I read Fear of Flying when I was about 13. It was one of those books my 60s liberated parents had on the bookshelf that we were supposed to know was not for us to read yet. I don’t remember being particularly impressed. But by then I had worked my way through a whole range of erotic literature - Milan Kundera, Simone de Beauvoir, Anais Nin and Arthur Miller to name a few. Erica’s offering just seemed like American trash to me. But I did like the phrase ‘zipless fuck’ and the idea that perhaps women could disassociate sex with emotion (incidentally – I haven’t read the book since, so if I am misquoting please excuse me).
I reached something of a life crisis when I was about 35. Both my parents had been seriously ill, my relationship had ended in tears (again) and I was up to my ears in being a corporate career girl. My dad died after 6 months in a coma and a further 3 months in a high dependency unit. My board level boss had little sympathy with the depressed state that left me in and told me to pull my corporate socks up or get out. I chose to leave.
And then what?
Well, I was a bit bored and not very motivated by the process of looking for more work, so I decided to liven things up a bit. I didn’t want a ‘relationship’, but I ached for something physical, carnal and forbidden. I’d used small ads in conventional publications before. This time I found a magazine that my dad had often left lying around and decided that I might just try and see what happened.
‘Looking for a long hard fuck – single woman aged 35 needs attention’
This was in the early days of the internet and well before the digital camera. So, the ad was just a text box in the magazine. It got around 200 replies to my voice box. Desperate sounding men, cool sounding men, openly married men. All shapes and sizes. I had no idea. Really.
The enlightening thing at this stage for me was how many men were keen to meet a woman to fuck, without seeing her in advance, without the protocol of dating, without any kind of knowledge of who she was and where she had been. So I set myself a little challenge. A personal attempt at the zipless fuck. The idea was that for a 14 day period I would meet at least 2 a day. If I liked them I would fuck them. If not I would send them home. I was aroused and excited by the idea.
I started to phone some of them back. After working hard to convince them that I was not a hooker and that I didn’t want paying, I started to explore their fantasies – if they had them. And I made dates to meet. Two or three dates a day since I wasn’t working. Generally I met somewhere public but not too far from my flat. Sometimes, particularly with those who told me they were married, I simply invited them to the flat for coffee. I figured the married ones would be easy to get rid of and unlikely to become stalkers. One of the things I wanted was to be fucked by someone after someone else had been there first, unwashed and unclean. I wanted to see if it was noticed.
Memorable moments? Yes, there were a few, where the man had the imagination to ask for something different. Wearing a very short black chiffon skirt, stockings, suspenders and no knickers to meet for morning coffee in South Molton street was one. More for the experience of dressing for him, watching the workmen looking shocked when my skirt caught the wind and The man who I thought was a recruitment consultant who met me for drinks at a nice London hotel. His initial response was ‘I think I can run to a hotel room for the night if we feel like it and I liked his hesitancy, which was unusual. When he asked if I'd like to go for dinner we went for a pizza at my suggestion, to which he said ‘most girls would ask for more’ before going back to my flat for a full night of sex. That was one of the few meetings that resulted in a follow up - in this case a weekend in New York (he turned out to be a wealthy investment banker). The exquisitely well mannered married Frenchman who arrived, had coffee, undressed and then kissed me and couldn’t go through with it. But, by the end of the fortnight it was mundane and grubby.
It’s not something I’d repeat. It was enlightening and depressing at the same time. I stayed in touch with two or three of the men I met. I even fell in love with one briefly. It was a bitter experience but one I am glad I was foolish enough to try. From it I learnt that for me at least, satisfying sex is inextricably linked with an emotional connection. That the physical act can have no emotion at all attached and doesn’t in itself create a bond. And, that there is an excitement in meeting and fucking a stranger.
Finally, if it was noticed, it wasn’t mentioned.
I reached something of a life crisis when I was about 35. Both my parents had been seriously ill, my relationship had ended in tears (again) and I was up to my ears in being a corporate career girl. My dad died after 6 months in a coma and a further 3 months in a high dependency unit. My board level boss had little sympathy with the depressed state that left me in and told me to pull my corporate socks up or get out. I chose to leave.
And then what?
Well, I was a bit bored and not very motivated by the process of looking for more work, so I decided to liven things up a bit. I didn’t want a ‘relationship’, but I ached for something physical, carnal and forbidden. I’d used small ads in conventional publications before. This time I found a magazine that my dad had often left lying around and decided that I might just try and see what happened.
‘Looking for a long hard fuck – single woman aged 35 needs attention’
This was in the early days of the internet and well before the digital camera. So, the ad was just a text box in the magazine. It got around 200 replies to my voice box. Desperate sounding men, cool sounding men, openly married men. All shapes and sizes. I had no idea. Really.
The enlightening thing at this stage for me was how many men were keen to meet a woman to fuck, without seeing her in advance, without the protocol of dating, without any kind of knowledge of who she was and where she had been. So I set myself a little challenge. A personal attempt at the zipless fuck. The idea was that for a 14 day period I would meet at least 2 a day. If I liked them I would fuck them. If not I would send them home. I was aroused and excited by the idea.
I started to phone some of them back. After working hard to convince them that I was not a hooker and that I didn’t want paying, I started to explore their fantasies – if they had them. And I made dates to meet. Two or three dates a day since I wasn’t working. Generally I met somewhere public but not too far from my flat. Sometimes, particularly with those who told me they were married, I simply invited them to the flat for coffee. I figured the married ones would be easy to get rid of and unlikely to become stalkers. One of the things I wanted was to be fucked by someone after someone else had been there first, unwashed and unclean. I wanted to see if it was noticed.
Memorable moments? Yes, there were a few, where the man had the imagination to ask for something different. Wearing a very short black chiffon skirt, stockings, suspenders and no knickers to meet for morning coffee in South Molton street was one. More for the experience of dressing for him, watching the workmen looking shocked when my skirt caught the wind and The man who I thought was a recruitment consultant who met me for drinks at a nice London hotel. His initial response was ‘I think I can run to a hotel room for the night if we feel like it and I liked his hesitancy, which was unusual. When he asked if I'd like to go for dinner we went for a pizza at my suggestion, to which he said ‘most girls would ask for more’ before going back to my flat for a full night of sex. That was one of the few meetings that resulted in a follow up - in this case a weekend in New York (he turned out to be a wealthy investment banker). The exquisitely well mannered married Frenchman who arrived, had coffee, undressed and then kissed me and couldn’t go through with it. But, by the end of the fortnight it was mundane and grubby.
It’s not something I’d repeat. It was enlightening and depressing at the same time. I stayed in touch with two or three of the men I met. I even fell in love with one briefly. It was a bitter experience but one I am glad I was foolish enough to try. From it I learnt that for me at least, satisfying sex is inextricably linked with an emotional connection. That the physical act can have no emotion at all attached and doesn’t in itself create a bond. And, that there is an excitement in meeting and fucking a stranger.
Finally, if it was noticed, it wasn’t mentioned.
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