Sex at ‘meet & greet’ event

‘He had sex with my mother,’ she said, and he looked unbareably comfortable.
A casual encounter as I squirmed my way through the crowd towards a group of people who were laughing loudest and generating a circle of eavesdroppers. She a coming-on 40-something, he something-40 similar. And she had three kids, she said. It was a surreal moment. I could quite easily imagine she and he together; I had more difficulty conceiving of him and her mother.
Someone interjected that I wrote a blog. Called what? ‘Bonxie,’ I said. ‘Bonking!’ she ejaculated, ‘you write a blog on bonking! Then you must know all about it.’ I proferred an explanation, while trying to understand the link between – let’s call him Sly – Sly and – let’s call her Fanny – Fanny’s mother. ‘You’d get more hits if you did,’ she advised. ‘Did what?’ I cautiously enquired. ‘Write about bonking!’
Then seemingly to obfuscate, Fanny named her three kids, Peter and Mary were the parents, and Tinkerbell the daughter. Now I was really getting confused, and Fanny elaborated on what Sly was or was not doing with her mother. Had Fanny been present? Sly was caught between embarrassment and pride of prowess.
‘Goats.’
‘What?’ I butted in.
‘Kids. Well, you know everything about bonking. Kids! You write about it, don’t you, in your blog? Sick!’
Nonplussed.
This is what happens when you innocently saunter into the middle of a wanderlust conversation at a social gathering where the purpose is simply to meet and greet others. Words spurt around, back and forth, disseminating irreverent wisdom through sexually contagious laughter, and everybody leaves totally satisfied, but none the wiser about what happened. Our conversational intercourse, if that’s what it was, struck me as a phatic replica, with so-called mature adults, of those days you spent as a student when you woke up in an unknown bed with at very best only misty memories of how you got there, and none at all about what happened. Well, maybe you didn’t.

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