Monthly Archives: February 2016

Paul Henry and the Flag

When I was a young man, I was, contrary to what you may think, extraordinarily shy. I had enormous difficulty talking to girls my age and grew increasingly frustrated as my raging sexual curiosity was thwarted by an almost pathological fear of meeting a girl, let alone being intimate with her.

I’m sure that you will be aware of the measures that men take in such circumstances and I was no exception. But you need not spend too long imagining my suffering and its remedies. Instead, let’s move on to a happier circumstance and a conversation over coffee with an older friend who was concerned by my often melancholic, ‘somewhat florid’ (as he put it) expression.

His gentle, probing enquiries drew from me a relieving torrent of a confession. I was no catholic but instantly he had become my father confessor and after a little deliberation he suggested how my salvation may be best achieved. He told me about a part of town where certain establishments, or their employees at least, offered socially incompetent but sexually competent ‘punters’ like me, gratification. At a cost.

Again, I won’t trouble you with the details of the empirical process that ensued, but I agreed terms with a particular young woman  and we subsequently met 3 times a week for our mutual benefit; mine physical, hers financial.

Now this may all seem very cold-hearted and clinical to you but the fact is that over the course of the following months, the young woman and I, inevitably, got to know each other a little – even sharing opinions and non-physical intimacies from time to time. We became friendly you might say. Then one evening, she turned up sporting a  completely new hair-do; punky I guess. Short, spiky and imperial purple. And she asked me what I thought about it.

Well, I’m a traditionalist and I don’t care much for change of any sort. Especially not radical change. So I told her; ‘Look love, I don’t like it at all. Doesn’t get my vote. But your hair isn’t really the bit that interests me. I’m not here for your hair, am I ? I’m here for the sex and so long as that doesn’t change, we’ll be fine. But I do hate your hair.’

Well you would, wouldn’t you?