Groped
I went to the theatre at the weekend, a wonderful 90 minute show that I thoroughly enjoyed for the first 60, but had the last 30 minutes ruined by my body being fondled.
What looked like a new relationship was sitting in front of me. The girl spent the last half hour with her arm behind the back of her chair, sliding her fingers through her beau’s mullet. And getting quite a bit of my knee with her elbow into the bargain.
Don’t get me wrong, I appreciated the sentiment. But frankly, unless I am getting involved in some shared spooning - I would sooner have the legroom.
I did think about making a comment, but it’s not something you can quickly explain in the middle of a play. Aside from that in the dark they looked a bit aggressive, and I was out-numbered 2 to 1.
So I just sat there motionless, a very obliging and polite gropee. Grimly coming to terms with that being my notable sexual encounter of the week.
It did cross my mind that this was a come on? Maybe I walked away from an equally undesirable yet quite complimentary invitation. Not being a swinger I don’t know the ‘tells’, I always thought it was all middle England keys in a fruit bowl caper. Not that i have a car, the keys to one, a fruit bowl, or a fellow swinger to offer in return. Making my attendance at such a party somewhat less than fair trade.
But it could be that it goes on everywhere. Possibly I have the kind of look of a man who swings. I doubt that. I’m not even sure what ‘swings’ means. I assume it means having sex with someone who under normal circumstances you wouldn’t look at twice.
So, I tucked my knees in, got excruciating cramp and left non-the-wiser of the new-age sexual depravity that quite clearly goes on at the National Theatre.
