Sexual snakes and ladders

Snakes and Ladders

One of my more memorable rolls of the dice still mystifies me slightly. The game begins on a summer evening, warm enough to sit under the heaters on Kennedy’s roof garden, but dark enough to hide the persistent streakiness of one’s fake tan. A friend and I had decided to share a bottle of wine with our meal, and were all settled in for a night of analysing both our sex lives, and the sex lives of everyone we knew (most likely fuelled through the medium of mini-feed – stalking at its best).

It was not long however before we were joined on the roof by two young men, who positioned themselves a table away, directly in our eye line. With the speed and perception of a jungle cat I seized my mobile and texted the words “the blonde one is mine” to my obviously slower and inferior friend.

Secure in the knowledge of my textual victory, I moved myself one space further along the snakes and ladders board, crossing my legs and fluttering my eye lids demurely. The beautiful blonde blushed a charming shade of red and raised his beer slightly in my general direction before gazing fixedly back at his friend. Success! My pawn was well and truly on its way up that ladder…

After about half an hour of crossing and uncrossing my legs and fluttering my eyes so much that a twitch began to develop, I excused myself to go to the bathroom. Furious hair pumping and lip gloss application ensued until I felt that my reflection was ready for my next turn. Upon returning however my bottom had barely touched the seat before the blonde’s friend turned to me and said, “Mind if we join you?”

Now, in my experience this never happens! It’s a myth put about by Hollywood that gorgeous guys invite themselves to join your party, and it’s this myth that leads single women the world over to sit for hours in a bar under the illusion that someone will approach them. However, approach us they did, and about an hour later I was already humming ‘let’s get it on’ under my breath…

He was gorgeous! He had the soft and dreamy Scottish accent that melts the heart of any well brought up English girl who dreams of a ‘Real Man’ to take her in a passionate Braveheart-style scenario. He was also an athlete, and the loose t-shirt and jeans could barely disguise the rippling muscles underneath. What was a girl to do? For the good of this column I did what I had to do, and took him home…

Now I am a woman of the 21st century. Although I cry at all chick flicks and believe in Mr Darcy as some might believe in the tooth fairy, I am also a realist. I am prepared to call a spade a spade. And this spade was definitely a one night stand. I therefore remain confused, to this day, about what happened next.

I don’t mean to tarnish my reputation, or throw away my self-respect, but as our clothes began flying across the bedroom, I was a dead cert! If a woman invites a man home, she is going to have sex with him. We don’t invite you home because we suddenly remember that our light bulb needs changing

If a woman invites a man home, she is going to have sex with him. We don’t invite you home because we suddenly remember that our light bulb needs changing

or the toilet needs unblocking – we want to sleep with you and that’s about it.

I was therefore entirely unprepared for the words "I think you are amazing. I can’t wait for you to come and stay with me in Scotland. I’ll wait for you forever, even if we barely ever see each other. I’ve never met a woman like you and I can’t help but think it’s fate that brought us together!”

Although the accent was absolutely divine, these were not the words that I wished to hear and so I decided it was important that we arrived quickly at a place where speech was abandoned. Cue night of unbridled passion…

Several hours later, with all avenues of adventure successfully explored, we began the tradition of pillow talk. Not something that I’m a huge fan of to be honest with you, but I felt that this night had been surreal enough already so I may as well continue to remain outside my comfort zone. His choice of topic was again rather odd, but despite being told that I was the 32nd notch on his bedpost we spent a cosy and cuddly night together, after which he got in a taxi, never to be seen again.

As I nursed my hangover and idly flicked through the daytime tv offerings, I couldn’t help but replay the situation over and over in my head. It was bizarre - why on earth would he fabricate an entire story of intentions for our future when it was obvious we were going to have sex whether he declared his undying love for me or not?

Now I’ve mulled it over and I have come to the conclusion that my new Scottish friend was not au fait with ‘the rules’. He failed to see that whispering sweet nothings into a woman’s ear on a one night stand was just not cricket! It upset the balance, and despite my original realistic expectations, I began to wonder whether there was more to it than that. If he had remained mute I would never have expected him to call. As it was however, I was slightly hurt and confused for several days as I waited in vain for some form of communication.

Maybe I’m biased, but I believe that men create their own rules to sexual snakes and ladders, and consistently bend those that we women create. Alternatively, perhaps they feel that we invent rules that we never informed them of and as such they can not abide by them! Either way it would seem that neither sex will ever be playing by the same rules, and as such shall continue to slide down those snakes time and time again. As the game suggests however, this won’t stop us. We pick ourselves right back up again because, if truth be told, the trip up that ladder is just too much fun to resist!

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