As often, yet not too often happens, I found myself in an Irish pub off late, in the company of two dear friends. Two tattooed dear friends I may say. A long long long bond (that of profound afficionado's of red and other meats) brought us together for the consumption of Guinness and Steak- and later also hot molten chocolate cake with whipped cream, but this is not the point.Our main and pretty much only subject for the evening was sex. And whether or not I am in need of any. None in the company present could and hence dared deny it, however I have one objection as to what the focus of their these is.
I have never ever wanted intercourse (is there any less appropriate term for what can and should be beautiful and passionate) with someone I didn't loved from the depths of my heart and the bottom of my soul. Having for once in eight years the opportunity to sleep with someone doesn't in my not so humble opinion, mean that I MUST sleep with the person* concerned.
Therefore I shall presume my bussiness with aforementioned human being as I always have, and between us there shall be no more talk of sex, casual or otherwise.
*Purposely vague
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