Girls are from Venus. Boys are from Mars. While that phrase was coined to illustrate just how large the chasm is between men and women — how differently we approach life, and the problems we might encounter — the number of similarities we share are still too numerous to count.

I’m going to try and focus purely on the differences between boys and girls, men and women. This won’t be an article on how humans all endeavour to survive, but it might help you survive a little better by getting more out of friendships and relationships — especially if you interact a lot with the opposite sex! This guide could alternatively be called ‘how to get on better with girls’ or even ‘Seb tells you far too many trade secrets.’

To the girls: don’t take it too personally. This is going to feel like, at worst, that you’ve been sliced and prepared into a series of cutaway diagrams. At best, it’s going to feel like you’ve been stripped bare.

To the boys: remember, every girl is different. This is a guide, not a checklist!

Now, please forgive me for starting with the least romantic part of boy/girl relationships, but it sets the groundwork so nicely. It explains away a lot of the difficulties you might have, as a guy, with understanding a girl: it’s all in their head, man! You can skip the first section if you think it’s just plain unromantic.

The Psychology

Genetically, we’re almost identical, with just 78 genes separating boys from girls. I’m not a doctor, so I’m not going to suggest anything preposterous, but it would seem that those 78 genes would become, in later life, the differences in our physiology, our brain chemistry and ultimately the huge differences we notice between the actions and thought processes of men and women.

Tests would seem to suggest that almost all differences between male and female sensitivity and recall is based on our relative levels of testosterone, estrogen and progesterone. Women, for example, tend to have more vivid memory recall during their period. Women also have a much easier time recalling memories with emotional components (which might go some way to explaining why women, at least from a male perspective, seem to dig up very odd, ‘unimportant’ stuff during their period). It’s also female hormones that make women more sensitive, at least towards dangerous situations or a perceived threat. Couple this with the fact that the heightened testosterone levels in men can cause emotional insensitivity or a complete lack of empathy, and you can begin to see why men and women might fail to get along — especially during that time of the month.

The solution here, gentlemen, is to be gentle. A girl only feels bonded in a relationship by a feeling of closeness inspired by shared feelings and emotions — intimacy, in other words. Believe it or not, watching a sporting event with a girl doesn’t actually cement your relationship very much. In fact, the only real shared ground between men and women is sex. Men love it: it’s active, it’s sporting (’Maybe I can go for another hour this week!’, ‘Let’s go for 6 orgasms…’) Women love it — at least, most do — because of the bonding, physically and mentally, and it is inherently very intimate.

Orgasms. Girls love orgasms. Oh, and sex too, but really… orgasms.

With the psycho-babble out of the way I can now move into much safer (if not easier!) waters. The wild, wet seas of the Big O.

Orgasm in the morning; orgasm in the evening. Orgasm at work, in the supplies cupboard. Wherever and whenever — a girl wants to orgasm. I’m not going to turn this into a guide on sex (maybe next week: ‘The master geek at work in the bedroom’), so just go and look up some guides on the internet. I think the most vital thing to remember is that very few girls reach orgasm from the ol’ fashioned ‘just stick it in’ technique — men should really know this by now, but in case you didn’t: you have to get messy! And I don’t mean poo play.

As I mentioned before, girls really need intimacy. Unless you make a habit of watching sad movies and sharing your thoughts (some guys with low levels of testosterone are quite happy to do this — like me), sex is probably the only time you will be truly intimate with a girl. So you might as well make the sex good, and do it often!

Girls want to be loved

I’ve learnt that, despite their apparent faults, misgivings or erratic, emotional outbursts, a girl wants to be loved. This desire to be loved is so strong that a girl will often slight her own ethics or personal integrity to get a guy to love her.

It’s important, for the success and longevity of a relationship, that you don’t let a girl sacrifice herself to please you. Women are constantly in search of intimacy (and the love that follows) and will do almost anything to get it from you. Most men are unaware of just how many hoops they (inadvertently!) force their girlfriends to jump through, to earn their intimacy and love. It’s unfair and it destroys the very essence of what makes a person a person: self worth. Sure, you might end up satisfied in the short term, but you’ll be left with a bereft, empty, soulless shell of a girl; a shell with only a few shattered fragments of the girl you first met and hit it off with.

If you’re not ready to love (I’m guessing this is a genetic thing again, stopping guys from saying those 3 fateful words; those 7 immensely heavy letters), you must at least be ready to be intimate. A girl probably doesn’t want to actually hear you say ‘I love you’, she’s more than likely just looking for you to share your feelings and emotions… so try to do that! Watch The Notebook and cry with her. Trust me.

Girls solve problems differently

This is the difference that really counts. Life is, as you know, just a constant stream of making decisions and solving problems. Both men and women are equally good at working out problems — and thus, surviving! — they just take very different paths to the solution. Us men like to take control of the situation and get it solved as quickly and effectively as possible. Women, on the other hand, are more interested in the how and why of the problem — analysing how that thorn came to be there, and how to remove it,  is far more interesting than ACTUALLY removing it.

In a relationship, this means the girl will assess other possible solutions before deciding on the ‘right’ one. For girls, sharing and solving problems together (either with friends, or with their beloved) is of great value — almost more so than the actual doing! This is often a problem for guys, because they seek the self-assurance derived from solving problems on their own! While a guy will often adopt the ’spray and pray’ approach of problem solving (keep trying until something sticks), girls are far more likely to pool ideas with other people, and learn from other people’s past mistakes. It’s amazing how rational women can be without testosterone clouding their judgement…

In reality, a mix of these two approaches is ideal. Sometimes there just isn’t time for the bureaucracy of female problem-solving — but sometimes there is, and as a guy you should try your best to sit down and discuss problems, and the possible solutions, with the girl. I’m not even talking big, pivotal relationship-shattering problems; it could be something as simple as whose house to stay at on a given day, or which TV show you watch, and which one you record. Discuss it!

Girls want to be wined and dined, and looked after!

I’m probably on dangerous ground here, especially with the ‘looked after’ caveat. Perhaps I should rephrase it as ‘girls like a guy that knows what he’s doing’, which is a very broad phrase, but accurate. A girl doesn’t like a guy that’s uncertain of his role in life — a guy that can’t make good choices and survives poorly is unlikely to be the target of a girl’s affections. In the same vein, girls like guys that know what they’re on about –  ‘confidence’ in other words! A girl likes a guy that knows a nice place to take them out for dinner; she doesn’t like a guy that drives around, uncertain of what to do, or where to go. Girls don’t like guys that mope around in the house, not sure of what to do with their life, or where to go on a date (both of these points is where most geeks fail, incidentally, including myself!)

Perhaps this is more a hint for getting a girl, rather than keeping one, though I would’ve thought that gifts of flowers, jewellery and other tokens of affection are the in-relationship equivalent of ‘wining and dining’.

She really does look fat in that dress…

Yet again, the classic, brute-force problem-solving ability of men (the same ability that first brought meat to the cave!) comes back to bite us on the ass. ‘I think I’m coming down with the flu’ your girlfriend says. ‘Don’t worry honey, I’ll call the doctor.’ Wrong. ‘Perhaps I would look better with larger breasts’ she trickily states. ‘How much does it cost?’ Wrong… so, so wrong. When a woman poses such questions she  is nearly always looking for understanding and emotional support. The problem? Men are far more interested in their ability to solve problems, and quickly. The woman is posing a challenge; the man wants to solve it, further cementing his position of supremacy!

You will only be able to catch these ‘curve ball’ statements after months or years of experience, so you should probably start watching for them as soon as possible… When she says ‘You’re so rash and uncaring!’ that’s normally a sign that you’ve said the wrong thing (even though you thought you were being very caring…)

Tips, tricks and further reading

I’ve given you enough information to make even the most stalwart, embittered ice-queens fall for you (I speak from experience: The American), but I thought I could share a few ‘tips and tricks’ that I’ve picked up in the few years that I’ve been, um, ‘active’, though I’m not going to share my real trade secrets. That’d be like shooting myself in the foot.

• The compliment game – Try being complimentary. Really damn complimentary and affectionate.  Not so complimentary as to be facetious of course, but if you think a girl (or your girl) looks nice in something, say so! If you notice she’s wearing a new shade of lipstick, and it looks pretty, say so! If she smells nice, whisper it into her ear as you hug tightly. I want to believe that I developed this game with my cousin, but I’m sure someone thought of before me. It’s amazing how far sincere affection goes — and how far it will get you.
• Be a good lover, really — Again, I’m not going to turn this into a guide on how to have sex, but sex is so important early on in a relationship. While sex is often sublimated towards more creative outlets later on, it’s really the only intimacy that both you and your girlfriend can share in. Later in the relationship, you’ll find a lot of other ways to be intimate… like a good foot massage!
• Further reading — There are lots of resources on the net on this topic — though, often from very specialised points of view. There’s an excellent condensed version of ‘You Just Don’t Understand’ by Deborah Tannen which looks, very deeply, at the fundemental differences between girls and boys (which, sadly, is of more interest to girls!) If you like the psychology thing, there’s lots of stuff by clinical psychologists offering their opinions on the web, just search around. There’s also data on the statistical differences between men and women — and finally, of course, the obligatory funny (and insightful…) picture.

There I was, looking up the beautiful, soft curves of the female form. She had mounted me in the standard bronco position. She whimpered, I groaned; she gyrated and thrusted, I groaned some more.

It was then, shaking my head to gain a moment of clarity, I realised that sex could become boring. Sure, given a particular moment in time, sex would always be enjoyable, but it would fast become boring unless I kept it interesting.

Though I have only been sexually active for about 6 years, it occurred to me fairly early on that sex, like relationships, has to be constantly created — recreated, even, from encounter to encounter, from lingering glance to lingering, love-sick glance.

They say — wise, old people — that sex stops being exciting and interesting as a relationship goes on. It sublimates to other activities, or the act of just being together, in rocking chairs on the veranda. The reason for this is twofold:

1. Sex is a waste of time — Okay, a really, fun, intimate waste of time, but still, compared to other things you could be doing, it’s a waste of time!
2. Sex stops being exciting – This is probably the main reason people stop having sex (and also why quite-weak relationships might falter and stumble, if sex is the main thing keeping them together). Eventually, you run out of inspiration, and without inspiration you find yourself running out of positions to try out, and eventually… sex becomes a waste of time!

(You don’t have to agree with me by the way, I am just laying the ground for the rest of my argument.)

You need to keep creating fun, exciting, exhilarating sex, or you’ll soon find yourself in front of the TV with your partner watching EastEnders, or American Idol. Your relationship, intellect and health would quickly waste away into nothingness. Worst of all, you’d start enjoying reality TV. Wouldn’t that be a fate worse than death?

‘Yes it would!’

This isn’t going to be a list of possible positions — that would be too graphic, and there are already thousands of sites (and positions!) out there on the Internet for you to browse, if you need some help in that department (even I learnt a few new ones as I was writing this!)

This first list (and there will be others) is a few of the places I’ve had sex, in an attempt to keep my relationships alive and kicking. Well, alive and penetrating. The next list will be a theoretical list of places that would be good to have sex in — i.e. places I want to try out, hopefully before I’m too old and inflexible to make the most of them.

Sex in a field

One of the first adventurous places I had sex was a field atop a hill. It was quite a cold day, but fortunately sex has a tendency to heat you up rather quickly. We’d started off in winter clothes, but after a few minutes of rolling around and fumbling and kissing the clothes were ripped off.

Sex in a field is a great way to end (or punctuate) a romantic stroll in the countryside. It’s quite an intense experience (and memory), so every time you go walking again, your mind will always wander back to that fateful time you rolled around in the hay…!

• Unique Selling Point — The normally-dull missionary position becomes a whole lot more exciting when a gusty, cool breeze blows up your ass. There is also a wide variety of fields that you can have sex in! It is also different each season: summer might mean skirts and no underwear, and laying on the crunchy leaves of autumn (fall) can be a lot of fun.
• Exhibitionist Rating – 3 out of 10 (low chance of being seen), though it obviously depends on where you go, and the time of year. We accidentally chose a spot where people often walked their dogs, boosting the ER up to 8 out of 10. Darn.

Sex on a train

An oldie but goodie, sex on a train is still one of my favourites. I’ve actually had sex, or almost had sex quite a few times on trains, nearly always on the way back from London. In the dark, almost-empty train carriages, you can get away with an awful lot, and make a lot of noise! Place yourself in the middle of a carriage, and you can see or hear people coming from some distance away. If they’re lucky, they’ll hear you coming, too!

Even if you don’t have sex on a train, there’s a lot you can do, just sitting side by side, hands in each other’s laps or with the girl leaning over…

• Unique Selling Point – The chairs! Perfect for the girl to straddle the guy, or if you’re in a little ‘booth’ with opposing chairs, the girl could lean forward, and… well, I’m not going to illustrate it with pictures; you get the idea. If you still don’t get the idea, contact me and I’ll see what I can do.
• Exhibitionist Rating – 4 out of 10. If you do this late at night (which, really, you should — you don’t want young kids to see you!) the chance of being spotted is quite low. Obviously, if it’s a noisy train, and you can’t hear people opening doors, you might get caught out — but perhaps you want to be caught out?! Obviously, if you decide to do this during rush hour (which I have sadly never done), the rating goes up a little… to 10 out of 10 (unless the girl has a short skirt on and is very quiet — but then you’re not doing it right!)

Sex in a dressing room

This one’s a fun one. Every guy hates shopping; he might say that he likes it, but trust me, he doesn’t. The only way I’ve found to make shopping not quite so dismal is to have sex in a dressing room. It’s up to you which shop you choose, but generally posh department stores have nice, large dressing rooms. If it has a chair, that’s obviously a bonus for geeky men with less upper-body strength…

A word of warning: don’t do it in one of your favourite shops, unless there are others in the chain nearby — I can no longer shop at three shops in my local city, but that’s OK because they only sell clothes for girls!

• Unique Selling Point – The woman gets what she really wants (both an orgasm, and clothes!) Plus, there aren’t many places you can have sex when you’re out and about — up against the wall in a dark alley isn’t quite the same (but can still hit the spot!)
• Exhibitionist Rating – 7 out of 10 (10 out of 10 on a busy day). Depending on the time you go (weekdays are safer), you might not get seen at all. The danger comes from being just an inch of wood away from other people trying on clothes, and you can guarantee they’re going to hear your whimpering and panting — and growling, in my case.When I did it, we were obviously too noisy because two girls, at the same time, popped their heads over the top and looked down at me and my girlfriend going at it, up against the wall.At least they didn’t scream or alert the staff. To be honest, I have no idea how long they were watching before we noticed. Hot!

Sex in a theatre, while watching a show

This one’s going to earn me some disapproving looks I am sure, but it’s true: I’ve had sex in a theatre. A big theatre. But don’t worry, we weren’t at the front of the auditorium, and the thousand people behind us didn’t have to watch as she scooted over onto my lap. We were at the back of the theatre.

It became (hah) quite an art, timing the quick thrusts with the passionate full-orchestra ensemble, and then slowing down to gentle, loving strokes during the dialogue and quiet songs.

• Unique Selling Point – How often do you get to mix culture and sex? Not often, I assure you. Again, like a train, you have an abundance of chairs which you can use for either straddling, or a variety of bent-over positions.  You could also just drop down between the chairs, but no one would see you there, and what’s the fun in that? For bonus points, try to time your climax for the er, climax of ‘One Day More‘ — it’ll be a moment you both cherish for years to come. Hah.
• Exhibitionist Rating – 7 out of 10. When we did this one, some damn kid turned around and spotted us, pointed us out to his parents, who in-turn pointed us out to their neighbours. Eventually, a sizable portion of the audience turned to watch us. They all turned back to the stage for the big number though, so we can’t have been that good. Rating is increased to 10 out of 10 if you can’t control yourself during the quiet bits — and you’ll probably get thrown out too, which is a waste of the exorbitant ticket price!It does mean that I have a 30 minute blank spot in my knowledge of Les Miserables though…

Sex in the back of a race-tuned Dodge Viper

I should begin by saying this was in a moving Dodge Viper, and penetration was only temporary because, well… her dad was driving the car. I won’t go into too many details on this one, but I will tell you it’s the same Dodge Viper that I reference in this story about The American.

• Unique Selling Points — Acceleration. Torque. Thrust. G-force. The Dodge Viper accelerates from 0 to 100 mph (160 kph) in about 9 seconds (just about long enough for me to finish); a quarter mile in 12 seconds. It is stupendously fast. The girl — and the penis — will discover places that are impossible to reach under normal-gravity conditions. Not to mention, the affect of quick acceleration/torque on your inner ear is almost orgasmic in its own right!
• Exhibitionist Rating – 10 out of 10. You have a 10-20 second window between protective father’s glances into the rear-view mirror for the girl to hop on and hop off. Of course, you can repeat this as many times as you like, but the chances of you getting caught are quite high. If you’re caught, you’ll probably crash and die, so this is for risk-takers only!

Notes & Further Info

First, you have to remember that in almost all cases and most cultures, having sex in public is generally frowned upon. Best-case scenario, you might get thrown out of the theatre — worst-case, you might have to pay a fine or suffer through community service for indecent exposure.

Secondly, you don’t have to become an exhibitionist to squeeze a little more juice out of your relationship — but a moment of shared excitement and passion does go a long way to briging two people closer together! This isn’t to say that you shouldn’t just invest in a sex swing, or use the dining room table — but I am assuming that you’ve exhausted most normal positions/situations, or perhaps you are just easily-bored like me! You could stick to the ‘in a field’ thing, if you want to play it safe… but where’s the fun in that?

Lastly, remember, if your entire relationship consists of just having sex, it’s probably not much of a relationship — in the long run no amount high-torque Dodge Viper sex is going to fix that.

Following on from part 1, this is a theoretical list of places I would like to have sex. I will use my masterful and infallible analytical skills to deduce which place is, in fact, the best place to have sex (though, I think the back of a Dodge Viper, with a cheerleader, is probably unsurpassable).

If anyone reading this wants to try one or more of these, please contact me. Girls and boys. It will be blogged about though…

Sex, up against the front plate-glass window of a shop

I have this mental image of a TV crew filming a segment on local businesses. Behind the reporter, there’s a shop. In that shop, there’s me, and a girl, going at it, with her face pushed up against the glass in a comical fashion. Doesn’t necessarily have to be naked — just the facial expressions, and the sliding up and down against the glass…

• Unique Selling Point – If you had someone (a friend?) take photos, you’d probably get some great keepsakes. Probably not the kind of photos you could keep in picture frames around the house, though. There’s a slim chance that the shop you’re shagging in will appreciate the extra publicity and give you vouchers too! More likely, you’ll just get banned from ever shopping there again.
• Exhibitionist Rating (ER) – 7 out of 10 on a slow day (some people simply won’t work out that a girl’s face squished up against a window means ‘we’re having sex’). For the full 10 out of 10, make sure the news crew that catch you are broadcasting live. Instant, global (well, maybe, if you do it right) recognition. There’s your 5 minutes (hopefully) of fame, men.

Sex in a Space Shuttle and/or Viper from Battlestar Galactica

I simply couldn’t choose what would be better: the thrust (and I think a Space Shuttle taking off is the only thing with more thrust than a Dodge Viper), or the awesomeness of doing it in the cockpit of a Viper. Now, with space tourism becoming viable, sex in a Shuttle is actually a possibility. I don’t know if you want to unbuckle your seatbelt and clamber onto the guy’s lap during the take-off sequence though. Mind you, if you waited until you were in space, zero-g sex might be quite cool?

But then… the Viper. The sexiest damn space ship ever — sexier even than the Millennium Falcon and Han Solo combined. You could even throw in Chewie to make it a pretty damn hot, hairy threesome, and the Viper would still be sexier. It’d be a squeeze no doubt, but for a geek, it might never get better than this. Don’t forget, now that the series has ended, all of the props are being auctioned off, including the Viper models. I am so tempted…

• Unique Selling Point – For the Shuttle, it’s obviously the thrust. And, walking to the window and looking down at Earth has to be the best post-coital thing ever, even if you can’t light a cigarette up. If you had sex in a Viper, you’d be revered by every other geek until the day you die. You’d be elevated to demigod status in an instant. Queues at comic conventions would part for you, like the seas parted for Moses.
• Exhibitionist Rating – ? out of 10. If you’re having sex while the communication channel is open to mission control, and the whole world can hear you panting and wheezing, then obviously the ER goes up a lot — in fact, Houston, there might just be a problem.

  The Viper could probably be placed in your bedroom — though, out on the front lawn would be pretty wild. Geeky kids would gather to point and stare… at the Viper.

Sex on a desert island

I know. How dull. But hear me out! Imagine an island, with just two people on it — you, and your partner. Perhaps there’s a small tribe of natives on the other side of the island that maintain things and bring you freshly-cracked coconuts. But imagine… a deserted beach, facing westward, perhaps in the Indian ocean. A deep, fluffy towel is laid down beneath you. The sun is setting and the world is drenched in beautiful shades and hues of orange and purple and red. And only then, as the sun slowly slips out of sight, you gently slip it in…

• Unique Selling Point – Ultimately, this is a variation of ’sex in a field’. A beautiful, warm variation of sex in a field without the cold gust of air surprising your nether regions. You can also be as loud as you like; only the birds and fishes will hear you. Plus… well, come on, who hasn’t dreamed of one day being on a deserted desert island?
• Exhibitionist Rating – 0 out of 10. The only way you could ever class this as exhibitionism is if a local tribesman just happened to be up a coconut tree nearby. It would be hard to be heard over the roar of the ocean and the chattering of the birds, though. Imagine the give-away sound of a coconut falling to the ground while you’re having sex — wouldn’t that just be awesome? Stereotypical, but awesome.

Sex in Saint Peter’s Basilica in The Vatican City

It’s OK, stop praying for my soul. Please. I’m already going to hell for some of the other things I’ve done to my girlfriends. I finally visited St Peter’s Basilica in October 2008 and 6 months later words still fail me when I try to describe the sheer scale of the thing. I’ve seen a lot of churches (including the mosques in Istanbul) and I thought I would grow immune to the Keanu Reeves-esque ‘Woah’ that normally afflicts people when they cross the holy threshold. I pushed back the vast vault-like doors of St Peter’s, cautiously stepped inside, walked a few paces forward with my head down and then looked around. It dwarfs EVERYTHING else. It makes the rest of the world feel small. AND they still hold mass there! I can see why belief might come quite easily to Romans when you are floored by such majestic, immense awe.

• Unique Selling Point – Although probably not unique, you would be one of the only people to ever have had sex in St Peter’s Basilica. I can’t imagine a lot of people have tried it. Alternatively, you could do it in the Sistine Chapel under the beautiful paintings of Michelangelo, though there seemed to be a large number of armed guards when I went. If you’re a militant agnostic, or perhaps your parents tried to ram faith down your throat, St Peter’s Basilica might appeal to you — what better way to sock it to God than shaggin’ wildly right under his nose? Bonus points — go straight to hell, do not pass Purgatory — if you manage a little buggery.It’s worth noting that the chances of  ‘divine inspiration’ or being touched by the ‘hand of God’ are vastly increased if you have sex in St Peter’s Basilica. ‘How did you find God, daddy?’ might be an interesting question to answer around the dinner table in a few years.
• Exhibitionist Rating — 3 out of 10. If you prescribe to the ‘God is Omnipresent’ thing, it’s obviously a big, fat 10 out of 10. St Peter’s Basilica is so large that you could undoubtedly find a dark, quiet corner to do the dirty. I would argue though that going to Rome and doing it anywhere other than the main altar, right at the focus of the Roman Catholic God would be a bit of a waste. Thinking about it, the acoustics might carry and reverberate the noises of your frantic antics over quite a distance.

Sex in a lion/large cat enclosure

You could extend this one to ‘on the sub-Saharan savannah’. Ever since I read about those ‘romantic tree houses’ (basically, canvas tents that have been secured to trees) that you can find in the African plains, I’ve thought about doing some serious sexing with lions prowling around. Imagine looking up from your hiding spot, amongst the long, slender grass and spotting a lion proudly perched atop a grassy knoll, or lounging in an ancient, gnarled tree. Imagine the earth shaking — not from your violent, vigorous sex, but from a herd of elephants marching past you. Being a realist, though, I am far more likely to sneak into a zoo with a girlfriend and get mauled by a tiger. A man can dream, though!

• Unique Selling Point – If watching a male lion viciously and unceremoniously mount a female doesn’t get your juices going, there’s always the elephants (a really scary sight, if you’ve never seen it — that poor girl is carrying 6 tonnes of male elephant). If that doesn’t get you going, well, I don’t know what will.
• Exhibitionist Rating – 0 out of 10. This one’s purely for you two; just enjoy the moment! For bonus points though, to boost the ER, get caught on camera by a photographer, or a TV crew. ‘Here, in the dusty, yellowed sub-Saharan plains of Africa we can see two fine examples of Homo Sapiens going about their usual mating ritual with relish and surprising vigor…’ Double points if David Attenborough does the narration when it finally makes it onto BBC1.

That’s all. For now…

This week, on my epic travel through time — or, as the case may be, LiveJournal — I’ve tried to piece together a few fragments of my first relationship.

I was young (well, eighteen is youngish, right?) OK, fine, not young… but sexually immature and unawakened!

As with most girls that later became my girlfriend, she hit on me. As I’ve alluded to in the past, I’m not all that confident when it comes to actually making a girl mine. I’m good with the banter, the outrageous flirtation and the extended, torturous eye-contact. And then… I clam up; sweaty, shaky, nervous.

We’re walking out of the pub, or club, or cinema, or friend’s house. We’re outside: if she turns one way, she’s coming back to my place; if she goes the other… I go home alone, again. She stops and looks up at me. I stop and look down at her.

‘So…’ There’s a certain amount of nervous shuffling. She looks into my eyes, and then down at the ground. Shuffle, shuffle.

‘See you around?’ I stupidly walk away, alone.

That same scene has been repeated throughout school, college and even university. To this day, every girl I’ve dated has ‘made the first move’. I just don’t have the balls. Anyway… (contemplative pause)

I’m feeling all squishy and exposed. I better get on with the actual purpose of this post: my first girlfriend.

The following is an entry from her journal.

Sunday, Sunday… — August 11th, 2003

Was far too sleepy to write last night! Had a busy day *grins*

I was supposed to go to a garden party, but it finished earlier than expected so I didn’t go in the end. But, instead, I went round a “friend’s” *glances at Seb*!

Watched some of the earliest series of Malcolm in the Middle and then I managed to drag him into the pool at about 9.30, it was freezing but soooo worth it, it was very…. exhilarating!

I had a really goooood night, was lots of fun!

Anyway… back to today… Monday!

And now, the entry I made on the same day, about an hour later:

*rubs eyes* — August 11th, 2003

So very, very tired.

But what a night.

TV-watching, canoodling, late-night swimming pool romps, a bit more canoodling.

I must say, I’m quite enjoying this.

I don’t think I’d be able to wake up at 7:30am, not after tonight…

Time for some music, chatter and maybe a TV episode or two…

That was a fantastic night.

A little analysis/back story: Malcolm in the Middle! I obviously noticed very early on that comedy was the best way to a woman’s heart. I am also eternally grateful that I have a heated swimming pool — without it, I might never have ‘got the girl’. If I hadn’t got the girl… well, I think my life at university would’ve been very different indeed. It was this first little success that fuelled my future relationships. In fact, it was buoyed up from the confidence of this relationship that, when the next girl invited me back to her place, I accepted. That was the girl that turned out to be a lesbian.

The first girl dumped me for a guy with a car and who shared her love of anime (which is, incidentally, why I hate anime — now you know!)

Next week, on Time-Travel Thursday… before the first girlfriend — my first, adult crush.

(I probably shouldn’t tell this story, because I don’t think the girl in question knows all of the details… but… well, let’s go for it — it’s about time she knew all of the details anyway! If after reading this you know who it’s about, please keep it to yourself.)

It all begun at Irish Dave’s house. My brother in geeky, flaccid arms. My technical crutch throughout university. And perhaps most importantly, my TV-watching ’simulcasting’ buddy (remind me to explain it another day). That was an incredibly geeky sentence, sorry. The basic gist of it: Dave’s my friend, and that’s where this story starts: In his kitchen, with some fresh coffee brewing. I’m in my student coat (much like a flasher’s coat) and I’m greasy, and dirty. We’re there to work on a university project,  so you can imagine my surprise when a beautiful, elfin girl waltzes into the kitchen.

‘Hi.’ The first thing I notice, as she greets me and Dave, is her lips. She has amazing cheekbones, too. I’m a sucker for cheekbones and little, pointed noises. She has blue eyes, and freckles — but she’s a brunette, not blonde or ginger. Put simply: she was, and is, beautiful. We chatted, and drank coffee. We met a few more times at Dave’s, and around campus but we were never anything more than acquaintances.

Weeks and months passed until we finally met again.

‘Hi, Sebby.’ She gave me that little, ever-so-slightly-shy pixie-like smile and my heart melted.

In the intervening months, I’d had a chance to reflect on just how much I liked her. My self-esteem at the time was still very low, and I’d completely missed the give-away signs that she liked me. We’d been sitting in that kitchen, and she’d been giggling, and grinning and scooting closer to me… but I’d been oblivious; completely, goddamn blind. I’d been hoping for weeks to bump into her, so I could talk about my feelings for her. I sorely wanted to broach the subject of going out somewhere together.

And that’s when I wrote this journal post:

(no subject) — June, 2003

Okay, so I had a beautiful blog entry written, and then IE decided to die.

It was about dreams, and their significance, and what last night’s dream meant about me, [The Bagel Girl] (the girl I’m currently rather attracted to), and Becky (the girl I’m sharing a house with next year — but we’re only good friends).

Other than that, not much has happened in the last few days.

I also spoke to [The Bagel Girl] three times yesterday. Which was ver’ cool. Seems she might be coming to Alton Towers on the 18th, too! (And staying at the B&B with us… *giggle*)

God, it’s been AGES since I last fancied someone. It’s quite a nice feeling

Firstly, check out that ghetto smiley! How old-school was I? Secondly, Internet Explorer? Pre-Firefox days… ew. We actually held a Firefox launch party at university — that’s how cool we were. Seriously, seriously geeky… but cool! The entry doesn’t make much sense on its own, and I wish I’d spoken more frankly and openly in that journal so that you’d be able to make more out of it. It’s enough to trigger my memories though, so I’ll continue the story:

This is where the tale takes a sad, unexpected turn. She didn’t swoon right there and then, and ask me to take her back to my cave. She’s not in my bed behind me, nagging me to finish this entry. We didn’t live happily ever after.

She didn’t even come with us to Alton Towers. The fact of the matter is, she had found another boyfriend. But I didn’t give up, oh no.

The next year of  my life was spent working my way further and further into the ‘friend zone’. I cooked for her, and took her to the cinema. I invited her around to watch her favourite TV shows, and massaged parts of her that friends really shouldn’t see, let alone touch. But at the end of the day, we were only friends. We spent hours in my bedroom, on my bed, watching X-Files, curled up under a duvet. Close friends, but not close enough. Not once did I get a single damn stolen kiss.

I finally went for the sucker punch. I made tiramisu — the God of all cakes — hoping it would seal the deal and maker her mine. But no, she remained loyal to her boyfriend.

But the most painful thing is — the bit that repeats and resonates throughout my life — she liked me. For a month, after we first met in Dave’s kitchen, she liked me. She wanted to go out with me and kiss me and do despicable, unmentionable things with me. When we next met, that raw, bright flame had been extinguished, never to be be rekindled, no matter how hard I tried.

We were just sitting there, a year later, in my kitchen and enjoying each other’s company. She put another piece of bagel between those lips and chewed in silence, thoughtfully.  After a while, she originated quietly:

‘You know, Sebby, I liked you. When we first met, I liked you a lot. I wish you’d done something about it.’

She finished chewing, put her plate in the sink and went back upstairs to my room. I was dumbfounded.

…

That’s enough for now. I’m actually mentally exhausted from recalling and reliving that period of my life. I apologise if the story doesn’t make as much sense as it should. It’s odd: the story is so incredibly vivid, in my mind; but I can’t seem to get it right, on paper. I want to write more on the subject, because I have a lot of fun stories to tell about me and The Bagel Girl, but they’ll have to wait for another day, when I don’t feel quite so morose and I feel I can do them justice!

I still wonder what life would’ve been like, if I’d had the balls and self-esteem to ask her out, back in Dave’s kitchen. If only I’d noticed she had the hots for me. We got on so well..

Hm… now I’m a sad Sebby…

Next week, on Time-Travel Thursday… something more positive and happy!

This follows on from last week’s entry where I told the sad story of my first adult crush. This story picks up from about 2 months before my first long-term girlfriend, and is a lot more fun than the story of my crush. You probably don’t know what I looked like back then, so I’ll start with a photo taken in the summer of 2004, a couple of months after this particular story. Don’t be hating the sunglasses; they weren’t mine. Other people’s sunglasses tend to gravitate towards me because I look quite cool — I don’t own a single pair!

It was February. It was cold and rainy. But this was university! And we were young! Weather is so unimportant when you’re young, dumb and full of cu– Anyway, I digress. The point is, at university, no matter the time of year, girls wear almost nothing. As one of the biggest fans of girly-girls — I love dresses, skirts, frills and strappy tops and PINK — university became 3 years of pleasure. 3 years of sitting in one of the main squares and skirt-watching. My best friend and I actually used to go and park up outside a local sixth-form college (16-18 year olds, for the non-Brits) and girl watch.

(Is that lecherous or fairly healthy behaviour for men? Don’t answer that one, I’d rather not know.)

I love skirts. They don’t even have to be short, though it obviously helps my crippled male imagination if they are. For me, it’s all about the flowery flowy flounciness that comes with cute and light clothing. A long, prettily-patterned summer dress can be as attractive as a mini-skirt. If you boil it right down, men love skirts because of the ease of access. I’ve actually lifted the skirts of a girlfriend’s dress over her head so that she couldn’t see and then… done things to her that I shan’t repeat here. That was hot.

So, that’s lesson number one: if you want to get into my pants, try wearing a skirt. Those militant jeans-wearers aren’t completely out of the running, they just better be damn awesome jeans — or a mighty fine figure better be eye-poppingly obvious through examination of your denim exoskeleton.

Lesson number two is: if a drunk girl in a short skirt asks you to carry her home, unequivocally and without allowing your brain a moment’s thought, say yes.  Read my journal entry from 2004, and I’ll carry on where it left off.

Chivalry, huh, my arse… — February 2004

Well, that’s the last time I carry a girl from the Underground [the university's main night club] to her house… about 500 meters.

All because she was hideously drunk, all over me, offering sexual favours of all sorts and wearing a rather pretty, short, hot-pink skirt.

Ho hum.

Thank God for honour and chivalry, eh?

And to top it all off, she had 4 friends staying over for the weekend. 4 very drunk friends…

Anyway, starting from the beginning… Marc and I decided to go out and have fun. We’re fast becoming going-out buddies. We thought we’d just go out, look cool… see what happens, that kind of thing. We get to the bar. Order our drinks. Strike a pose. Watch the women go by… Becki, Marc’s crush from last week is there… She doesn’t even make eye-contact with him. She’s obviously playing hard to get…

So, insert a brief foray into Mondo [a smaller nightclub], and then an extended stay in the Underground and you pretty much have my night, wrapped up in a nutshell.

But you’d have to gloss over the stagger back to the South Courts [her house], and the party that ensued, with Marc, the five girls (Becki and her friends) and I. Mad, I tell you.

Luckily they were drunk, really. Otherwise I might have done something I’d regret.

I mean, they all changed into their pajamas. At the same time.

…

First, I should explain the difficulties of carrying a girl in a short skirt. There’s simply no where to put your second hand. So, on her pert ass it goes. Hell, she didn’t seem to mind, and neither did I. I dragged out those 500 meters to her house by walking very, very slowly. For the record, that’s as close as I’ve ever come to abusing a drunken girl. I hope she wasn’t that drunk actually, as we did have a bit of a ‘moment’, with her there in my arms, blearily looking up into my eyes, my nervous, sweaty hand on her buttock. Anyway…

Secondly, and this is where it gets a bit messy (try to keep track!): Becki was the best friend of the girl that would soon become my first long-term girlfriend. I actually got close to Becki before I later got close to my soon-to-be girlfriend. In fact, I might have ended up with Becki, if she hadn’t crushed so hard on Marc, my housemate, and a slew of other beach bums! It was a very complicated 2 months which I don’t remember all the details of (so I shan’t repeat them here, in case I get things wrong), but let’s just say ‘Love Triangle’ doesn’t even begin to describe what was going on. I think, individually, I slept with Becki, my girlfriend-to-be and Marc and there was even some three-way action at one point. It was all a very confusing period, and I’m very happy with how it ended — and how my first proper relationship begun!

That whole mess somehow ended up with me in a happy, healthy relationship that would turn out to last for the rest of my days at university. She wasn’t a geek, but that didn’t stop me from turning her into one. I didn’t want to completely geekify her — I wanted her to continue wearing those tiny skirts and strapless tops. I did manage to get her to dress up, but not as a character from her favourite anime or sci-fi film. Actually, she didn’t like anime at all (phew!) She had a rather awful (you can imagine the grimace on my face…) habit of turning up at my house in just a long coat and lingerie. Damn her.

The rest of that story’s for another day though, next Thursday perhaps!

Please note how I refrained from taking advantage of five (5) girls in the smallest almost-there pyjamas that I’ve ever been fortunate enough to witness. The whole drunken-girls-trying-to-woo-me would be a recurring theme throughout university. If only the sober ones had tried…

Here I stand on the precipice of a yawning chasm. I’m about to jump off the metaphorical edge and leap to my death. Will I be reborn a pariah of the geek community, or will I be forgotten like so many other dweebs that didn’t quite get it right?

Today I will address a topic that’s a little taboo. A topic that’s sat neatly just outside the periphery of popular culture. Star Trek and comics. Video games and roleplaying. The Big Bang Theory and Hackers. Geek chic is finally here — it’s cool to be a geek — but only for the boys. The geek girls are there, but they’re hiding, quietly biding their time. I’m not talking about those exhibitionist thrill-seeking cosplay geek girls that are obviously very much ‘out there’, I’m talking about the female equivalent of basement-dwelling male geeks. The female roleplayers, the non-bearded types that can speak Klingon or Quenya.

This guide would not have been possible without Heather and Eleni, both exemplar geek girls from the blogosphere. I’d also like to thank my platonic, real-life relationships with geeky girls for giving me an insight into how the female geek mind works.

Girl geeks exist, they’re multiplying, they’re becoming bolder and they have a plan.

Why geek girls are absolutely the best thing on this planet

Except for a younger Lindsay Lohan or Britney Spears, geek girls are possibly the fairest of God’s children. When he wet his hands and fashioned the clay mold that would be used to create geek girls, he sat back with a content sigh and took a day off to celebrate such perfection.

I’m not talking about the freaky faux geek girls that are exhibitionists appealing to and feeding upon the weak and wimpy male geek populace. While geek girls might not be overflowing with confidence — much like their male counterparts — what they don’t have in brawn and balls they make up for with kindness. Geek girls are incredibly understanding. As I covered in my previous articles, geeks are interested instead of interesting. They are more interested in your well being than their own. It’s this basic trait which explains most geek behaviour (and one I will talk about in a future entry).

Live and let live

A geek girl, much like a geeky guy, is interested in whatever you want to share. In other words, geek girls aren’t clingy or needy. Geek girls have more important things to worry about than who you hung out with tonight, or if another girl was present. A geek girl would expect you to be interested in which game she’s playing, and which love interest she went for — the calloused, vile dwarf or the strapping, brave paladin.

Geek girls make great friends

Girls in general tend to have more of a ‘’social nature’ than boys. Couple this with their geeky tendencies and not only will a geek girl make a good girlfriend, she’ll be a good friend.

As an added bonus, if you get one of those geeky girls with real life girlfriends (as opposed to virtual ones, which they’ll have quite a few of), be prepared (and pleasantly surprised) to come home on a Friday night and find a bunch of girls in pyjamas watching old episodes of Buffy or Firefly. Or open your bedroom door and look out, if you’re not the going-out kind of geek…

Perhaps most importantly, a geek girl appreciates your foibles and rolls with it (she has issues too!) She’ll probably even learn to love your cuter oddities and gently encourage you to fix the creepy ones — like, really, stop collecting your toenail clippings and cease archiving your  Lindsay Lohan newspaper clippings.

In many relationships, the partners are completely disinterested in one another’s work or pastimes — not so with geeky relationships! — in theory, a geeky couple could probably avoid ever going out and meeting other people, or making new friends because they get everything they need from their friend and partner. In fact, that’s what a lot of geeky couples do…

Geek girls are exceptionally, um, interesting in the bedroom

If you’re a geeky guy, imagine all of the depraved things you’ve thought about doing to a girl. Dressing her up in a Japanese school-girl outfit. Princess Leia roleplay. Chewbacca roleplay. Cosplaying a 12 year old from some anime series.

Now… make sure you’re seated comfortably and your clothing is loosened… geek girls will let you do it. Of course, some might not let you penetrate them with prosthetic tentacles, candles or cucumbers (hentai…) but chances are, a geek girl is quite happy to go along with your weird, freaky fantasies because she’s fantasised about them too. The flip-side is of course (and most would say this is a good caveat) that you should be prepared to dress up as Han Solo or Jabba the Hut. And you should have a big, shiny lightsaber. With lots of battery power.

Previously mundane tasks can be steamily hot with a geek girl

Imagine organising your comics; with a girl sitting on your lap, bouncing. You could be cooking dinner, and she’ll crawl into the kitchen, grovelling before her slave driver, begging for her next meal. How about, every time she kills you in a video game, you owe her an orgasm? And vice versa. Button bashing has never been so romantic.

I’m not sure if Wii Fit calculates the calories burnt off during sex, but it’s worth a shot, right? Maybe that Wiimote controller fits… no, never mind, that’s a nasty, sacriligious thought. Don’t leave me, Princess Zelda, I didn’t mean it! Wait, it has a vibration function…

Great value for money

I almost went with ‘geek girls are cheap’ but I figured that might’ve been misinterpreted, even if it’s true. Unlike their vain, materialistic boring sisters, geek girls put an equal value on virtual and real goods. To a geek girl, a redesign of her website is more romantic than a box of chocolates. An animated e-card featuring your own awful singing voice is infinitely more sexy and loving than a bunch of flowers. Why take her out for dinner when you could stay home, order some Chinese food and serenade her with a new Guitar Hero song you’ve been practicing? Cheap AND infinitely more intimate.

A physical representation of love still goes a long way with geeky girls, but it’s certainly cheaper and more fun to please a geeky girl than a normal one. A signed first-edition Neil Gaiman book (and accompanying audio CD) will go a lot further than some jewellery… and you can read it too! She might give you odd looks if she catches you trying on her jewellery.

Finally, geek girls are really damn keen

Though shy and unassuming in real life, it’s very easy to get ‘in’ with a geek girl: rapid-fire email, seedy instant messaging or a romantic forum war — it’s all good!. She’s probably not going to walk up to you and suggest you go out for a drink somewhere — that’s just not how geeks operate — but chances are she’s incredibly eager to hook up.

Geek girls have probably spent the last few years dating the standard jocks: the sporty types, the guys that are only interested in her looks, the men that think it’s OK to date her and kiss other girls. With that avenue exhausted, geek girls are looking for geek guys. In fact, a geek girl will probably leap at the opportunity to date a geek guy — it’s a marriage made in heaven, and they know that — so they’ll probably make it really easy for you. They’ll do what every guy loves, the holy grail of boy/girl courting: they’ll make it obvious that they like you.

Thanks for reading! Perhaps, if you’re a geeky girl trying to attract a particuarly stubborn guy, send him a link to this page. If you’re a guy reading this, and you’re still single… what’re you waiting for?! Go and buy some tickets to the new Star Trek movie, equip some long, pointy plastic ears and see what happens!

This is a series of posts (Time-Travel Thursday) which so far has looked only at the beginning of my time at university, between 2003 and 2004. After the events of last week’s entry I begun a relationship that would span the remainder of my time at university; it wasn’t an uneventful time, but it was particularly peaceful. I’ll write about sometime, just not today. I want to talk about the past, so you can understand a bit more about me today.

If you’ve been following this blog for a while, you’ve probably noticed a recurring theme: I’ve been hilariously unfortunate when it comes to girls. I’ve been fortunate too — heck, I still consider myself lucky to have been with all my girlfriends — but, inevitably, bad relationships end. I remember the good times fondly, of course, but it’s the bad times that really stick with you. The pain and emotional distress from a bad relationship and the ensuing break-up really bogs us down! Some people are still plagued by uncertainty, unknowingness and doubt from relationships that ended a decade ago. Bad relationships haunt us.

The relationship I’m going to tell you about still lingers hauntingly, affecting my decisions when it comes to other girls — potential girlfriends.

If you’ve ever experimented with blindfolds in the bedroom with a loved one you’ll know that the experience is intense. With our visual sense deprived, other senses kick into overdrive, competing and clamouring to be heard by the brain. Before you know it, you’re flinching and squirming and whimpering, unable to predict what will happen next. Your partner has you in the palm of their hand.

Ultimate gratification is a boon that only your partner can provide in such a situation. Or, alternatively, your partner could walk out of the room and leave you there on the bed, blindfolded, prone, alone, unable to act and defenceless.

A relationship itself is like being emotionally blindfolded. In a relationship, our remaining senses are heightened, our emotional empathy increases.  In exchange, our foresight disappears. Love is blind(ness)! Objectivity flies out of the window. The world you so gracefully inhabited beforehand slides into a blurred, grey background — out of sight, out of mind. It’s just you and your lover, spotlit, center stage. In my case, it was me and The American. She had me blindfolded, but it wasn’t so dark that I couldn’t make our her brilliantly bright form, picked out by the focused spot light of my love.

(Ironic, now that I think about it, that I put it into photographic terms. I’ve known her for 8 years, and I possess just 2 photos of her. And about a million mental images of her.)

In a relationship, our happiness is completely at the whim of our lover — the lover that has us chained down in a bed, emotionally blindfolded. You can’t force her to bestow upon you the heavenly, nirvana-like pleasures of love, intimacy and sex. It’s up to her. Where there isn’t an equality of control, where one person controls the entire flow of the relationship, where one partner holds the keys and forces you to jump through hoops to attain love, and thus happiness and satisfaction — these relationships are destined to fail.

If only I’d known that when I was 16.

If only I’d known, as I sat there on the bench, watching a beautiful blonde girl slowly wend her way through a throng of school friends towards me, that 8 years down the line, I’d still be nursing a fragmented heart.

She was short. Really short, perky and cute. It was a strong start, certainly. She’d finished traversing the crowd of kids and stood before me.

‘Hi!’ A ready smile, too. Good teeth. A grin that lit up her little face.

Unfortunately, she had an American accent.

‘Ah… you were doing so well, until you opened your mouth!’

The opening words of a relationship that, one form or another, would span almost a decade. Middle school, highschool and college.

I’ve told you before that I’m really mean to girls that I like, right? It’s probably a self-defence thing; a self-esteem thing. Pushing a girl away before she gets close enough to tease my heart-strings, and then inevitably dump me for a stronger, hairier and manlier man than I. Well, try as I might, this one wouldn’t be pushed. She sat down next to me and just continued to smile. I perservered. Continuing with low blows, sarcasm and a neverending, incessant pick-pick-picking of her American accent and mannerisms, I just couldn’t shake her off.

She loved it. She’d never experienced it before, being America — the dry, English wit; irony — or perhaps she just fancied the socks off me. I like to think it’s because she wanted my babies. Perhaps I was so funny that she wanted my babies?

She only stayed for the summer that time but she promised she’d be back. If she hadn’t come back, I would’ve gone to her anyway; 5000 miles was nothing for a couple of smitten, lovesick teenagers that craved each other’s company.

A year later and I’m in the process of finding a buyer for one of my kidneys when I receive an email from her: ‘I’m flying over in August. We need to talk.’

She refused to tell me about it over email.

In fact, she must’ve realised sometime between writing the email and the amazing 3 months we spent together that summer that her mother could talk to me instead.

And so it was that, one day, sitting outside eating lunch, her mother sat down beside me.

‘We need to talk, Sebastian.’

‘About what?’ I’d completely forgotten about the aforementioned ‘talk’ and I had a big grin on my face: I didn’t like her mother particularly, but it made sense to smile at your future mother-in-law, right?

‘This relationship of yours, between you and my daughter. It can’t continue.’

My heart skipped a beat. ‘Why…?’

‘She has a fiancé in America. Her childhood sweetheart. She’s marrying him this winter.’

To be continued…

If you haven’t read the first half of the story you really, really should. In fact, this entry won’t make much sense, nor will it have anywhere near the same emotional impact if you don’t start from the beginning — so go and read the first half!

It’s the last night of school, the summer ball. A coming of age for many, but I still haven’t had my first kiss. We walk away together, muted, numb, hand in hand. I turn to face her when we reach the car park and I’m reminded of just how much taller than her I am. She’s at least a foot shorter than me and still as beautiful as the day we first met, 2 years ago.

We continue to wait in silence, not really sure of what can be said; what should be said.

‘Would a kiss be out of the question?’ I’m the one breaking the silence. It would be quite a different story if she’d been the one asking.

‘You know I can’t… we can’t…’ She sounds so incredibly disappointed, held back by a promise made to someone I’d never met, her childhood sweetheart. Her fiancé. Her thief, unwittingly and unfairly stealing away the love of my life.

My dad arrives and we hop tentatively into the back of his car. I cry quietly. At least she can’t see my face or eyes. She too begins to cry. We head back to her place, both in some kind of dark void — limbo — unaware of anything beyond our immediate surroundings, intent on keeping one last crystal-clear shared memory, sharp and  deeply etched. Maybe wind rushed in through an open window, or music tumbled lazily out of the radio, I don’t know. We’re both lost in the moment, crying.  The car stops and for a moment silence rules. The memory of her opening the door and slowly stepping out into the dark night is quickly and vividly seared into the memories of my adolescence.

I open my door and follow her to the doorstep.

I smile in the darkness, my lips twisted into some kind of disgusting rictus; irony and self-pity rolled into one. She’d played me all along. A game that, while beautiful, had had its outcome set in stone since the day we’d first met. I’d fallen for her and she’d fallen for me, but try as we might, this parting moment had been inescapable. Preordained is the word I think they use, and I wouldn’t have minded if someone Up There had taken her from me. But it wasn’t God, nor some angelic, oiled-torsoed Adonis: it was some pesky, backward farmer boy with a predilection for big, shiny tractors.

‘Bye, Sebby.’ I nodded with finality and turned to leave. I stopped for a moment, looking over my shoulder.

‘You owe me a kiss.’ That was me talking again. I meant it.

Five years went by. Five. A lot happened in those five years. I aged from 17 to 22. In truth, I’d almost forgotten about her. She was always there, in the back of my mind, one of a few ‘what ifs’. I’m not one to linger and dwell though; my thoughts of her were of platonic curiousity rather than visceral yearning — I wondered how she’d been, if marriage had been worth it. If she regretted not kissing me that night on her doorstep. Most of what you’ve read on this blog happened after she vanished.

I know it sounds like some kind of awful Hollywood, silver-screen cliche, but I knew she’d come back. There was too much unfinished business to simply… up and leave. That’s not to say I wrote sappy love letters, or abstained from sex and relationships, hoping that one day the phone would ring — no, university came and went without contact. I begun my travels around the world — there were even trips to America and Los Angeles, close to where I thought she might be. But of course, I had no address — her mother forbade any contact. I briefly thought about quizzing people on the streets if they’d ’seen this girl’, but the only photo I had of her was 5 years old and probably no use. Plus, people don’t really do that in real life… do they?

It was now January 2007. 20:00 January 17th, 2007 — midday, Pacific Standard Time, her time. I have new email, and it’s from her. I can’t really describe how I felt at that instant, but I should at least try: light-headed euphoria. Righteous vindication. I’m so rarely wrong — I so rarely make a bad call — but I was seriously starting to doubt if I’d got this one wrong. 5 years is a long time to leave a guy hanging for a kiss; I’m patient, but there are limits! When that email finally arrived, I breathed a sigh of relief.

Returning… — January 17th 2007

Hi Sebby.

I’m considering returning back to the UK very shortly to live there for a bit.

Saw your photos. Very nice! Quite the world traveller these days, aren’t you?

I’m sure I’ll hear from you soon.

Love,

Understated, as always. A fluttering, torrential storm of mail followed as we quickly caught up, though a lot remained unsaid until we finally met again in person, a month later.

To this day, I still can’t believe she was reading my journal and looking at my photos — keeping tabs, like a voyeur. She could’ve said Hi, just once, but no, she made me wait. I guess that should’ve been the first sign that the ball was still very much on her side of the court. My heart thumped a rhythm dictated by her carefully-orchestrated maneuvers. 7 years had passed since we met, but nothing had changed.

If only I’d known that in March, when we first kissed, that this wasn’t going to be the happily-ever-after that I — we? — had so hoped for. Nothing had changed for the better — or for worse — we were still very much in love, but it wasn’t going to be an easy ride.

A year later, after some of the most blissfully memorable moments of my life, she left me again. A year of apocryphal magic — times of love, of her tiny body wrapped in my arms, her soft skin teasing my fingertips — tainted by lows that still haunt me today: would things have turned out differently if I’d whispered different sweet nothings into her ear?

Seven years of strife for a single year of part-time love.

I haven’t seen or heard from her since. I don’t think she’s coming back this time, either.

Warning: This post contains adult themes of a sexual nature.

After the (un)comfortably-short-skirt incident my life settled down: I got a proper girlfriend. A fun-loving straight girl that actually liked PENIS instead of strap-ons — hooray! Now fast forward a year: I’ve been in a relationship for a year and things are going well — as well as can be expected for my first long-term girlfriend!

It was 10am and far too early to be up and about, but we both had lectures to attend so there we were, lamely limping into university, her arms around me.

‘I’d offer to carry you on my back, but I think I put it out during the standing-69…’

We hobbled on in contemplative silence, the night of passion coming back to flood our senses. We grin at each other.

‘It’s OK, Sebby. I don’t think I could hold on with these thighs anyway… What did you DO down there?’

To say that we had an active sex life would be a massive understatement. Once upon a time sex 5, 6, 7 times a night wasn’t a problem. I’d collapse in a sweaty heap afterward but be ready to go again in the morning! Today, a flight of stairs will leave me breathless. That’s why I’ve been working on my cardiac fitness, incidentally. I can’t imagine a girl would be very understanding if I go to all the effort of serenading, courting, wooing… and then not follow through with the goods. Anti-climax, I think they’d call it. Not usually a problem of mine, being an under-sexed geek, but a man should look after his heart! Back at university, I actually kept a list of every available room and surface in the house, and by the end of university everything on that list had been crossed off (I think some of my university housemates are reading this — sorry you had to find out this way but we did tidy up properly…)

In most extended sexual encounters, a couple will go through a variety of positions: the tight, fully-clothed embrace, followed by lingering kisses down the jaw to the neck. A hand slips inside your shirt, or skirt, and then your hands are everywhere all at once, fingertips reawakening parts of you that have lain dormant since the last time you were together; nether regions that can only be awoken by your lover. The kissing and groping continues, the latent heat building up between you until you’re uncomfortably hot. Finally one of you stops and looks down. Pause. You’re at a crossroads: to the left there’s dinner, dessert and Desperate Housewives. To the right, a night of sweaty, limb-entwined debauchery. I grin and slide down over her stomach, leaving teasing little kisses as I go. A quick bite on the thigh and it’s time for sex, baby!

If you’re athletic and gymnastic, or just plain crazy, there are a lot of positions available to you: some intimate, some not. Some easy-going and some so blisteringly intense that I’m lucky if I last more than a few minutes. A lot of couples, I am told, don’t get much further than the missionary position — whether that’s due to lack of creativity, or an upbringing where inventiveness in the bedroom is considered aberrated I don’t know, but they’re missing out!

This is where things are going to become a little Too Much Information (TMI), so if you’re under 18 or wearing tight clothing, you might want to look away now.

We both had a day off and we were making the most of it — sex during daylight hours is a lot of fun: erotic and explicit because you’re totally exposed. It’s about as ‘exhibitionist’ as you can get without actually doing it in public. Little did we know, there actually was a spectator, a voyeur — we were unwittingly exhibiting ourselves! There we were, on my bed, naked and excited. The kissing had come and gone, the foreplay had been abandoned and she slid over my my body into one of our favourite positions (if you can’t see the animation below, you’ll have to visit my blog — it’s not quite right, but it gives you a good idea of what I’m talking about).

I’ll spare you most of the details (you can click the little animation, if you want more info) but I’ll tell you this: it’s a good position, a really good position. For both of you. And I haven’t had the chance to do it in… 4 years now… Jesus. ANYWAY…

You have to imagine lots of panting and whimpering now — mine if you’re a girl and hers if you’re a guy. Faster, harder, deeper! No, no, wrong hole! YES, yes, YES. My arms are burning — I’ve got strong fingers from the typing, but my arms just aren’t up to the job. Quicker and tighter, I give it all I’ve got, hoping we make it to the finishing line together — it’s going to be close, but if I can time it just right and if I don’t pass out… The panting turns to moaning, the whimpering now a low growl. Sebby, I’m… coming…

‘OH MY GOD, WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO THAT GIRL?’

Sebby… don’t… stop!

‘My housemate’s mother is looking through the bedroom window at us. Do you really want me to carry on?’ Mid-thrust, I give her a little wave from my vantage point, hidden underneath my girlfriend’s very naked, very pink and still-quivering body.

But, but… buttt… She squirms around, still very much attached to me and not ready to let go just yet. She sighs. Fine… The g-spot orgasm she’d been seconds away from has eluded her, for a while longer at least.

My housemate’s mother is still watching, her nose pushed up against the window, a rictus of curiousity and terror embossed upon her face. I notice I’ve left one of the windows open. Damn.

‘Should we continue…?’ I don’t want to disappoint our new-found fan. Finally it dawns on my girlfriend that someone’s mother has just watched us go at it, possibly for a long time… She quickly climbs under the duvet and glares at the window. Make her go away, Sebby…

Eventually my housemate arrived — she’d heard the scream and come running. Looking in she grinned at me (another story, that one) and pulled her catatonic mother away who was still muttering to herself, ‘but… she’s just a child…’

What I would’ve  given to read her mother’s thoughts.  I have my money on: ‘That girl needs a merkin!’