the A&E staff echoed as they stitched his delightfully named “banjo string” back on to his banjo. Despite his instrument suffering a catastrophic injury, he played on until the show was over. Rather like the the Titanic and its now famous band. Only with less going down.
The second is a cautionary tale that will send a shiver down the spine of every girl reading. Our lady donned her new “killer” dress for a night on the tiles. She knew she looked stunning and it wasn’t long before the bees came to her particular honeypot. Having selected her drone, out for the night with his brother, all three headed to his home and into two separate bedrooms. Spooning in post-coital slumber, she was awoken by the sound of running water, but quickly fell into a booze induced slumber again. She awoke again at a more sociable hour to find herself sandwiched between the two naked brothers, like an angel between the last two plucked turkeys in the shop. As she retrieved her “killer” dress, she realised why the running water that had disturbed her had sounded like it was in the same room as her. She had to endure the “Walk Of Shame” carrying her urine soaked “killer” dress in one of Tesco’s finest plastic laundry bags and dressed in jogging bottoms and a T-shirt that were kindly donated by her new friend.
For my own part, my cherry was devoured by a girl who was so intent on a singular experience, that she patiently copied down the telephone number of a girl I had been chatting to earlier in the night so that her teachings wouldn’t erase it from the back of my hand, preventing a more traditional date. She had no intention of returning to my bowl to sample the rest of my fruit. And I was happy with that too. To be honest, it was so late in my life, compared to my friends, that I was simply happy that anyone wanted to snack before the contents of my bowl went mouldy.
I could write for hours about this subject but know that the attention span of readers can wane. The alternative was to write it in two parts. But you wouldn’t want to come back for another go, would you?