I was thinking last night, whilst in a sex-on-premises venue, how having sex with a stranger is a bit like watching a stranger make a sandwich at a make-your-own-sandwich-on-premises venue. In that no two people make a sandwich that is exactly the same.
There was the guy who didn't want to kiss but instead made repeated tiny but innocuous bites. Or the guy who, when I asked if he wanted to kiss, said to me "How's this for a kiss" before giving me a kiss that was full of energy but no passion. Or the guy who wanted to kiss and kissed rather well but tasted too strongly of an ashtray. (I don't mind a bit of smoked tongue, but not too freshly smoked.)
I felt this strange inclination last night to flee, flee, flee from the sex-on-premises venue. I persisted, however, for my own good. Until I find my husband (I am now emotionally ready to exchange random anonymous sex for security, bickering and subtle mind-games) - I need to be regularly reminded that sex is essentially a behavioural rather than a visual pastime.