Alleyway Antics aka Sex down a side-street.

When trash talk leads to garbage sex.

“Fancy a quick dirty outdoor fuck behind the bins?”

There are a great many and varied approaches to the art of seduction; subtle and flirty, playing hard to get, invitingly sensual, confident romanticism, the casual long game, openly inviting, to name but a few. Each has their own relative pros and cons and each, if deployed appropriately, can be extremely effective in their own way.

But each also comes with something of an unwritten set of expectations. The approach very much tends to set the tone of whatever may ensue. If someone has spent the time romantically wooing you, chances are the resultant sex will be - at least initially - of the more sensual and ‘romantic’ variety. Equally if you’ve been playing a tug of war game of playing hard to get / will-they-won’t-they, the sex is more likely to be an explosion of barely contained energy as the hitherto unstoppable force finally collides with immoveable object.

But sometimes expectations can entirely subverted. And sometimes there’s a lot to be said to skipping the seduction entirely and jumping straight to the point…

The night was one of general miscellaneous revelry and I found myself out drinking with a small group of friends amongst a somewhat larger group of acquaintances. We’d all but taken over a significant corner of the bar in which we’d found ourselves and, as large groups tend to, had either driven away other patrons or - as was more common given our delightful company - absorbed them into our own evening.

One such individual who found our gravitational pull sufficiently irresistible was Nathan; a man so painfully ‘my type’ that if I were to construct a police ID photofit of all of my most desired features in the opposite sex, you’d produce something that bore more than a passing resemblance to Nathan’s passport photo. Not that I’ve seen his passport, but I like the analogy too much to bail out now. Nathan was tall, broad shoulder and, doubt me though you may; most importantly of all, devastatingly and infuriatingly hilarious.

As such, I’d very much planned for *my* art of seduction to be somewhat blatant. As my friend noted not long after he’d joined our table; “Am I imagining things, or has your cleavage grown by two inches since he arrived?”

She wasn’t wrong. He was attractive *and* funny. I needed to pull out all of the stops. Or, in this case, practically pull out the tits.

For all I lacked subtlety, Nathan possessed it in spades. Throughout the first hour of his company I couldn’t be certain he’d even noticed me at all. In an act of desperation I entered full machiavellian mode and conducted some social engineering to enable the seat beside me to free up conveniently just as he was returning to the group from the bar. By which I mean I told my friend to fuck off and steal his seat so he’d have no choice.

I know, I’m a wonderful friend.

He sat beside me and the night continued unabated. I endeavoured to stay on finest form and remain witty and sparkling company whilst simultaneously fighting off the many and varied unspeakably crude mental images my mind conjured thanks to his mere proximity.

After several hours I was somewhat uncharacteristically ready to throw in the towel. He was utterly charming and engaging company but, as far as I was aware, possessed not the slightest interest in me or the graphic images I was foreseeing/wildly dreaming of. During one bathroom briefing in an attempt to resuscitate my flagging ego I theorised to my friend that he must be gay. I convinced neither her nor myself. She, however, was utterly convinced he was simply keeping his cards close to his chest and playing hard to get.

I told her in no uncertain terms that she was catastrophically wrong and my only solace in the midst of crushing disappointment would be watching her eat her words when forced to endure the aftermath of my inevitably catastrophic failure.

Again; yes. I’m an excellent friend.

Unbearably, she was also entirely correct.

As we were all preparing to leave; some to move on to a new drinking establishment, others to finally break away from the gravitic pull of the unwieldy group and some simply to return to their homes/hotels, Nathan placed his hand on my leg and brought his mouth tantalisingly close to my face.

My heart skipped a beat. He gently brushed some strands of hair back from my face in hat cliched ‘significant touching moment of a movie’ manner, as his lips hovered mere millimetres from my ear.

During the half second this approach took, my brain fired into overdrive.

‘OF COURSE! He was just shy! Or perhaps was building to this beautifully romantic gesture. I’m not usually into the romantic approach but, just this once, I’ll go for it. He’s played it beautifully. Touching my hair first. So sensual! I wonder what sweet nothings he’s about to whisper…’

What he actually said was:

“Fancy hanging back from them and having a quick dirty outdoor fuck behind the bins?”