It’s so Cheap to get Hot ‘N’ Sweaty with a Stranger

Intro: this is the second guest post from the lovely Jules. Her previous post saw my blog rank for some choice adult-themed terms.

Clearly amused by this, her latest effort seems to be focussed on ranking for further terms in a similar vein.

Enjoy xxx

I’ve always been a bit naïve.

You know - the sort of girl who longs for those glorious by-gone days when you could send your boyfriend for a haircut and he’d come back with ‘something for the weekend’.

Rather than you, as an emancipated, oh-so-privileged female being forced to stop in that particular aisle of Boots, in full, naked view of Joe Public and his dog, before taking the long, hellish walk of shame to the counter where the check out lad with acne pocks will invariably smirk in a knowing way.

I’m that sort of girl.

And as such, I always thought that it would be very expensive to get up all close and personal with a stranger. I mean that would set you back at least £100 a night, right? (depending on just how hot and sweaty you wanted to get, of course) Well, apparently not.

You see I’ve started a new job.

And I’ve discovered that for a mere, trifling £190 a month - that’s right, a mere £6.24 per day if you will! - I can get as close and personal as I like, as many times as I like, with as many different, wild and whacky people as I like.

A stranger can touch me in places that it would ordinarily take 5 dates to get to!

And what’s more, there’s no embarrassing chit-chat, no awkward silences. Hell! If anything, it seems rude to talk when your bodies are pressed together so intimately that you can tell, while you definitely don’t know his - or her - name, you know he/she had marmite toast for breakfast and didn’t quite manage a shower…

My eyes have been well and truly opened, and I would like to give special thanks to the people who have made this possible; the people who have casually stomped all over my clearly archaic boundaries and personal comfort zones; and who kindly charge me just £200 a month for the privilege. So here goes…

Thank you South West trains!

God bless you London Transport!

Long may you overfill your carriages and bypass my misplaced longing for some kind of personal sense of dignity.