Someone told me recently that I should write more clickbaity headlines, so there you go. I’ve dusted off one of my most controversial sex opinions, donned the mantle of a Daily Mail journalist, and now I’m going to try and defend the fact that I really fucking hate morning sex.
I AM TIRED, OK? The chances are I was up late last night drinking wine and trying to tempt you into having a go on my tits. If I was successful I was up even later lying in a fug of sated sexual glee as I rubbed the last droplets of your drying spunk into my nipples.
If you wake me up when the Today programme is on I am liable to growl like a startled bulldog.
Look: it’s 7 in the morning. Most people are stumbling bleary-eyed to the shower, and I am about to do the same. My hair’s all crappy, my mouth feels like someone’s hoovered it during the night, and my tits are still covered in dried spunk from yesterday.
I LOVE that thing some guys do, where they snuggle up first thing in the morning all cosy and warm at my back. The bit where they nudge a morning erection into the crack of my arse, and poke softly against me as if the sensation itself is all the satisfaction they need. I DO NOT LOVE the bit where they tweak my nipples and/or bite my neck as if to say “how about we make sweet sweet love while panicking about whether the alarm’s about to go off?”
Morning sex at the weekend?
I know what you’re thinking – you’re thinking ‘OK, but how about morning sex when it’s the weekend?’ to which my answer is ‘if it’s the weekend, why the shitting arse are you awake in the morning?’ You might be one of these go-getting adventurers who spends their weekends sipping coffee in cafés and ordering off something called the ‘breakfast’ menu, but we’re not all superhuman.
Here’s the thing: I do actually get up before midday on Saturdays. I get up at about 10, have a shower, drink coffee, and sit down to get some work done (because I am exactly as rock and roll as my Mother raised me to be). But were I to be interrupted partway through this routine by a gentleman with an insistent libido and no respect for the laws of the permanently hungover, I would hurl lukewarm coffee in his face and smother him with a tray of croissants.
Don’t go thinking I’m a horrible sexual killjoy, though – I bloody LOVE evening sex. I love lunchtime sex. I love pre-pub sex. I love during-the-pub-sex-in-the-pub-toilets. I love the sex you have when the Ocado delivery is due, and you challenge yourselves to a quick five-minuter just to see if you can make it before the doorbell goes. I love long, slow shags. I love shags that happen in the middle of the night, or snatched moments of mutual masturbation.
I might miss out on morning sex, but in return I get something that I enjoy far more: a moment of peace and quiet when I can be on my own, while a hot guy snores away in my bed, ready and waiting for me to wake him up with a Sunday blowjob.
I genuinely can’t remember the last time I had sex in the morning before work. The very thought of it makes me shiver and reach for the ‘snooze’ button. If I were being true to my promise to be Daily-Mail-esque and controversial, I’d tell you that if you like morning sex then you’re sick and wrong and probably inadvertently responsible for rising house prices. But I won’t, because there’s only so obnoxious I can pretend to be before I make myself vomit. What I will say, though, is that if you’re a fan of morning sex even at the weekend – the kind where you both wake up at the same time and start the day with some mutual genital rubbing, you miss out on something that I find particularly spectacular…
That delicious point at which, after I’ve woken, showered, dressed, coffeed and pottered around the house, I get to tiptoe back into the bedroom, take off all the clothes I’ve so carefully put on, and get back into the bed that someone else has kept warm for me. When he’s partly asleep and partly awake, and he reaches out to grab me as I slip between the sheets. His cock twitches awake and his hands slide all over my freshly-showered skin, and I get a sleepy afternoon shag with no fear of the alarm clock.