No Sex

I came late to a lot of things in life. Alcohol. Trust me, it took years of training by my life-friend Liz to learn to love Whiskey, and just as long for close friends Paul and Geoff in London to train me to become an accomplished Guinness drinker.

Sex was another. For a long time, I just wasn’t interested. My close friend Paul had great fun with this. He loved a joke. We used to meet outside HMV on Cardiff’s Queen Street each Saturday mid-day – after ITV’s Chart Show had finished – to buy records and clothes, and he would hold onto my sleeve and drag his feet behind me at the most inopportune moment and make it look like I was his carer.

So, Paul had immense fun with the no-sex thing. He took it upon himself to try and set me up with men when we were out clubbing, determined to cause mischief. He would try anything. “He doesn’t do sex. He has an inverted penis. You should go on a date with him.” he whispered to me during one attempt, about a butcher from the valleys.

His most successful joke with the no-sex thing was his discrete declaration – while we were at the bar – that a lad I was talking to was a Christian and therefore didn’t do sex. Being of a Christian upbringing myself, this was music to my ears. I relaxed, rejoined the lad and invited him back to my place to continue our pleasant conversation when the club closed. Imagine my surprise when – back at my place and offering him a cup of tea – he was all over me like a rash, hands and tongue everywhere. An embarrassing phone call for a taxi later, I took myself to bed and prepared to give Paul a good telling off the following evening. But not too much of a telling off, chuckling to myself.

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