Faggy on the etiquette of… back bottom sex.
Last night the Fag Hag was out in London’s Glittering Soho with one of the most civilized of all her straight male pals, Adam.
Over cider (the new Bellinis) and fat chips (the new ciggies) we discussed things like Blair’s legacy, single women and the right to adopt, and most importantly, how many dates a girl needs to leave it before she is taken up the shitter.
I thought I’d go in high and over-estimate – ‘At least three?’ After Adam had stopped choking and I’d performed the Heimlich manoeuvre we resumed the discussion. ‘I always think with girls that give it up too easy, come on – make me work a bit harder,’ he lamented.
Well, I don’t think anyone could accuse me of not making my men work hard, but I was interested to see that even someone as emancipated as the divine Adam still wants to be kept waiting a la Diana Ross.
So from now on, the Fag Hag will be shutting up shop downstairs until there’s a rock on that finger, I ain’t putting out for no city boy…
Oh, enough already! I can’t do this Essex girl rubbish. Don’t panic, boys – it’s business as usual!