CASUAL SEX


LUV - Mmmm, casual sex. Sex, but casual. Sex, but without having to look like you care. Sex, but without any of the boring pre- or post-amble. Hooray for it.


It’s not for everyone, obviously. But with a bit of practice, a casual approach to copulation can allow you to get a hell of a lot of things done. As well as a hell of a lot of people! LOL.


Have you ever had sex while leaning nonchalantly on a pinball machine with the collar of your leather jacket turned up, all the while dispensing invaluable advice to local schoolchildren? I have. It was great. Not that I let on.


Have you ever had sex in such a casual manner that you also did a jigsaw on your partner’s back? And finished it? I have. I told her not to move for a bit afterwards, so I could savour my handiwork and take a photo to put on Facebook. Which, by the way, I was also updating while forking and jigsawing.


Hey, have you ever had sex sooo casually that, at the precise moment of climax, you yawned, looked at your watch and started mentally preparing your dinner? Or with such insouciance that, during the act, you threw balls of wastepaper into one of those little basketball nets you place over bins? And didn’t miss once? Or with such utter indifference that, while vigorously rutting, you called every one of your utilities suppliers to pay your bills, dictating your debit card details from memory?


I have. I have. I have.


In short, casual sex is the sex of choice for today’s time-poor, gash-rich multitasking go-getter. Anything else is just bloody inefficient, if you ask me.
- Stuart Waterman


HAT - What’s casual about casual sex? Nothing, that’s what.

Oh, casual sexinators in the public eye like Lindsay Lohan and Tiger Woods may make it seem like something you can do while sporting Wayfarers and jauntily sucking down a Trenta soy latte but, in reality, casual sex is a complete logistical nightmare from selection to ejection.

First, there is the preparating.

For instance, at the moment your flat looks like a normal person’s flat so you’ll need to transform it into a Man-Baiting Lady-Cave. I mean, you don’t want to be casual sexing up against the kitchen counter and come eye-to-eye with that bottle of all-purpose cleaner you keep meaning to buy more of. That way lies remembering that you’re also out of Odor Eaters and “can you just stop doing that for a second while I grab my Snoopy Post-it notes?” awkwardness. So clean everything, stow away all non-sexy items and invest in some soft lighting from the Pound Shop.

Oh, and have you depilated your legs, underarms, frenula and amygdala this week? Get on that shit, woman, your lighting’s not that soft. It’s from the Pound Shop FFS.

Next, the hookup. Go to a place where people of your tribe with low morals gather. Remember to tell at least two non-judgmental friends where you’re going so that, if you don’t show up for Pilates in three days, they’ll know you probably went home with a psychopath.

Wear a revealing dress that doesn’t look very hard to remove (tip: Diane von Furstenberg is out, anything from Boohoo.com is in). Flirt, make eye contact, say words that sound like sex things but aren’t actually, like “don’t you think honey lingers?” and “God I love listing buildings SO HARD”.

THAT GUY. Is he staring at you because you’re hot or have you developed a gnarly face-growth? Either way, it looks like you’re going to get some casual sex or a trip to the dermatologist! Go you!

So: your place or his? Tense bus ride or uncomfortable back-of-the-cab foreplay? Daddy or chips? Suddenly you’re back at his, smooching and trying not to feel bitter about all the effort that went into your Lady-Cave. Unless you’re very stupid, some barrier contraception-based conversation should follow, which will inevitably be perversely prim (British casual sexers are contractually obliged to use terms like “smidge” and “pop that on there” in this situation).

Then SHIT GETS REAL and you actually enjoy yourself! “Ha!” You think. “Take that, patriarchal society and your double standards! Check me out being all metrosexual!” Then you notice for the first time that he has an earring and a Beppe-from-EastEnders beard and you have to close your eyes and think of Jake Gyllenhaal until it’s all over.

When it is all over, some feedback is expected. Again, if you’re British, something like “well, that was jolly nice” or “that cleared the sinuses, didn’t it?” will do fine. Finally you leave and, eight hours later, get home after failing entirely to fire up Google Maps on your phone because there’s no fucking mobile signal in the godforsaken bit of town Jiz or Danny or Kevvo or whatwasyournameagain lives in.

So that’s casual sex.

On balance, doesn’t a loving, committed relationship seem like the better option? If only because you know your partner’s sexual and medical history and, because they’re RIGHT BLOODY NEXT TO YOU, it’s actually more casual to just roll over and have sex with them?

Yes. Yes it does.
- Robyn Wilder