In defence of one-night stands

Unlike the wanton women you so often see portrayed in TV and film these days, I am not a size 0 socialite with my own apartment living it up in New York City, but this doesn’t stop me acting like one. I imagine pursuing sexual satiety in the Big Apple is very different to my VK-fuelled reality, but I work with what I’ve got. When life gives you lemons, stick ‘em in various orifices to mask your deep-seated emotional unfulfillment, that’s what I say.

It’s 2016 and my attitude towards sex has definitely won me more friends than enemies, but why anyone would want to have one-night stands with such frequency is still baffling to many. So, what is so great about having meaningless sex with strangers?

Firstly, self-validation. Sure, it’s one thing for bae to call you beautiful a million times a day, but it’s something else to hear it from some cute guy you’ve only known twenty minutes. There’s a whole plethora of things which just sound so much better from the mouths of attractive strangers: “hot” gets pretty yawn-worthy in a relationship – bitch we’ve been at it for a year, you better think I’m hot – but whispered in my ear in the middle of a crowded dancefloor it’s god damn Sonnet 18.

Then there’s the mystery of it all: in a dark club, with beer goggles in full force after three(+) Long Island iced teas, who knows whose crotch I’m grinding on! It’s not like you can tell what someone looks like when they’ve got their tongue down your throat, either. Is it a boy? Is it a girl? The fuck if I know. Is it a bird? Is it a plane? are equally valid questions.

You’re to blame for this

Second, free drinks. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not some kind of vodka tonic prostitute – there’s a 95 per cent chance I would have slept with that guy anyway – but as long as the patriarchy is in full force you can be damn sure I’m gonna reap the benefits. Hey, he offered.

But what’s even better than free drinks? Free food. Buy me a kebab or a meatball marinara and take your drunk 7 ass to an 11 (in the eyes of my drunk 7/8 ass – we’ll both be a 5 in the morning). Too often nights out end with either food or sex, but why do we put ourselves in such an excruciating dilemma when the solution is so simple: get food with your ONS.

Buy me a Dominos and earn yourself ten more minutes of head

Then there’s the sex itself. This can be very, very good, or very, very bad. Either way, you’ll get a story out of it, and this is what gets me off more than any sexual act performed that night. Maybe he won’t have a condom so he’ll text his housemate to get them to slide one under the door. Maybe it’s your flatmate. Maybe they’ll try and Netflix-and-chill you with Inglourious Basterds and suddenly Hitler’s watching you get rammed. Maybe their housemate will jump out of the wardrobe halfway through. Maybe you’ll be too drunk to remember you’re on your period and wake up the next day in what looks like Dexter’s kill room. Maybe you’ll faint in their bathroom. Maybe it’s your other flatmate. Maybe you’ll even have a threesome.

Well we gotta do something whilst it’s buffering

But the best part of it all? You can just keep going.

You’re single. You’re not putting anyone’s feelings on the line. There’s no limit to the number of dicks you can sit on or how many butts you can rub against: the world is your giant, fuckable oyster.­­