Suzanne Portnoy

It has now been almost a month since I’ve had a Friday night on my own and even though I’m not officially supposed to be relieved of my motherly duties, I have arranged it so I am.  There is only so long I can pretend to be a nun when I’m in fact a horny, Jewish single mum. I know I should be really excited, like I usually am at the thought of having 14 or so solid hours by myself, but I’m feeling ambiguous. 

I want to get laid and yet I don’t just want to get laid.  I actually would like some real intimacy but it’s not something you can order off a room service menu.  It’s either there or it isn’t.  Getting laid is a snap.  I can ring a half dozen numbers in my phone if all I want is a hard-on.  In fact, I’ve already sent a text to one guy telling him we’ll meet up some other time after he asked me if I had time today to give him head.  My heart just wasn’t in it.  Maybe I’m going all soft but I could use a little romance, some tenderness.  Some of my friends have recently hooked up with real boyfriends and although I’m not jealous, I do miss feeling someone’s arms wrapped around me and knowing that in the morning, they’ll still be there.  There’s alot to be said for having someone around that makes me want to chill out and relax.

Last year I knew two or three men that were smart and funny and cool enough to be able to be intimate without getting hung up on me.  Then a couple found serious girlfriends.  The third is married and requires a lot of advance notification to be able to see me.  The new guy fits the bill but is always busy.  I know I should be going out and auditioning for replacements but it seems a lot of trouble.  I haven’t got the energy anymore to trawl through dating website profiles.  It’s a lot of hassle for a mediocre return.  Yesterday I was in Selfridges and there were better looking guys in the menswear department than I’ve seen in the past year in bars and clubs.  I actually thought that I could do worse than just getting dressed up one day and hanging out in the men’s couture department.  Maybe I’ll suggest to their PR department that they hold a single’s night.

Lord knows I’ve tried every single other way of finding a stylish man with an income. And there are worse ways of spending my time than hanging out in my favourite department store.