Winter Shagathon

Now there’s a headline you don’t see often enough….

The louches have just reinforced my distinct lack of Britishness. Given that I don’t run, cycle or swim across locomotive distances (hurdling the pavement for the bus is running and marathons during times of peace are pointless; I have an inner ear disequilibrium issue that causes unrestrained wobbling and I can’t help it if my genetic disposition inclines me towards viewing pools as an accessory), I’m often left bereft in summer when all good English send out coercive emails bragging about the millions of miles they will conquer in order to raise thousands for their favourite charity, and now, it seems the menfolk are ticking it over to the Fall!

No more. This winter, I shall gird my loins and thrust myself into the thick of it all….. An endeavour of this magnitude requires strategic planning, unwavering determination, stringent training and some capital investment. Steely eyed, I survey the hardware strewn over the bed….rabbit, dildo, hot pink restraints, finger vibe, mask, ankle cuffs, other vibe, free gift vibe, cock ring, condoms. This might a fortuitous time to get the door swing. Next, the software….silk, lace, leather, satin, chiffon; garters, teddies, stockings, fuck me heels, crotchless, flyaway…..

Hmmmm, I ponder whether scoring at a shagathon mimics ice skating – points for artistic and technical merit. This will require some more research. I deem myself suitable kitted out, and survey the course, unfazed by the disadvantage rental accommodation provides. Bedroom. Hopelessly noisy bed. Excellent for bondage. Check. Entrance lobby/passage. Take paintings off the wall. Check. Bathroom. Ineffectual and feeble shower. Wide expanse of mirror. Check. Living room. Sturdy sofas. Weak dining set. Check. Kitchen. Minuscule. Good counter height. Check. Building lift. Slow and noisy. Endless reflections. Check. Time to move onto the arduous training regime that musts follows.

Jeeves, my Rolodex please……