Banging On About Banging On

When you’re chatting away with good friends, having a few glasses, slash, pints of whatever beverage blows your skirt up, sometimes the conversation starts leaning a little towards the act of sex.

Recently I was chatting away to a good friend of mine, and she queried as to my most bizarre location/moment to have done the deed.

Nope. I’m not telling you lot. N’yer. I’m not into over-sharing.

But I will tell you hers… because you will never know her, and as a consequence, she’s fair game. Besides, she never claimed to be ashamed of this.

Most amusingly, she had been “on-the-job” during a phone conversation with her financial advisor.

The conversation might have been most amusing:

Her: “I’m telling you, buy, buy, buy! No… not talking to you, honey. I’m not Bi. Hey, buy stock in… oh… god… god… oh, fuck it!”

Financial advisor: “Er, the shares in OGOD were weak recently, with the announcement they won’t meet target profit projections this fiscal year. Are you sure?”

Her: “Yes, yes, yes!!! Oh God! Yes, yes, yes!”

Financial advisor: “Okay, okay. It’s your money. Hey, I’ve never met someone so enthusiastic about their investments. Are you busy on Saturday night?”

… er… yeah… and so forth. Well, I found it amusing, anyway.

Now these kinds of discussions can be fun, as long as you know the other people quite well, and you know where you stand with each other. This friend and I are purely platonic mates, as I’m not her type, and she ain’t mine.

However, I did go to the Oakbank races (local horse race) last year with TFWNSORAOR and got horrendously drunk from the free booze on hand under the marquee. This was cool until he decided to regale the other women on our table about the myriad of sexual encounters he had, and his girlfriend’s superb knack for fellatio.

Not exactly the best conversation to have with a table of six women you’ve never met before. Not exactly the best picture I wanted of this particular girl (who was like a sister to me), either.

But him flat out asking two of them if they were lesbians was an absolute high point. Oh, yeah… classy.

For the rest of the day, I was branded similarly “classy”… merely by association. It didn’t matter that I outlined excessively that I wasn’t this guy’s “friend” (I never liked this bloke… I merely tolerated him), I was still the obnoxious guy’s associate.

Okay, so there’s no problem with having such discussions with certain people, but alcohol aside, pick your moments.

I mean, I’m hardly going to inform my future kids that their mother was a demon in the sack - I’ll probably have to pay for their therapy bills.

Kids are expensive enough.