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Play and lay October 11, 2006

Posted by grhomeboy in MetroSexual.
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Being single isn’t as tough as some people make it out to be.

For the 15million singles living in Britain, there are a wealth of resources available, dating websites, coaching sessions and singles’ nights in pubs and clubs up and down the country.

But what if we don’t want love? What if all we’re after is a brief fling or a nocturnal playmate? Where do we go to find like-minded hedonists with no wish for commitment? The answer is simple: NSA. ‘No strings attached’.

I decide to turn to the Internet to find some NSA f**k buddies.

I post messages on forums, join a selection of adult-orientated dating websites and enter a world of explicit NSA threads (www.adultfriendfinder.co and Gumtree’s casual relationship section, to name but a few).

Brief encounter
Among the replies I receive are Jasmine, a Chinese student with a shaved kittykat looking for a strong man; Lila, a curvy Colombian looking for filthy fun; and 22-year-old ‘sweet angel’ looking for a devil.

I decide to ring Rachel, 34, from Bethnal Green, London, who wants a man who enjoys oral and can breathe through his ears. We set a date for the next day.

As Rachel arrives, I double take. She is tall, blonde and a lawyer, clearly someone who should have no trouble finding a partner.

Before long, she utters the words ‘Let’s do this’ and I am led to a plush top-floor apartment and into the bedroom for a wild session of carnal gymnastics.

Soon I am recovering on the bed, feeling very pleased with myself, when it becomes obvious that my role has yet to be fulfilled.

I am promptly dragged back into the fray and ordered to reach into the bedside cabinet for ‘something’.

I pull open a drawer and my heart stops. It’s full to the brim with condoms and Ann Summers’ winter toy collection and Rachel intends to use them, on me. I roll on to my back and feign that age-old male tradition: post-coital sleep.

I wake early and flee the scene.

The next day, I am sat in front of my computer, scanning my e-mails for a little less adventure and hit upon Carla, 24, from Kent, recently out of a long-term relationship. She is looking for someone to ‘party with’.

We meet that evening and spend two hours drinking, chatting and flirting. Carla is petite with an endearing mischievous streak. It’s looking good. I’m starting to feel rather pleased with myself (again) when she goes to the toilet.

Five minutes pass, then ten. I wander around the club and as I turn the corner, I stop dead. My NSA date is locked in a passionate clench with a strapping, 6ft Seal look-alike. The irony of the situation is not lost on me, and once again, I flee the scene.

Mission accomplished
Over the next week, I have one more casual encounter and, at last, it’s successful. Jane, 28, works in marketing and is on the manageable side of nymphomania.

She spoils me rotten all evening, the sex is good and I’m sent home the next morning with a fry-up inside me. To date, we are still in contact.

Prior to my NSA experiment, I worried about my friends’ reaction to my mission.

Would I be vilified for my deviant sexual behaviour or celebrated for my efforts at sexual liberation? The truth is neither.

NSA, casual encounters, or whatever the fashionistas are calling it, may suit the thick-skinned and the adventurous denizens of Britain this month, but after two weeks in the NSA minefield, I am about ready for some good old-fashioned commitment.

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