This is another post for @sexblogofsorts Non Clickbait competition
Music and sex are inextricably linked. Some would argue you can’t have one without the other.
On one memorable, and shameful occasion I ended up fucking to the Kaiser Chiefs. Not my finest moment. The guy actually stopped to ask if it was and I confessed, yes my ITunes was on shuffle. The horror, the horror.
This post isn’t going to tell you the ideal tracks to get down and dirty to.
This post is going to tell you about the time I almost fucked the drummer from a moderately popular indie band from Wales. He asked if I had tried poppers and started comparing the sizes of our hands, fingertip to fingertip. He was the worst looking of the trio, and I decided to bail.
It was a lucky escape. The next week he was featured in a spread in “Sounds” ( the poor man’s NME) talking about his penchant for women shitting on his chest.
Musicians are sexy. Whether wielding a bass guitar, saxophone or triangle – there’s a magnetism that draws an audience to a performer which no-one can explain. Groupies, yeah?
The way a guy dances is often going to demonstrate how he fucks. Believe me. Has he got rhythm? If yes, you’re in for a good night. If not, you’d better be prepared for some tuition.
Similarly a man’s music tastes can indicate a lot. He’s into Calvin Harris? Probably a bellend. Likes classical? Score. Introduces you to James Vincent McMorrow? Yes! Likes bands you’ve never heard of? Marry him!
Go to any gig and you’ll see couples Velcroed together. He’s behind, arms on her shoulders, or arms around her waist, dancing himself and moving her like a puppet.
Music is euphoric – so is sex. Music can lift you up when you’re feeling down – so can sex. A particular track can take you back to a place in time – so can a particular fuck.
The time you spend in the bedroom with someone is like composing your own symphony.
(Don’t worry folks, I’m not going to make any quips about trumpets and blow jobs. Or horn sections- although trumpet players are meant to be amazing at giving head because they can breathe through their ears or something)
The moves and the tone can be all right but sometimes the speed or the rhythm might be wrong. Someone hits a bum note (sorry) and it all goes flat.
I have a friend who definitely has a thing for guys in bands. Earlier in the year it was a guy who looked like Kurt Cobain. That definitely went flat.
The first fan poster I had on my wall was Rick Astley. Ginger, and with terrible dance moves. But my goodness didn’t Stock Aitken & Waterman roll out some fat ones? “You Spin me Round (Like a Record)”, “Respectable”, “Especially for you” – I mean these guys practically INVENTED Kylie.
I dated a DJ once. It was one of my ambitions to stand behind the decks, wear the cans and have his arm snaked around my waist. He played house at trendy East London venues long before East London was a thing. I remember turning up to meet him after his set wearing a mac with only underwear underneath. The first and last time I ever did that. He was absolutely over the moon especially as he only discovered my lack of clothing on the drive home. He was incredulous that I walked into a bar practically naked.
Oh the things we do for music.
My wedding dance song was “I’ve Got You Under my Skin” the Sinatra version. We learned to dance properly, took lessons and everything. Foxtrotted in front of everyone. My mate DJ’ed. We chose all the music for the ceremony together.
That shit is important, even if the music keeps playing long after the marriage is over.