Girl's Column: Violet de Capote Interne

There comes a sad time in a woman’s life when she has to admit that, no, she doesn’t connect with a man in bed. Even if the man is so attractively unavailable and good at the preliminary actions that it seems that every so often the spark doesn’t light and you kind of wish you’d spent the night in with your pleasant pre-sex imagination.

Mr DJ and I connect like sliced mango and velcro, and are probably as much use at talking about it:
 
‘So… did you enjoy that?’ Cue cringe-worthy wink and some kind of Carry On Shagging Badly nudge.

‘Erm… I wasn’t aware it was over…?’

‘Oh. Right. I mean, I usually last longer but…’
 
Which would have been okay… if it was once. And if he didn’t keep asking me in a knowing manner whether I’d enjoyed it when I’d clearly made no obvious sign of going for gold: and you.would.know.
 
I did used to think that it was a woman’s duty to train up all the men you sleep with so that they can pass them on to the world with more of a purpose. But now after a few years I’ve kind of decided that no one else is working with me on this.
 
If Mr DJ wasn’t such an obvious player I’d probably knock around to show him the ropes, but as it is, I wont be able to bask in my fantastic training for long enough for it not to be a waste of time… Think it’s time to pass him over to another girl to work on; the Violet Training Academy is only open to serious candidates.