For years women managed to keep their sexuality pretty low key…
Of course there have always been exceptions, but the women of generations gone by were perfectly happy letting men believe their girls nights were spent chatting about oven cleaners and exchanging recipes.
Then, of course Carrie Bradshaw hit the scene and exposed us for what were really are; just as
dirty sexually driven as men.
More so, in some cases.
But there was a reason Sex and The city hit our TV screens, there was a social outcry for it. A change had been developing ever since the 70’s and women demanded some sort of media outlet for ‘girl talk’.
We’ve all heard of the shower-room talk that men have, (which as far as I’ve heard is usually little more than “so, did you bang her?” “Yeah Lad”) well there’s no difference, except us girls prefer to share over a glass of wine, sometimes giving advice, usually laughing.
Men seem to think that girl-talk means us laughing at them, or comparing penis size, which I can assure you lads, very rarely happens.
Instead we laugh at ourselves and share stories of sexual escapades that were unusual or downright embarrassing.
But when does girl talk simply become over-sharing?
A couple of weeks ago I found myself in the ‘dress up’ section of Ann Summers… I won’t get into why, that’s a story for another time.
Anyway, just as I was reluctantly holding a horribly cliched ‘naughty secretary’ outfit against myself, one of the sales girls tapped me on the shoulder, sending me soaring 3 foot in the air with fright.
Quite obviously she had caught me off guard; the naughty nurse area of a sex shop is the last place you want to get into small talk with a stranger – especially when you’re holding a bag full of penis shaped straws as a gift for your friend and a bottle of chocolate body paint for… well just because it was on sale.
Clearly sensing she had the home-field advantage she used my awkwardness against me, and within moments I had somehow agreed to host an Ann Summers for ten of my friends that Friday evening.
Within ten minutes of arriving home I had cancelled… but why did the idea freak me out so much?
I love girl-talk as much as the next person, but there’s something that unsettles me about inviting my friends to my flat to buy their sex toys… which of course you have to do, because no-one wants to leave the girl standing in the centre of a room full of strangers, not selling a thing*.
I’m more than happy to listen to any of my friends’ sexual misdemeanors that may have cropped up – in fact that type of conversation is something I encourage after half a glass of wine. I’m even open to hearing a fabulous review of a new sexual position or toy… but I draw the line at witnessing my friends carefully selecting their dildos, or remote control, vibrating panties depending on their poison.
Nor do I want my friends to be there when I lay my sexual cards on the table.
So when it comes to sharing, how much is too much?
*If you ask me, it’s never a good idea to drink and buy either; I learnt that after returning home with a lycra dress made entirely out of sequins that would be ‘perfect for Christmas day’ after a particularly festive lunch.