No sex please we're Pablo

I notice that on the full and forceful list of instructions I got from Madame she didn’t write ‘don’t turn FB into a sexblog’. Not a fan of the genre, our Froosh. She didn’t put it on the list I suspect because she knows me so well.

You see I dislike sex. Intensely. I never have any and I never want to have any. This is unusual for a man of my age and vigour. And, if I may be so bold, considerable attractiveness. I find it gruesome. A gross intrusion of my emotional and personal space.

The last sexual encounter I had was a few years ago now. He was on shore leave and lived with his mother. We went back to the mother’s and his single bed had a gay pride flag duvet cover. ‘The action man one is in the wash,’ he said. I didn’t hang around long enough the next morning to find out if he was telling the truth.

I always describe myself as bisexual, if asked. But really I ought to say asexual. I’ve tried this honest approach a couple of times and, believe me, it’s not worth the aggro – how ever accurate it might be. People either think you’ve been abused (I haven’t) or you’re some kind of sex pest on the run for the law (I’m not).

I think this is because our society is so obsessed with sex that people find it unfathomable if someone says they just aren’t interested in it. Not as an activity, not as a concept and certainly not as a marketing ploy.

I haven’t been in marks and sparks since those adverts started up. And since Madame pointed out that the lady who does the announcement on the Bakerloo line does it in the style of the marks and sparks lady I can’t travel from Kilburn Park to Charing Cross without wanting to poke my eyes out. This is not just Maida Vale….