Confessions of a Bondi Blonde

Look. Don’t take this personally and it doesn’t really bother me either way. But would you like to have sex?

It’s not Shakespeare is it? But two men in the past four weeks have offered me a night of their valuable time with a line pretty similar to this one.

 The first time I was pretty shocked and had to look over my shoulder. Was he talking to me? Seeing that Jennifer Hawkins was not in the room, I thought my animal magnetism must be kicking in if a conversation about Kev07 turned in an eye-blink into an invitation to bump uglies. Hot mama! Spicy tamale Bondi blonde.

The second time I wasn’t in the mood for this kind of love was when a pleasant enough guy with all his own teeth and I chatted for about 15 minutes about land tax or group sex or something like that before he asked for a shag, please. There was no touching or tasting going on and there had been no frisson of sexual tension between us until he asked to do the dirty deed, to be done dirt cheap.

Both guys expected to do the act at my house, for a quick getaway and no CSI traces in their abode, I suppose. There was no way I was going to let their casually offered DNA anywhere near my children dreaming sweetly in their beds, so it wasn’t something I would consider, even if I wanted to.

In both cases there was no invitation for a date, dinner or even a bloody drink. I may look like a cheap root and dress like a superannuated whore (a high class one), but really.

What is this about?

Well, I’ve done some intensive pub-based investigations and it’s called transaction sex.

We are all generally gym fit and busy with our lives. We all have decent enough friendships and things to do on a Saturday night that does not involve watching Australia’s Funniest Home Videos too often. So do we need an intimate relationship? Many people say no. But they still have sexual desire and a need to feel flesh on flesh.

When two Sexless in the City types like this bump orbits, they feel no embarrassment or compunction in offering straight, friendly enough sex. It’s an opportunity to open the release valve on sexual tension that single Sydney hums along on. People don’t want the hassle, expense or potential heartache of dating but feel disinclined to give up on physical release. Transaction sex is like an extension of a session at Fitness First, but cheaper and with less clothing.

Well, fine. But as a friend of mine said, her pussy has a direct line to her heart. Giving a man entree to one necessitates consideration in the other. So if a man makes her feel loved, it’s a good chance she’ll consider the horizontal Rumba with him quick-ish. The reverse is true, however in that if she has sex with a guy, the heartstrings will definitely be pulled a little.

Apparently many Sydney women feel perfectly fine participating in transaction sex and are as emancipated as men in asking for it as well as giving it. So lots of girls are out their asking guys for a little bit of sack-action but feel OK if their offer is declined. It’s not personal, just physical.

So shouldn’t I ease up a bit on the cat’s bum mouth of almost disapproval? No-one’s hurt if you say no or probably yes and isn’t sexual release a legitimate requirement of anyone over puberty? An article in The Sydney Morning Herald last month detailed how geriatrics in a Texas aged care facility were going for it like there was no tomorrow (blend Viagra with extreme old age and for a few, there probably wasn’t). Some 85 year old basically said that, oh Lord, women were going to be the death of him, but what a way to go!

The oldies, many suffering Alzheimer’s, had enough nous to shuffle out of locked rooms for trysts among bedpans and on plastic sheeted beds. Romance was alive and well and in a much healthier state than those practicing it. The children and grandchildren of the horny oldies were mostly shocked at the antics the sexy septuagenarians were getting up – and down – to. But some were happy that those having their last gasps turned them into the odd orgasm; still managing to get their kicks, licks and tricks wherever they could.

Is there are difference between the transaction sex happening between Sydney singles and the kind of action going down in the Texas Twilight Zone? I think there is. And I think the difference is passion. The oldies sniff like horny dogs for a chance to break free of the leashes imposed by their tutt-tutting nurses for a bit of slap and tickle and to celebrate the joys of sex. Both times I was offered transaction sex; it was like I was being offered a TicTac. Neither man seemed particularly enamoured (silly, silly men) and, if a hurdle was put up to stop them having their indifferent way with me (like saying a date first might be a nice idea), they lost interest and went off with a friendly wave to wherever their night took them.

So maybe it’s time we listened to the advice of our extreme elders, or their favourite band and wall socket, Air Supply:

“But I don’t know how to leave you,
And I’ll never let you fall;
And I don’t know how you do it,
Making love out of nothing at all.”

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