The Prologue (1975-1983)

Written by Doug – the northlondonhippy

Setting the Scene – My Real Sexual Education

I think I had my first formal sexual education lessons in the 6th grade, when I was 12 years old, and our PhysEd/Health teacher told us how babies were made. When a man loves a woman, blah, blah, blah. Ovum, sperm, zygote, blah, blah, blah. It didn’t teach me much.

Around the same time, my mother gave me a children’s book, called “How Babies Are Made”. It said the same kind of thing, “when a man loves a woman…” blah, blah, blah. It had cartoons, including a man, and woman in bed together under the covers. I learned even less from that book, than in class.

My mother was uptight about sex. She was uptight about everything. She used to say that 25 should be the age for drinking, smoking, and sex. She didn’t exactly install a healthy attitude around any of it. There was a lot of shame.

My dad was only marginally better. When I was around 12 or so, he took me for my first real hair cut at a barbershop. Up till then, he was doing it with a pair of clippers at home. Now, he said I was old enough to have a proper cut. He took me along with him, when he was getting his hair cut. 

There were a few chairs, but only one barber, so my dad went first, and I sat in the waiting area. There were many magazines on the table, including “gentleman’s magazines”, and it was there I was allowed to read my first Playboy magazine. 

And by read, obviously I really mean that I looked at the photos. You may not know this, but the photos in Playboy Magazine were mostly of naked ladies. 

In the middle of the magazine, there was a foldout page, called the centrefold, which was a full length photograph of the Playmate of the Month. I glanced over at my dad, who saw me pull out the centrefold, and he just gave me a single nod of his head. 

Let’s look at this with our modern day eyes. At age 12, I was introduced to a world where women are objectified for male pleasure. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen a Playboy, but it was the first time I was allowed, and encouraged to look. I was being indoctrinated. I had no idea of it at the time, it was just normal for the 70s. 

Around the same time, women’s rights, and the Equal Rights Amendment were having a moment. Women’s liberation was everywhere, so was Gloria Steinem, They all had their work cut out for them. Still do. 

Girlie magazines were a feature of my youth, and not just at the barbershop. When I was in high school, one of my classmates worked out when the local convenience stores disposed of the previous month’s unsold mags, and he used to dumpster dive to get them.  He did this monthly, for years, and would hand them out to all his friends. And not just Playboy, he would also get Penthouse, and Hustler magazines too. It is from these magazines that I got my real, yet less than ideal, sexual education.

This system went on for years, my friend supplied me, and most of my high school with dirty mags every month. The magazines had the covers ripped off, but the magazines themselves were still intact. 

I’m far more verbal, than visual, and as much as I liked looking at the photos, what I found more interesting were the stories. 

Playboy was a bit dull, and the photos were airbrushed to within an inch of their lives. This was well before Photoshop existed. For me, the best things in Playboy were the in-depth interviews. I know that’s a cliche, but it was actually true.

Hustler magazine was really downmarket, I could see that even at age 15. The articles were puerile, and poorly written, and seemed to be aimed at the low IQ side of the market. And the photos! They wouldn’t have been out of place in a medical journal. I do remember the founder, Larry Flynt, fought many freedom of speech battles, and he mostly won them. 

Penthouse was somewhere in between the other two. The photos were a bit more explicit than Playboy, but not quite as gynaecological as Hustler, and the writing could be hit, and miss. 

However, one section of Penthouse really caught my imagination. 

Specifically, I really got into reading Penthouse Forum letters. They were allegedly real life tales from the magazine’s readers, of their own interesting, or noteworthy sexual exploits. 

The letters followed a very simple format. The stories usually started with a line like this: “I never thought something like this would ever happen to me, but…”, and almost always ended with “needless to say…”.

Here’s an made-up example of what I mean:

“I never thought I something like this would ever happen to me, but I was in the laundry room of my apartment building, when this beautiful woman came in to wash her clothing too. She loaded up the washing machine, and then stripped down to her bra, and panties, and put the clothes she was wearing into the washing machine with the rest of her stuff, and started the cycle. And then she turned to me, and said “see anything you like?” I was game, so then we had amazing, god-tier sex right there, on the floor. It was fantastic, and needless to say, I will be looking forward to laundry nights every week from now on!”

The stories were usually far more graphic than my example, and I assumed most of them were made up. Sometimes, I really wanted them to be true, as they gave me hope that one day, I would have my own Penthouse Forum worthy experiences.  And “needless to say”, I looked forward to that day, very much.

There were stories about threesomes, stories about wife-swapping, and loads of stories about amazing sex with random strangers. If you can imagine it happening sexually, I probably read a Penthouse letter about it. 

Apparently, grownups were having sex all the time with each other, and behind each other’s backs too. Pretty much, whenever grownups were alone, they were banging. Sex was happening everywhere, and I couldn’t wait to be old enough to play along. 

Very few people were actually having sex in my high school, and I’m not just saying that just because I wasn’t. Sure, it happened, I can think of two kids born out of wedlock to students in my school. 

Do people still say “out of wedlock” or am I showing my age here?

Most of my friends weren’t having sex either, though it did somewhat improve in our senior year. 

There wasn’t much random shagging, or even drunken shagging, I would say most of the teen sex I was aware of was more traditional, and within monogamous relationships. 

A friend of my dad’s gave me some advice about sex when I was a teenager, maybe 15 or 16. The guy would have been in his 40s, and he was married, with kids. And he was a doctor, technically, because chiropractors count too. 

My dad’s friend told me that he was very worldly, because he served in the Navy. He had travelled all over the high seas, so I should listen to him. 

This was his advice, based on the antics of a sailor he allegedly served with for a while. He said this guy had a simple view, “If you randomly approached 100 women, and asked them if they wanted to fuck, you were likely to get slapped 99 times. But on that 100th time, boy oh boy, you were in for the time of your life!” 

Yes, an adult really told me this. And meant it. Getting laid is simply a numbers game. Even if there is a touch of truth to it, it is a horrible thing to tell a teenager. I just didn’t know any of that at the time. It is problematic advice to be giving a young man, but I was given it just the same. 

And here’s the thing, that sort of attitude was prevalent way back then, and quite frankly, I expect it still exists today. Women existed simply to please men, and it was man’s obligation to find as much pleasure as possible. While the opposite was true for women, and every women’s duty was to protect, and maintain their virtue. None of that was healthy, or made any sense. 

I juggled that sort of advice, while also admiring strong women I saw in the media, and believing in gender equality. Put it this way, my biggest celebrity crush of the 70s, and 80s, was Jane Fonda. And to be honest, she’s 85 years old now, and I still would. And I can promise you, whether then or now, she wouldn’t, with me anyway. 

One of the articles I read in Penthouse was about the Hite Report, written by Shere Hite. It was a groundbreaking, in-depth study of female sexuality, that built on the work of Alfred Kinsey, and Masters and Johnson. People doubted the female orgasm even existed, and Ms. Hite wished to set the record straight. 

Imagine thinking female orgasms were a myth? Many people did back then, and shockingly, some people still do. I remember learning the term ‘pre-orgasmic woman”, and wanting to go on a mission to help them all. Not really, but it sure sounded like a fun way to spend my summer break.

Even before I was sexually active, I liked sex, and had a healthy, and positive interest in it. What I lacked was the confidence, self esteem, and social skills required to find a willing partner.

I’ll end this section with one of my weirder, early near-sexual experiences. At the time, I didn’t think it could possibly be real, but a week later, I learned I should have trusted my instincts. 

It’s a bit like a poorly written teen comedy film from the early-80s. I might have been played by Judge Reinhold. He would have nailed my awkwardness perfectly. 

I was at a party towards the end of my senior year of high school, being held at a friend’s house. His parents were divorced, and he lived with his mother. It was a nice place, with a built-in pool, that I expect his dad was still paying for. 

There was a lot of drinking going on, and everyone was reasonably drunk, but my friend stayed relatively sober, because it was his party. Plus at the end of the night, he needed to drive his girlfriend home. 

I stayed late to help clear up, as my friend drove his girlfriend home. My friend’s mother, and I were left alone. I was 18 years old. 

It was a pool party, so my friend’s mother was in a one-piece bathing suit, and I was just wearing a pair of trunks. Once we were finished clearing up the empties, we sat down together, and had some more drinks. I knew my friend would be gone for a while, because he wanted to have car sex with his girlfriend, before dropping her off. 

My friend’s mother was extremely attractive, something I obviously had noticed before. She was probably 38, or 39 at the time, and more than a little tipsy. 

I thought I was imagining things, as she seemed to be openly flirting with me. I genuinely couldn’t believe that it was possible. 

I was a healthy, normal teenage boy, and I had a healthy, normal reaction to her flirtatious behaviour, especially when she kept brushing my leg with her fingers. 

I popped a boner. I pitched a tent. I had the mother of all erections. 

There is no way in the world that she couldn’t have noticed my arousal. And I was starting to have very impure thoughts about my friend’s mother that I knew were wrong, even though they felt oh, so right. 

I heard my friend’s car pull into the driveway, and the front door opened, and that was enough of a boner killer to bring me back to earth. Nothing happened with his mother, and I tried to convince myself that it was all in my imagination. I’d just had too much to drink, and had read too many Penthouse letters. Stupid me!

Around a week later, I was back at my friend’s place one evening after a night out. We were going to have a swim, or something, before I went home, only we heard laughter in the back yard. 

We walked around the side of house to investigate, and found my friend’s mother on top of a guy in the swimming pool, kissing him deeply. Awkward. 

We were both even more shocked when we worked out who he was. He was a guy who graduated high school the previous year. That would have made him 19 years old at the time, only a year older than me. He mowed my friend’s mother’s lawn for her, that’s how she knew him. And I could clearly see, she was getting to know him a whole lot better. 

I wasn’t imagining things the week before. She really was getting sexual around me. If I was a bit more clever, that could have been me with her in the swimming pool. 

That said, my friend was fuming that his mother was fooling around with this guy. He vandalised the guy’s pick-up truck. He keyed it. That’s how pissed off he was about his mother’s swimming pool romp. 

On balance, his friendship was more valuable to me than the handjob from his mom, that might have been. My regret isn’t that I missed the opportunity, it’s that I missed recognising it. I promised myself, I wouldn’t let that happen again. 

Infidelity

When I was 18-19 years old, I worked in a small office. Most of my colleagues were only a little bit older, but all of them were married, with children. And all of them were prolific cheaters. 

At first, I thought of them as role models, but in time I realised they were just jerks. Or, to use a more appropriate slur from back then in Jersey, they were total fucking douche-bags. 

They cheated on their wives with other colleagues. They cheated on their wives with women they picked up in bars. They cheated on their wives, whenever, and wherever they could. And they didn’t hide the fact that they were married, they all wore wedding rings. And some of the women they slept with from the office, had even met their wives at company parties.

This was a total mind fuck for me. Infidelity was something I really only knew about from the media. It’s a popular trope on soap operas, or in dramas, but I never expected to see it happening in front of me so blatantly. It made me question everything I thought I knew about marriage, and relationships. 

These were working class guys, who went to vocational school. Their wives were stay-at-home moms, and they kept blasting out more kids. They were all 25, or under. They used to drink, and take drugs all the time too.

These were the people who first gave me cocaine. They used to start drinking before work, and pound beers all day. Lunch was in a bar, and mostly liquid too. And they smoked loads of weed. They taught me how to be a hardcore party boy, and on that score, I was an eager student. 

In my head, I nicknamed the three of them “the Kowalskis”, as in Stanley, from the Tennessee Williams play “A Streetcar Named Desire”. I was pretentious, even back then, but I was also right. 

The company allowed me some flexibility in my hours, because they knew I was studying at Monmouth College at the time, but also because it suited them too. 

My supervisor came up with a great idea. She suggested I work later hours, so they could lengthen the the amount of the time the pricey equipment was used, so it was more productive throughout the day. It made good business sense for them, and made working around my classes even easier. 

So most days, I would start mid-afternoon, and work until late evening. I was usually done by between 11pm, and midnight. The company had a punch clock, and timecards, so my hours were tracked, and I was paid OT, if I did any. 

The thing about the late shift is I was usually the only person around the office after hours, except for the cleaners. And I was the only one around to answer the phone. 

I expect you can imagine who would often phone late in the evening. It was always my colleagues’ wives, looking for their husbands. I could hear the worry, and upset tones in their voices.

I was forced to cover, and lie for my colleagues. It was expected of me, like some sort of man, or “bro code”. 

It didn’t matter if I knew which local no-tell-motel they were using for their adventures, I certainly couldn’t tell their wives. And to be fair, I didn’t know what exactly which room they were in, so I could plausibly deny knowing their precise whereabouts. I wasn’t really comfortable with doing it, but I did it anyway. Did I even have a choice?

Remember, from reading Penthouse, I knew about things like open marriages, and partner swapping. In other words, there were more ethical ways of broadening your sexual horizons, than cheating on your wife. 

One day, when they were drunkenly bragging about their conquests in the bar, I said  a few things about divorce, and open marriages, and the hypocrisy of sleeping around. And it triggered all three of them.

They all said they would never, ever leave their wives, no matter what. They were adamant about it, and claimed they loved them.

Then, I suggested why not try swinging, if they wanted to sleep around. Why not have an open marriage, or do partner swapping. That was a step too far for all of them. 

The first one said, “No way would I let my wife be with another guy.”

And the second spluttered, “She is for me only, I don’t share!”

And the leader of the group said definitively, “If my wife ever fucked another guy, I’d kill her”. Well, that was settled. 

What’s good for the goose, ain’t good for the gander, eh?

I learned a few life lessons hanging around with these guys. The first was: Don’t get married young. It wasn’t something on my radar anyway, but spending time with them, hammered the point home. 

The second lesson wasn’t as significant, but it was still useful information. Most people, if given the chance, and think they can get away with it, will cheat. I would learn that it wasn’t always as black, and white as that, but it is still one of my takeaways at the time. 

Mainly I learned to disrespect marriage. It was a meaningless institution. It didn’t imply fidelity, or loyalty. Real commitment is better than marriage. Some religious mumbo-jumbo, and a piece of paper won’t magically change that.

And if someone doesn’t respect their own marriage, why should anyone else? Why should I?

In Part Two – Connecting, I finally get online, and the real fun begins!

(All words © Copyright 2023 – Doug – the northlondonhippy. All rights reserved)

Connecting (1980-1987)

Written by Doug – the northlondonhippy

Going Online

Home computers were relatively rare in the early 1980s. I got my first Radio Shack (Tandy) TRS-80 in November 1980.

It couldn’t do much, you had to write programs in Basic, line by line from hobby magazines. And there was no easy way to save the programmes, except unreliable cassette tapes. I was still in high school. 

A couple of years later, I had my first apartment, and bought my second system, an Apple //c. That model was a cheaper, but less open, and expandable version of the classic Apple //e. It had a monochrome screen, with green text only, like the computers in the film, The Matrix. It could do a lot more than my first system, like word processing. I had a printer too, and used my new computer for writing college assignments. 

I also bought a modem. It was my first, a 1200 baud dial-up, which is super slow and worked with the Apple //c. It could take a minute for a page of text to load. Sorry, this is all a bit geeky.

There wasn’t much to connect to back then, mostly small bulletin board systems (BBS) that were locally based, and run. If you didn’t stay on local systems, the call charges could quickly add up. 

The other option was a national paid for service. CompuServe was the biggest back then. I did have a month’s free trial, but I couldn’t afford the charges after that. 

It was totally text based, no pictures, no video, and no audio, but you could get news wires, email, and quizzes. Basically it was just text based information, or entertainment. And it was a “walled garden”, meaning you could only connect, communicate with, or see things on the CompuServe system, and that included the email. If someone else subscribed to a different online service, they were completely cut off from other systems. There was no internet, or even interoperability, back in the early days. 

The big, new thing on CompuServe, or CIS as it was known, was something called the CB Simulator. If you saw it today, you would recognise it as an early type of chat room system. It was organised into channels, which worked like rooms. One channel was dedicated to “adult fun”. 

The other big thing to come out of CIS, and the CB Simulator, was “CompuSex” or “hot chatting”. There were articles in newspapers, and magazines about this new phenomenon, where random strangers were helping each other online… get off. Distance didn’t matter, you could have computer sex with anyone, anywhere. It was the future!

On that first night, I hot chatted with someone who claimed to be a girl around my age, from Hawaii. I have no idea if any of that was true, but we spent a couple of hours, typing one handed about our most explicit sexual desires, and what we would be doing to each other, if we were together. 

I wasn’t terribly experienced at this point, but I wasn’t a virgin either. What made me good at hot chatting, and what gave me such a vivid imagination, were all the Penthouse Forum letters that I had read over the years. 

I was oddly good at it. It was probably my earliest ongoing, creative writing. Take that Mrs. Smith’s 6th grade English class!

That was nearly all I did for that one month trial, I chatted to far away girls, in far away places, about our deepest desires. As a horny young guy, it was fun, but it wasn’t nearly enough. It never occurred to me to look for local people on CIS, that I could meet in real life in that first month. 

When the free trial ended, I turned to the bulletin boards. Most of the early systems were centred around hobbies, like computers, or cycling. One local BBS that I found was an adults-only hook-up site for swingers. Sex can be a hobby too.

The site was small, and only one person at a time could connect to it, so often the phone number was busy when you tried to access it. My persistence paid off, and I managed to create a profile, and have a look around.

Unsurprisingly, it was mainly single men, a very small number of couples, and no single women. Most of the men were older, like 40s or 50s older. I was 20 years old at this point, It would have been 1983.

I wasn’t registered on the system that long, when I received my first private message. It was from a couple. The writer actually said she was the female half of the couple, and she said they were looking for someone close to their ages for a threesome. 

I’d never considered a threesome with a couple. Whenever I had that particular fantasy, it was always me, and two women. I tried to keep an open mind, so I replied, and we exchanged a couple of messages. I think she could sense my reticence. She asked for my phone number. I gave it to her. 

A couple of nights later, my phone rang, and it was the female half of the couple, ringing from a pay phone. She said she had an argument with her husband, and she needed to get out for a while. Could she visit me, just to talk?

I arranged to meet her somewhere nearby, because my apartment was hard to find. She hopped in my car, and we drove back to my place. 

She was cute. She had dark brown hair, and was just wearing jeans, and a tee shirt. She was maybe a year or two older than me. 

Not long into the short journey, she told me definitively, that she wasn’t going to have sex with me that night. I can’t say I was planning on doing anything with her. I don’t know what I expected. I was going with the flow. 

We got back to my place, and I sparked up a joint, which we passed back, and forth as we chatted. She talked a lot about her marriage, and how unhappy she was, but she said they were determined to make it work, because of their baby. 

After a while, she moved closer to me, and kissed me. She said, just because we’re not going to have sex, doesn’t mean we can’t have some fun. I was in no position to disagree. 

We started making out, and it got intense. She started touching me in my special place. She offered me a BJ. She didn’t have to ask me twice. She kept her clothing on. 

After we were done, she said she had to return home, I drove her back to her car, and that was it. I didn’t hear from her again, but her husband phoned me a couple of nights later. 

He was friendly. He asked me if I enjoyed meeting his wife, and if I had a good time. He asked if I was up for a threesome. He also asked if he could blow me too, and he offered to visit me on his own that night. 

I declined. I told him I didn’t swing that way. He pushed it, he said I owed him since he let me fool around with his wife. He told me had sent her to see me the previous night, and it was all his idea. 

I was starting to put the pieces together. She was the bait, and he was trying to reel me in. Or did she pre-screen my peen? Ewww. Whatever. I knew I was in way over my head. 

I said thanks, made my excuses, and got off the phone. I didn’t hear from them again. 

If you think I learned my lesson about the swingers BBS system, you’d be wrong. Another couple’s account contacted me, but this time it was different. They weren’t looking for a threesome, the wife was looking for a lover on her own. I was one of the few men on the site that was close to her age. That’s why she contacted me. 

I remember her name, I remember her. I liked her. She told me her husband had gone off sex completely since she had her son, and she was very frustrated. 

They talked about wife swapping, but her husband wasn’t into the idea, he wanted a threesome with another guy. And she wasn’t interested in that. So they were at an impasse. 

They had signed up to the BBS, but they never did anything, so my new friend took it upon herself to use the account, to see if she could find some fun on her own. Most of the single guys on there were a lot older, I was closer to her age. She was only a couple of years older than me. 

We met, and we liked each other. We had a really good time together, sexually. It was actually the best time I’d ever had with anyone, up to that point. We met a second time, and it was even better. 

I knew she couldn’t be my girlfriend, what with having a husband, and a kid, and all, but I thought it might become a regular thing. I was living in fantasy land. And then she asked me a question, that reintroduced some reality. 

She asked if she could bring her young son with her on her next visit, because she couldn’t find anyone to watch him. She said he would be fine on his own, in his baby buggy, or whatever it is you transport babies around in, while we had our fun in the other room.

And that’s when the guilt hit me. I didn’t care how young, or well behaved her son was, I didn’t want to be the cause of him needing therapy one day. I didn’t want to give him some memory he’d have to bury away. I didn’t want to be in this situation, so I got out of it during that phone call. I ended it right there. 

To be honest, I wish I met her under different circumstances. I really liked her. She got married too young, so did the first woman I met. None of them were emotionally, or intellectually, prepared to be in a normal, adult relationship. And for that matter, it was the same for those creepy cheating guys I worked with around the same time.

I didn’t seem to know anyone around my age who was married, and happy about it. Or faithful. All of this left an impression, and a few scars. 

I Never Thought It Would Happen to Me

I was working in a different office in 1984, and a new work buddy of mine came to stay with me for a long weekend of debauchery at the Jersey Shore. I think it might have been Memorial Day. 

The plan was to hit the bars along the shore, and chase girls. The bars were heaving, but we were having terrible luck with the ladies. 

At one point, we were in a dodgy bar in Long Branch, and it was getting late. I was making eye contact with a really pretty girl on the other side of the bar, and was getting ready to make my approach, when her biker boyfriend came up behind her. When she stood up, I saw that she was around 8 or 9 months pregnant. He had on a Pagan jacket, which means if he turned up a minute or two later, I might have ended up stomped by the whole gang. It was that kind of night. 

We struck out everywhere, but I was in a never-say-die mood, so we kept going. We bounced between Asbury, and Long Branch, we drove along the ocean. 

I spotted a hitchhiker. She had long blonde hair, and a cocktail in her hand. I fucking love New Jersey!

I pulled over, and asked her where she was going? She said, “Wherever you are, baby”, and she climbed into the back seat. We went back to my place.

She was all over me as soon as we got to my mine, and we went into the bedroom. My friend watched TV on the sofa. 

I never thought it would happen to me, but… This was my Penthouse Forum letter moment. Random hot sex, with a random hot chick.  Completely consensual, no hypocrisy, no infidelity, and it was completely meaningless. It felt like a win. 

When we were finished, we went back to the living room, and she asked my friend if he wanted a go. He declined. I didn’t say it was classy. Then I drove her home, it wasn’t too far. We didn’t even know each other’s names.

Hobroken

I moved to Hoboken in north Jersey in the summer of 1985, as I was attending New York University, after commuting from the shore for a semester. It is a mile-square city, just across the Hudson River from Manhattan, between the Lincoln, and Holland Tunnels. It was a great place to live. 

When I moved I also upgraded my computer again, to my third system. It was an Atari 1040ST, and it had a colour screen. Yes, the same Atari that makes video game consoles. They made decent desktops back in the day, too. And I had a 2400 baud modem for it. Still slow, but only half as slow as my previous 1200 baud model. 

I think they dropped their prices, because around this time, I properly subscribed to CompuServe (CIS), which was still the biggest online system. Later, I would sign up for a cheaper, competing system, called PeopleLink.

Back then, the open internet wasn’t easily available, all you could really use were private, paid-for closed systems, like CompuServe. There were others, but CIS was the big daddy.

I had two experiences early-on via CIS, that were wild, and I’m going to tell you about both of them. I was taken advantage of by a couple of older women. And I liked it. 

I got chatting to a woman in her late 30s from Brooklyn late one night, and things got intense quite quickly. 

She told me she was a big girl. Like really big, but she was also voraciously horny. She was into threesomes, she was into random hook ups too. And she hadn’t been with anyone in a while. She offered to jump in her car, drive across Manhattan, and through the Holland Tunnel, all the way to my front door. How could I refuse?

The agreement was this: I would be wearing nothing but a bathrobe when she arrived. As soon as she walked through my door, I was meant to not say a word, and just lead her into my bedroom, and then ravage her. I could handle that. 

She arrived, and I buzzed her in. She didn’t exaggerate, she was big, but she was also really sexy. She had thick, very long curly, dark hair, and glasses. Think sexy, and confident, like Lizzo, only white. 

I brought her into the bedroom, and gave her a passionate kiss. She said, “Oh, you’re good.” She was about to find out. 

Oral sex shouldn’t be a controversial subject, but like most things sexual, people are weird about it. I’m not. I dig oral sex, both ways. No shame, there’s nothing more enjoyable than taking a trip on the downtown train, or having someone return the favour. 

I gave my big, new friend more orgasms than she could count. 

She took good care of me too. Over and over. We went at it for hours, before she left. 

My experience with the big girl was wild. There were maybe two hours between our initial online contact, and our real world contact. It felt like the future!

Hey, I’m going to stop briefly to mention condoms. I haven’t brought them up until now, but I’ve always used them. 

AIDS was a big thing in the 80s, but before AIDS, there was another social disease that stayed with you for life that I was also trying to avoid. No, not herpes. Fatherhood. Just because I don’t spell it out, doesn’t mean I didn’t use condoms. I did. 

Do you remember the film, Logan’s Run? It’s a really cool, classic sci-fi film, that’s more than a bit ageist. Aside from the dystopian story, there are two things that stood out to me when I first saw it in the cinema as a kid in 1976.

The first is a silly one, but I’m going to share it anyway. There’s a scene in the film when actress Jenny Agutter changes her clothing, and you catch a glimpse of her side boob. It was the first nudity I’d ever seen on-screen. I can still remember it. I’m sure I’m not the only former teenage boy with this very vivid memory.

As a further aside, at one point I lived in the same neighbourhood of London as Ms. Agutter. This is more than 25 years ago, but I passed her on the street, more than once. I never spoke to her. It would have been weird if I did. 

The other element I recalled from the film, is a throwaway moment, and plot device. At one point the main character, played by the actor, Michael York, is looking for a sexual partner, and browsing the availability of people. 

The “browsing” was done via some device that facilitated random people, materialising inside his flat, via some sort of Star Trek type transporter device. 

The main character, “Logan”, checked out people of both genders as they popped into his flat. He would then push the “next” button, and someone new would physically appear. He did this until he found someone he liked. It was like swiping left, or right, only on real life people. And he “swiped right” Jenny Agutter. I think that’s how they meet in the film. I haven’t seen it in a long time. 

The device in the film reminded me of a much higher tech version of finding people on CIS, and BBS’s. In the future, they would just materialise in your bedroom, ready to rock and roll. 

The second woman I met was even older than the first. She said she was divorced, and 42 years old. That’s a 20-year difference, for you math fans out there. 

After we chatted on CIS, she came over the next evening, with a plan to spend the night, so she could drink. She was petite, and had a short, bob-style hair cut, light brown coloured. 

She’d eaten before she arrived, so we got down to the drinking, and smoking. She was a chain smoker, and I wasn’t a slouch in that department back then either, and we had a couple of joints too. 

She was sexually aggressive, and not shy about it. She wrapped herself around me, and started kissing me hard. She kept telling me, “more tongue, more tongue!” That made me feel a bit inexperienced. Compared to her, I definitely was a beginner. But what I lacked in experience, I more than made up for with enthusiasm. 

She warned me her period might be about to start, but said it wasn’t anything to worry about. What did I know about periods? Very little. 

We adjourned to the bedroom. We made angry monkey love all night, in every way you can imagine. And maybe a few ways you can’t. 

The next morning, we said our goodbyes, and I went to change the sheets. Her period had started all right, and it finished too. All of it finished overnight, after our marathon romp. My bed looked like a murder scene. Nobody warned me about this. I told you I didn’t know much about periods. 

PeopleLink

The other system I was using was called PeopleLink. It was strictly a platform for chatting, and it had more of air of respectability about it than the free-for-all that was CIS’s CB Simulator. The online community there was more respectful, and behaved more in line with real life norms.

I hadn’t lived in Hoboken that long, and didn’t really know anyone in the area, beyond the other students on my course. And most of them were scattered all over the tri-state area. So I went to a PeopleLink meet-up event in Manhattan. 

Some of the people I met at the event, I had been chatting to online, respectfully, for a while. That doesn’t mean there wasn’t flirting, there was, but it wasn’t as explicit, or in your face as it was on CIS. 

There were other people I met that night, that I hadn’t chatted to before, but would go onto chat with later on. One guy I met at that event, would go on to change my life.

In the end, I met four women that night, that I would see again. 

The first one had nothing to do with PeopleLink, but her sister was a user, and one of the organisers of the event. She was really pretty, and probably about 10 years older than me. That was more of an issue for her, I was cool with it. 

I was kinda cute back then, but I wouldn’t say I was particularly good looking. I had very long curly brown hair, and a short trimmed beard. I dressed in jeans, tees, and I would have been wearing a tweed blazer at an event like that. Plus a pair of cool boots. 

I don’t remember this woman’s name, but I remember liking her, a lot. We had a little intoxicated snog towards the very end of the PeopleLink event, and I got her number. 

We went out, twice. The first time was dinner, and drinks, and some more kissing. Our second date was a live taping of a network sitcom, at a big studio in Manhattan. The TV show was Kate and Allie, and the tickets were via someone I knew at NYU. 

After the recording, we went for a drink, and she dumped me. She couldn’t get over the age-difference thing. So it goes. 

I stayed in touch with the three other women I met that night. My online chats with one of them progressed to being somewhat hot, and heavy, and we arranged for her to come over, and spend the night with me. 

She was in her early 30s I think, and didn’t mind my age at all. She was looking for something serious, and while I can’t say that was my priority, I was open to the possibility if it happened. 

She confessed to me she was a virgin, but that didn’t mean we couldn’t do “stuff”. She was waiting for “the right one”, before going all the way. Fair enough. Whatever, I’m cool. 

We were not compatible. Sexually. I’m just going to leave it at that. The night was weird, and she wasn’t for me. 

On to number three. This one should have been a Penthouse Forum letter. The set up will certainly put you in mind of one. Or a porn film. Then it all goes really wrong. 

The third woman was a flight attendant, or stewardess, as we called them in the olden days. She lived in the midwest, but travelled all the time, and was frequently around NYC. She could also “deadhead” to Newark Airport, pretty much any time, so the long distance wasn’t an issue. And she could be based anywhere for her job, so if we really hit it off…

She arranged a deadhead flight to spend a weekend with me, and I was going to pick her up at the airport in my car. It was only a 20-30 minute drive from my place in Hoboken.

I was really looking forward to seeing her again. She was really cute, and more than a bit sexy. Who wouldn’t want a stewardess girlfriend? It would be like living in a sitcom. Imagine the high jinks!

I picked her up outside the terminal, I didn’t need to park up. She was extraordinarily drunk when I found her. She wasn’t quite to the point of falling down, but she was close. 

Turned out, the crew she flew with were friends of hers, and they  plied her with drinks during the entire trip for her ‘dirty weekend with her new man’. She gave me a really sloppy, lingering kiss. I told you it was like a sitcom.

We set off for my place, it wasn’t a long trip at all. At some point on the Pulaski Skyway, she asked me to pull over. There’s no shoulder on the Skyway. It’s an elevated highway, so there was no “pulling over”. 

Then she asked, “how do you roll down the (electric) window?”, but before I could answer, she threw up all over the inside of the passenger car door. 

Yep, she blew cookies. She chundered. You can choose your own euphemism, if you like.

We’d been together less than 20 minutes, and the mood was pretty much ruined. Though, on the plus side, it certainly sobered her up quickly. She couldn’t have been more apologetic if she tried. Or embarrassed. It was not the ideal way to start our long, sexy weekend.

When we got to my place, she had a shower, and brushed her teeth, while I attempted some damage control on the inside of my Toyota. 

When I got back upstairs, she was ready for more alcohol, and I could certainly use a drink at this point too. We shared a joint, and cuddled up on my sofa. And then she told me she was a virgin, but we could still do “stuff”.

At this point, virginity was becoming a running theme. I’ve run across so many women over the years, who prized their virginity, but still found ways to be sexually active. 

Call me old fashioned, that really always seemed to me like some serious hair splitting. It was real morality jiggery-pokery, and I struggled to understand how they made the math work in their heads.

We started fooling around on the sofa, and it didn’t take too long before we moved to the bedroom, to do more “stuff”. 

She had told me she liked whippets. They are little canisters of nitrous oxide, that you used to fill a balloon, and then you would inhale the gas, and get a very pleasant, and short-lived high. They’re fun in the bedroom, and for the most part fairly mild, and safe. You used to be able to get them in any head-shop in NYC, and they were cheap. 

And that’s how we spent the weekend. We drank, we smoked, we inhaled nitrous, and ordered takeaways. Hoboken had loads of great restaurants that delivered. I’m pretty sure we went into Manhattan and hung around too. And on the Sunday night, I brought her back to Newark Airport, and that was the last time I saw her. 

I had tried to clean the car as best I could, but it was still smelling funky on Sunday night. I had to get it professionally cleaned in the end. I never felt the same way about that car after that, and I ended up selling it around 6 months later to a guy I worked with at MTV. Sorry, Steve!

Now, for the final woman from the collection of four I gathered at that one PeopleLink meet-up. She was 15 years older than me, and we were together for around 6 months. I’m pretty sure I was her midlife crisis. 

I can remember her first name, but for the life of me, I can’t recall her surname.  I wish I could, I’d search for her online, and see what happened to her. She’d be 75 years old now. Yikes!

She had three kids, all daughters. The oldest was only a few years younger than me, and was at the time engaged to an aspiring airline pilot. She hated me. 

The youngest daughter was under 10. She could have been 6, she could have been 9, I don’t recall. She hated me, too.

The middle daughter was 16, or 17, and I’m fairly certain that she had a little crush on me. All of it was awkward. 

My older-woman GF worked in high finance, and had been involved with putting together the financing for some major Hollywood blockbusters. She drove a Maserati, and lived in a big house in a posh NJ town. She was often in the city. The first time I saw her after the event in Manhattan where we met was at my place. 

We had stayed in touch via PeopleLink, and we chatted occasionally. I wasn’t sure if she was into me, or if she was just friendly, until she suggested she drop by to visit me the next time she was in the neighbourhood. She ended up staying for a couple of days. Her intentions towards me were pretty clear by then. 

It was a real relationship. We even met each other’s parents. Technically, my time with her, counts as the third longest relationship I’ve ever had in my life. 

At the time, I was barely employed by MTV, and only attending some of my classes, before dropping out completely. I was hardly a prize boyfriend, but I don’t think anyone would have described me as her “toy boy” either. 

After around 6 months, she came to her senses, and dumped me. I didn’t take it well, but I didn’t put up a fight either. I never saw her again. 

If you think I was prolific with a computer, and modem, keep reading. In Part Three – All Good Things, I find even more ways to meet random strangers

(All words © Copyright 2023 – Doug – the northlondonhippy. All rights reserved)

All Good Things (1985-1997)

Written by Doug – the northlondonhippy

I never thought it would happen to me, again

I was always an equal opportunity shagger, especially when meeting pre-internet strangers for pre-arranged sexual liaisons. I met women of all shapes and sizes, and all races and religions too. 

I didn’t discriminate. It was always a bonus if someone was conventionally attractive, but never a big deal if someone wasn’t. What was more important to me, was the vibe. And honesty. I can have a good time with anyone nice. So could you, if you really wanted to. Just sayin’.

OK, let’s be really honest. I was easy. I was a good time. I was a party boy. I liked to drink, smoke, snort, and fuck. I’ll let you in on a little secret: All of that is really my religion. Halle-fucking-lujah, and A-fucking-men to that! And shouldn’t that make it all tax-deductible?

I had one more weird success from PeopleLink. This time, I can remember her screen name, but not her real name. She lived somewhere in western NJ, that was accessible by train. She suggested I travel by rail, so I could drink heavily, and stay the night. Sounded good to me. I got one of the last trains heading in that direction.

Like I said, I was an equal opportunity shagger, and I was always up for a good time, but for the first time ever, someone misrepresented their looks to me. This had never happened to me before, but when I met the young lady, she was nothing at all like her description. 

She picked me up at the train station, and I was really confused when she called out my name. Like, I had no idea who she was for a moment, until my brain put together that she was my hostess. 

She wasn’t ugly, but she was a bit big. That wasn’t the issue, the issue was she wasn’t honest about it. I would have still come. It also explained why she told me to take the train. There wasn’t a return train until the morning. I was stuck there. 

She had some coke, and a big bottle of Jack Daniels, so we got down to it. It didn’t take too long before we were in her bed, playing around.

And then, I never thought it would happen to me again, but… her roommate got home, and she came into the bedroom. She saw the lines on the bedside table next to a half drunk bottle of JD, and her roomy riding a stranger. 

She asked if she could join the party too? I guessed, just based on how easily this happened, that this wasn’t their first rodeo sharing a guy. Giddayap!

It was another Penthouse Forum letter experience that was most unexpected, and surprisingly good fun. 

We woke up entangled, and played around some more. Then the roommate drove me back to the station, and gave me the longest kiss good bye. 

Chatlines

There’s an indescribable rush that comes with meeting a complete stranger for the first time, knowing you’re going to fool around with them. It didn’t always have to be full sex, but it sometimes did. Every encounter was different. Every woman I met was different, that was part of the thrill. 

And it wasn’t that I avoided relationships. I met girls, and dated them conventionally, but these traditional attempts didn’t work for me. I was too immature, not marriage or family minded, and most girls would work that out quickly, and move on. 

Right off the top of my head, I can think of three woman who dated, and played around with me in a really traditional way, that went on to get engaged, or married to someone else fairly soon afterward. 

In one case, this particular young woman went from rolling around on top of me on my sofa one weekend, only to announcing her engagement to someone else a week, and a half later. She window shopped, and didn’t think I was a good long term bet. She was right. I wasn’t a potential ring on anyone’s finger. 

I debated whether or not to include this section, but as I’ve told this story, I’ve realised my telephone adventures are just as important as the online ones. I thought I might be developing a sex addiction, but what I was really developing was a stranger addiction.

When I moved to Hoboken, the cable TV system had a local community channel, with text adverts. As cable TV was a novelty to me, I checked out all the channels, including this one. And one night when I did, I saw an ad for a brand new service that was being trialled in the area. It said it was a “party on the telephone”, and it was super cheap, like 1 cent a minute, cheap. So I gave it a try. 

When I phoned the number, I think there was a brief recorded greeting, and then you were thrown into chaos. It was like a conference call, only there were maybe 8 people trying to shout across each other, mostly guys. 

Occasionally you’d hear a girl’s voice, and then it would go quiet, and someone would try to find out where in the area she was. And then someone nearby would shout out his number, and presumably, she would phone the guy, and then maybe they would hook up. 

It was like the online chatrooms, only more chaotic. It was also more accessible, because the bar for entry was lower. You didn’t need a computer and modem, just a normal telephone.

Everyone knows what chatlines are now, but in 1985, it was a brand new concept. There was even an article in the local paper about the chatline test. 

Hudson County was the test market, and if it was successful, they were going to roll these phone lines out all around the country. I think it said they were a huge success in Brazil, where they originated, but I wouldn’t swear to that part. Mainly, it gave me a new source of local strangers.

I had many encounters with random women of all sorts because I shouted my number at them on a chatline. I did it enough, that I can’t recall all of them. Loneliness is more common than anyone wants to believe. 

I used to drink a lot back then, and I’d come home late at night, drunk, bored, and horny. So I’d go online with my modem, and I would go on the chatline too. 

There were a few things I had in my favour. I had my own place, and I was always willing to pay for a taxi to my front door, and back. I also always had weed, booze, and condoms. 

One of the first girls I met, was also one of the kinkiest. To be honest, even though I was a bit more experienced at this point, she was still way more advanced than me.  

She said she liked it a bit rough, and wanted to be used. That’s never been my thing, I am far more into the passionate, and sensual side of sexual play. But I’m open minded, and willing to experiment, so I agreed. 

She said she was going to wear a short skirt and tee-shirt., with no undies, or bra. And she said she didn’t have any money at all, and I would have to pay for the cab as soon as she arrived. I was cool with all of it. 

It was around 2am, and she was only about 10 minutes away. I went outside, and waited for her to arrive. 

I know what you might be thinking, that this story is going to take a dark turn. You’re right, but it’s not in the way you think. I didn’t get jumped, or mugged. Nothing like that. You’ll see. 

The cab pulled up, I paid the guy, and he drove off. My new friend was seriously hot. She undersold herself in her description on the phone. I was legitimately surprised. We went upstairs.

I had the lights low, and MTV on TV, and we sat down on my sofa, for a drink, and smoke. She sat down right next to me, really close. 

Her skirt brushed upwards as she sat down. She didn’t pull it back down, and her thighs were exposed. 

We started kissing, and she aggressively took my hand, and rammed it between her own legs, hard. I got the idea, and we moved to the bedroom. 

I definitely wasn’t rough enough for her. Let’s call it what it is: rape play. It’s a big turn off for me. She wanted it rougher than I was comfortable with, by country mile. We had some fun anyway, but I could tell it wasn’t what either one of us really wanted.

As she was getting dressed, she asked me to call her a taxi. Then she casually mentioned that she needed to get back, because she’d left her young children sleeping alone in her apartment. All three of them, and all under 5 years old. 

I felt myself take a sharp intake of breath. Wait, what?

She said they’d be fine, and that she’d done it before. and they don’t ever wake up. I was not cool with this, so I phoned for the cab, and told them we needed it as soon as possible. 

Yes, if I knew she was leaving her kids home alone, I wouldn’t have played this game with her. I’m not a monster. I could imagine seeing a story on the news about a tragic, fatal house fire, started because some young children were left alone in the middle of the night. It freaked me out. 

A couple of nights later, my phone rang, and when I picked it up, it was a voice I didn’t recognise, asking for me by name. She said she was a friend of rough sex mommy, and that’s how she got my number. She said her friend told her she would really like me, and that I was her type. Could she drop by?

What do you think? Of course she could. 

I had a quick shower, and didn’t bother getting fully dressed. Her friend arrived, and she was surprisingly hot, too. 

Think about it, hot girls are usually friends with other hot girls. Why hadn’t that occurred to me? Simple, because I was never that bothered. Like I said, good looks were only ever just a bonus. You can have fun with anyone. Well, I could anyway. 

She was a bit drunk when she arrived, and we literally just got down to it. We were far more compatible, and I had a more enjoyable time than I did with rough sex mommy. I didn’t have to pay for this one’s taxis either, but at the end of our time together, she did ask me to phone for one, and I did. 

It was only after she left, I realised I didn’t get her number. I would have been up for partying with her again, but she never called. 

One last memory, yet another virgin, this one in her mid twenties. We met twice, both times in public. 

The first time, we went to the cinema, and she was aggressively horny. She was all over me, like a second skin. She told me she would only have sex if she was in love with someone. 

On our second date, which was a drink, that was meant to be followed by a trip back to my place, she told me she loved me. She wanted me to tell her I loved her too, so we could have sex. 

I’m not sure if it mattered to her if I really did love her, just as long as I said the words, as she was that desperate for sex. But I didn’t say it, I wasn’t going to pretend to love someone, just to get laid. I was going to find someone else to party with instead. And she should have been grateful for that, but she wasn’t, and she left in a snit.

I could go on like this for pages, but I think it would be tedious, so I will just summarise. There were at least 6 more women that I met from the chatline that I can remember off the top of my head, and probably even more that I can’t. I was prolific, and I struggle to recall them all. 

At some point I got bored with it. I eventually started working full time, and socialising with colleagues, and my online, and telephone adventures became fewer, and further between. 

I probably conventionally dated more during this following period. I think I was getting bored with the randomness of it all. I was starting to think if someone cool came along, I’d be willing to consider a relationship. Maybe I was finally maturing emotionally?

Long story short, I did meet someone, and we were together for over 2 years. It was my second longest relationship, and I had met her at a wedding. It took me out of the game.

London

The girl I had the relationship with for a couple of years was British. I moved to London, in part to be with her, but also because a transfer through my job at the time became available. She is only a part of why I moved here in 1991. 

When she dumped me in late 1992. I was in a foreign city, I was alone, with only a few friends, and things at my job were getting rough. I turned back to sex, and strangers.

The first place I found random hook-ups, was a weekly classified listings magazine, called “Loot” that had personal ads. I met a few people that way, including the ex-wife of a musician from a major British classic rock band. I dated, and slept with her for a couple of months. She was into non-monogamy, but she liked to talk about it too much. What she got up to when we weren’t together wasn’t my concern. I wasn’t jealous, it just didn’t turn me on. 

In that initial period after my big break-up, my meetings from Loot helped build my confidence, and they sustained me sexually. They helped me meet people outside of my social circle too. 

Some were random hook-ups, other meetings were more like conventional dates, and some were a combination of the two.

Chatlines existed in London the 90s, but were for the most part were advertised on commercial TV late at night, and stupidly expensive. Then one launched in London in the mid 90s, that I found via an advert in TimeOut magazine. It was dirt cheap, and run on a local number. Late one night when I was drunk, I gave it a try.

This new, cheap chatline was different from the chaotic one I used back in New Jersey. This was a one-on one-chat line, and you were connected to only one person at a time. Either one of you could press a key, to end the connection and move on to the next person, or you could keep talking. 

At the start of the call, you would press 1 if you were male, or 2 if you were female. That way the system knew who to pair with who. 

Occasionally, you would be connected to a guy, trying his luck. No judgement, but there are separate lines for gay, and bi guys. These guys had a specific kink for straight guys. Again, no shame, and clearly they must have had some luck, or they wouldn’t be there. You just press a key, and move on. 

The main part of the game on this system seemed to be geographical suitability. That was especially true if you were looking for a quick meeting on the spot, but less so if you were arranging something for a future date. I was living fairly centrally at the time. 

I had a lot of luck on this system. Again, more than I can ever remember. I had late night visitors, and I had normal dates from it too. I took it as it came, I had a great time.

Here’s a fun one. At one point I was unsuccessfully pursuing the flatmate of a colleague of mine. She wanted to be “just friends”. It was annoying, because I really liked her. We used to spend a lot of time together. It was like being back in high school. 

My not-girlfriend constantly gave me mixed signals though, whenever we were alone. She was friendly, and flirty, but she made it clear she wasn’t attracted to me, and didn’t want to be my girlfriend. I never pressured her for sex, but she knew I was into her. 

I met a girl from the phone line, and we had a normal date, that turned into a sleep over at my place. She was really, really nice, and it turned out she worked in the same industry as my not-girlfriend. And randomly, I worked out that they knew each other, and had a business meeting together the previous week. 

When I next saw my not-girlfriend, I asked her if she knew my new telephone friend. I was right, she did. When my not-girlfriend asked how I knew her, I told her I was dating her, I thought my not-girlfriend was going to explode. For someone that said they weren’t attracted to me, and didn’t want to be my girlfriend, she sure seemed jealous. Go figure. 

I mostly wasn’t online during this period in my life. I went a few years without a computer. I wouldn’t get one again until the late 90s, when the internet really started to take off. 

The phone line was fun, and I used it for a couple of years. I only stopped, because I met my current partner, conventionally. We’ve been together for 26 years, and we’re still going strong. 

When I met Mrs. Hippy, I was seeing three different girls I met from the phone line, all non-exclusively. Within a week of meeting the future Mrs. H, I ended things with all of them. All were non-exclusive, and on-going for various lengths of time. 

One of them was sort of my girlfriend for a bit, and then sort of not my girlfriend. She was a good time, in the same way I was. She liked to party hard. 

Little, by little, it felt like more of her stuff was ending up at my place after each visit. First it was a toothbrush, and then some undies. Then before I knew it, a week’s worth of work clothes. It was stealthy. 

She told me she lived with her ex-boyfriend, but couldn’t move out because they owned their flat together, and the market crash meant they couldn’t sell yet. He had a somewhat different view of their relationship, and when I found that out, I ended it. Thing is, I found out the hard way, by running into him. Not literally, but close enough.

Six months later, she phoned me late one night when I was drunk, and horny. She was wasted too. She missed me. We had really good sex. I missed her too. She visited. We hooked up on and off after that.

The other two were far less involved, and all just sex only. One was a motorcycle courier, and she used to turn up at my place during the day if she was in the area in her leathers, like Catwoman.

The other was a kinky Norwegian nanny, who pushed for things I wasn’t willing to do, like choking her. Sorry, not for me. 

It was easy to end it with all three of them. And my decision has stood the test of time. 

Between 1983 and 1997, I had a lot of wild, crazy, booze fuelled fun. That’s about 14 years. I more than got it all out of my system. I’ve now spent nearly double that time in a monogamous relationship. I just had to find the right woman, and I did. I can’t help it if the audition process was extensive, and unduly time consuming. 

I lacked confidence, I had low self esteem, and I used to drink heavily. I also really liked recreational sex. It’s no surprise I explored, and enjoyed whatever fun I could find. I’m not ashamed of any of it. I wasn’t grown up enough for a real relationship until I was in my thirties. Until then, I was just a good time. 

I wish people weren’t so uptight about sex. It seems like things have slid backwards a bit in society, when it comes to sexual freedom now, compared to the 70s, 80s, and 90s. And it shouldn’t be that way. 

There are so many more avenues to meet people now, than there were back then. And today, there is far less stigma. Everyone is on Tinder, or knows someone who is on Tinder, or one of the many other dating apps. 

The problem seems to be that it isn’t as easy to genuinely connect with anyone. Instead of making meeting up with friendly, sexy strangers more likely, it’s somehow pushed people further apart. It doesn’t make sense. 

It feels like it was easier, back in my day. Everyone was drunk, and horny, and willing to take risks just to have a good time. 

My days of pursuing recreational sex with strangers are long over, but that doesn’t mean the rest of you can’t keep that flame burning. 

There should be no shame in having a good time, as often as possible. So, what are you waiting for? Get out there! Forty years from now, you will still have the memories. It might even make for a good story.

And if I can leave you with one final thought from the last 40 or so years of my sex and love life, it’s this: Good sex is about a lot more than just physical attraction. And real, genuine, lasting love is about more than just sex. 

The End

But wait, there’s more! 

I have a bonus, extra story to share with you. You will really want to read this one. I should warn you now, that it will leave you with one big question, but in Part Four – I’ll Never Tell.

(All words © Copyright 2023 – Doug – the northlondonhippy. All rights reserved)