Sexuality and Maturity
She approached me and made a somewhat improper suggestion concerning the peach and marmoset yogurt in her hand. Of course, those of us who have been around for a while tend to understand these things a little better than the younger, less experienced, person. Consequently, I was not as perturbed by the experience as I would have been were I still a callow unbearded youth.
Therefore, when she made the suggestion, I did not flee for the hills, or more likely these days, machine a post on a social network, with a selfie of me clutching my favourite yoghurt-eating spoon. Instead, I invited her around to my place. There I could offer her the choice of several yogurt spoons and a comfortable place to recline as the time of full on yoghurt-based intimacy drew us ever closer to each other.
Of course, once the lights dimmed, I put on the suitable music. Then I made my way back to where she was now reclining in a provocative manner with the yoghurt poised and ready for our mutual spooning. I remembered the yoghurt restraints left her by a previous lady of my acquaintance. So I hurried off across the now darkened room to the sex utensil drawer in the sideboard, and, of course, fell over the cat.
I don���t know if you���ve ever tried cleaning yogurt off a cat while underdressed and in a darkened room.
Well, if there is a better way of killing the aura of romance, incipient heightened sexual adventure and experimentation, then I can���t think of a one. That includes, by the way, the incident with the policewoman, the traffic bollard and the fairy lights last January.
Anyway, as I said, once you get to a more mature cast of mind, such things are less shocking or outrageous than they would appear to one of younger years. However, she was not overly impressed by my cool and laid back attitude to the tragic loss of the majority of the yoghurt. Nor was the very annoyed cat that left only the hollow echo of a rattling cat flap as it fled the scene. No doubt to post a picture of itself and the indignity it had suffered on one of those websites entirely devoted to the suffering and indignities�� the human race pour down upon the noble feline race.
Anyway, she pooh-poohed my suggestion of replacing the yoghurt with crumpets, which were the only erotic foodstuff I had left in the house at the time, apart from the kiwi fruit, of course. As she so haughtily said as she shrugged on her coat in a huff and left. ���Kiwi fruit and crumpets? What kind of girl do you take me for, you pervert?���
Still, once she was gone, I did discover a couple of Quality Street left over from two Christmases ago in the back of the sex utensil drawer. So my evening was not entirely wasted, if you know what I mean.
