Somewhere, carefully hidden, I’ve got a small notebook where I have written down the names of all the men I’ve ever slept with, in the order I slept with them. There’s a little coded dot beside each name for “serious relationship”, “someone I really liked but didn’t last long”, or “one-night stand”. When I married, it seemed important to put that book out of reach, although I never felt I should destroy it. In any case, when I slipped on the magic gold band I seemed to become invisible, and it seemed unlikely I would be making any new additions to the list. There were just a couple of dozen names, but, with the notebook now lost, I find I’m no longer sure of the precise order in which they followed each other.
That would be a quote from “Desperately seeking satisfaction; A 44-year-old woman writes about a lifetime of sexual highs and lows,” which is a book review of sorts.
I was originally inclined to dismiss this article in The Times (UK) as simply another in a long line of tacky tell-all confessions… from yet another woman complaining about the insensitivity and boorishness we all know to be inherent in men, as the received wisdom has it. In a way it is all that and a bag o’ chips, yet in another way it’s not…it’s fascinating. To me, anyway. YMMV.
At the very least you have to marvel about something like this appearing in (arguably) the UK’s flagship paper.
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