Hot girl putting on red lipstick

"Do you know I’ve noticed now I’m getting a little bit older that my right testicle is beginning to hang slightly lower than my left one. More and more every day the gap increases. I’m not sure if it’s the right one dropping or the left one rising but when I hang my willy over the top it’s beginning to resemble a percent sign."

I’m standing over my friend Cammy in the bath and showing her my distorted junk. She averts her eyes as if my member may turn her to stone and tells me to "stop waving that poor excuse for a penis in front of her face." I sigh and take my place on the toilet and open up my book.

Cammy and I have been friends for a very long time now, and recently we became bathroom buddies. It started off one evening when I was having a bath and she was desperate for a wee. She kept banging on the door but I couldn’t be bothered to get out, so eventually I just unhooked the lock with a throw from my belt that would make Indiana Jones proud and she came in and sat on the throne.

For some reason this wasn’t weird to either of us. We have seen each other naked countless times and are so in the friend zone that I am probably more likely to have sexual intercourse with one of my male friends than I am with her. The bathroom time has now become a sort of ritual that we do so long as neither of us (well, her) are in a relationship. We take a bottle of wine in and relax. As a girl, it generally takes Cammy around three ice ages to get ready for a night out. I can either spend this time on my own in my room listening to music and drinking beer, or I can be social and sit in the bathroom with her while having a nice relaxing poo. And I’ve always been a social kind of guy.

There are only three rules:

  1. No looking at each other when we’re doing something private (well more private than being naked in front of each other while washing and evacuating waste).
  2. No telling anyone else about the ritual (whoops).
  3. On no accounts must I ever get an erection from Cammy’s naked body (fat fucking chance; once you see a girl shave her legs and wax her upper lip you tend to go off them in a sexual way).

Me and Cammy are going out this evening to celebrate her recent singleness. She is currently in the bath, and has been for 40 minutes now. She has just begun shaving under her arms, which means we are on to the final stretch, depending on how much of her body she decides to shave and how much she braves the wax for. In this time I have showered, changed, sprayed, shaved, and am now taking my obligatory "pre-evening poo."

"I really want to try and get laid tonight," I say to Cammy in a half-casual, half-lonely way. "Pooface." The last part is not me being insulting but a cue for her to look away so she doesn’t have to see my pooface as I defecate.

Bathtub disco ball"You’ll be fine," she says as she moves on to shaving her legs, studying each follicle intently and ignoring my faint plopping. "You’re a 2 o’clocker; just make sure you aren’t paralytic by 2 and you’ll be fine. Vagina time!"

She moves the razor up between her legs and does a strange bending backwards motion which I have never seen before but imagine must come in handy between the sheets. This is my cue to become intently interested in my toilet book, Harry Potter and The Chamber of Secrets. I stare hard at each individual word and letter trying to avoid hearing the scratch scratch of the razor. I wonder if Harry ever had to sit in the girls’ baths of Griffindor dormitory whilst Hermione shaved her Lady Garden. They probably just magic the hair away with a wand. Minghairio destructo!

The thought of Emma Watson’s fanny gets me slightly turned on before I remember rule #3 and stop myself. Plus I’m reading Chamber of Secrets and she was about 12 when they filmed that so it’s not right to ponder on such thoughts.

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"I don’t know why you bother with all that stuff you know. You’re pretty good looking as it is, you don’t need the fanny of a 12-year-old to make men fancy you."

"Well I want to get laid tonight too, Eastwood, which means I need to look like I want to get laid tonight. It’s not a question of how attractive I am. I need to look like I’ve made an effort and that I’m up for it."

"Fair point. But what if you don’t meet anyone you like? Or you get too drunk?" Cammy flicks me a quizzical glance.

"You really don’t understand women at all do you?"

"I know that Ginny is stuck in the Chamber of Secrets and Ron and Harry need to get her out if that counts." She shakes her head, puts the razor down and leans over the bath to talk to me. She is dripping water all over her expensive jeans which means this is serious.

"Listen to me, Eastwood, because I’m only going to say this once. I picked the dress I’m wearing tonight three days ago. It has been hand chosen to show off my cleavage but without my nipples falling all over the place or making me look fat. It also means if I bend over a table to get my fags out of my handbag it shows off my ass without exposing my cheeks or again making me look fat. The shoes have been specially picked to ensure that I am the exact height to make eye contact with men with the make-up and fake eyelashes which I will spend 25 minutes applying later. The handbag has also been picked to match the shoes. In my bedroom I have left adequate condoms plus birth control pills in the drawer next to my bed. I have put my iPod in its docking station (not a euphemism) and have my favorite sex mix ready. It’s the one so good I can come by song 8 even if I’m smashed and the guy is a crap shag. I haven’t masturbated in two weeks deliberately. By the time I’m ready to go out I will have shaved and waxed my legs, under arms, upper lip, and Foo-Foo. I will have spent one hour on my hair and will be wearing it long so I can flick it at angles to flirt with men. I will have painted my toe and fake fingernails. I am wearing just the right amount of fake tan to make it exist but unnoticeable. I will have put on the perfect amount of perfume. I have practiced my pout and my arm touching flirting devices. And the underwear I will be wearing will be so sexual even describing them would give a gay man an erection. I am not doing all this because I enjoy your company or because I really want to drink 8 pints of cider and play on the quiz machine. I’m doing it because tonight, Eastwood, my old buddy, I want to get fucking laid. I intend to get some cock in what you and your sophisticated friends affectionately refer to as my ‘meat wallet.’"

And with that she goes back to shaving her downstairs.

"What about women in relationships? I know girls who have long-term boyfriends who dress up like Pretty Woman’s ugly little sister on a night out. But, as far as I know, they’re completely faithful to their boyfriends, or ‘beards’ as they call them."

Cammy strokes her bubble bath beard.

"If a taken girl goes to this amount of effort but isn’t looking for a fuck later then it’s for one of only a few reasons:

  1. She’s sending out a ‘fuck off bitch he’s taken’message to all other women,
  2. She’s after a bit of oral from herbeard later,
  3. She’s lost weight and wants to show it off,
  4. Or finally, and this may shock you Eastwood, but sometimes, just occasionally, ladies like to dress nice because it makes them feel confident and sexy."

There is an awkward silence. I try and think of something to say. I want to show her that I, as a representative for all men, have also made the effort to attract the opposite sex. I rack my brains.

"I’m wearing clean pants!" I say a little too enthusiastically. Cammy tusks.

"Whoopy fuck, Eastwood. We both know that’s a lie. The least you could do is shave your balls. It’s like someone dipped a couple of walnuts in honey and rolled them through a zoo house."

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My poo has now officially ended but I remember something Cammy said earlier.

"You called me a 2 o’clocker. What does that mean?" She puts the razor on the side and lights up a ridiculously long and thin French cigarette.

"Do you think I’m the only girl that goes through all this stupid shit to get a man in my bed? Everyone does it. If you want some loving you got to trim your bush, dress up like a prozzy, and color your face in red and blue. And if girls up and down the country are going through all this pain—and believe me, ripping wax off your lower calf is fucking painful—then they’re going to get laid no matter what."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning, darling, that you are no oil painting. You’re barely a fucking crayon drawing. But if a girl is in a bar at 2 o’clock and all the other men have either hooked up or are face down in a pile of regurgitated Sambuca, her ovaries will seize control and she will cop off with whoever’s around and looks likely to maintain an erection."

"Hey I resent that!"

"Come on, Eastwood. How many of your last shags came from someone you didn’t snog after midnight in some grotty pub or nightclub?"

I think back to my past few conquests. It’s true that most of them haven’t come from candle-lit dinners (unless you count Kebab World or Go-Go Pizza) but from drunken trysts.

"But that doesn’t mean they didn’t like me already! They were probably just shy and building up the confidence to approach me with a few beers."

"Eastwood, when a girl has waxed her top lip and is wearing a G-string that is in danger of making her permanently do the splits, shyness is not something she thinks about too much. If these girls wanted to fuck you they would have made it plainly obvious by midnight at the latest. I’m afraid you are a 2 o’clocker. The lucky by-product of wearing uncomfortable underwear against an uncomfortable vagina and having drunk too many Jager-bombs to attract any proper fit blokes. But cheer up! At least you get laid. Besides, it’s not like men are any different when they go out looking for sex is it?’

I stand up from the toilet to defend my gender then sit down again when I realize my manhood is about 2 inches away from Cammy’s face.

"It’s different with guys. We’re always looking for sex so we don’t need to dress up or make signals to show we’re interested. We have dicks; we’re always interested."

"Bullshit. There must be things guys do differently when they’re out looking for ‘gash’ as you all seem to describe it."

"Well there are one or two things men do. But let’s get this straight: men are always looking for sex. Always. However, sometimes when we’re looking for it but also prepared to actually chase it, we do a couple of things differently. They include:

  • Wearing a shirt and/or propershoes,
  • Not hanging too close with anygirlfriends,
  • Drinking beer from a bottle and/or wine,
  • Talking about something that isn’t sports, famous women they want to bang or dick jokes for more than five minutes.

Apart from that we don’t really do much else. Ready?"

"Ready," Cammy says, and we both avert our eyes while she steps out of the bath to wrap herself in a towel and I wipe my bum. After I pull up my jeans we look at each other.

"I’m sorry I said you have a poor excuse for a penis. It’s very nice in a friendly sort of way," she says while affectionately patting my shoulder like an uncle after your first ever breakup. I smile at her.

"I’m sorry I had a sneaky look at your fun tunnel while you were shaving. I was intrigued." She smiles back.

"It’s ok. I had a little look at you while you wiped your arse. Who scrunches in this day and age?"

We share a hug and she leaves the bathroom.

"Now come on. We’re meeting the others soon and I need you to help me bleach my arsehole."

God I hope she’s joking.

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