Sex-Crazed Brits Just Doing It Everywhere, Like, Everywhere Man, You Can’t Stop Them, They’re Like Dogs In Heat Or Something, And Dude, I Gotta Get Me Some Of That

By Randy Gierno, Wired News

It seems that the British public just can’t get enough of hot,
wanton, guilt-free sex. The average cutting-edge tech-friendly Limey
barely gets through a single day without taking part in a “dogging” session or “toothing” with random phone-junkies on the Tube.

But now even the electronics-poor underclass have been getting in on
the act and coming up with their own low-tech variations on
peer-to-peer playfulness.

Last night, at the “Toucan” pub in London’s fashionable West End, I
witnessed a fascinating range of sexual activity which showed that
gadget-free flirting already has a deep and varied subculture.

“Oh yeah, well, some of the birds round here, they’re mad for it,
innit?” said my guide in the brave new world of London sex, who I’ll
call Barry. “Have you in the bogs soon as look at you. I mean, this one
girl, right… huge tits, nice smile, she gave me this look, and it was
like, “Fancy a bit?” And so we went to the lavvy round the back and she
had my trousers down in seconds. And then she pulled her friend in two
and the three of us were like, y’know. And then they all came back to
my place. Happens all the time.”

Pausing only to spill some famous London ale down the front of his
XXL-sized rugby shirt, Barry outlined some key points in the
rapidly-evolving lexicon of British desire. “So what you do, right, is
you spot a nice tart over by the bar and you think, lovely, I’ll have a
bit of that. And you tip her the wink, you know? And then, if she looks
back at you, she’s gagging for it.”

“Just like Bluetooth signalling,” I commented as I tapped hurried notes into my Zaurus. “Ingenious!”

“But then, they’re all gagging for it round here,” continued Barry.
“They all want it. I had five birds round my place the other night, I
couldn’t walk for a week! Haha!”

Indeed, as I continued my wanderings around the city, I realised
that Barry had opened my eyes. At least five strangers made eye contact
with me, something that I, as a New Yorker, found strange and
erotically intoxicating. I saw couples walking hand-in-hand, doubtless
having met only a few seconds earlier and looking for a secluded spot
in which to consummate their random, anonymous, instant-message-enabled
desire.

In another pub I decided to try Barry’s tips out for myself
(strictly in the interests of research, of course). Sitting at a table,
I spied a pretty young Londoner chatting to a friend at the bar.
Following Barry’s advice, I whistled loudly to attract her attention
before giving her a long and careful wink. The measured, aroused stare
I received in return was unmistakable. I approached her at the bar and,
in a lowered tone, quickly made an offer using the key phrases of
London sexual bargaining, dotting it with references to text messaging
and social software so as to establish my credentials as a member of
the technological elite. During this rapid conversation she slapped my
cheek and yelled, “Piss off!” I smiled and nodded before retreating,
having never intended to follow through, but it was fascinating to
experience a London woman confessing her desires for violent sex and
bodily fluids so readily.

London: a wild arena where language and technology are being used to
forge brave new passages into a previously-taboo world. Horny Americans
desperate for a sex-and-tech story to file should get their asses over
here as soon as they can. It’s cheaper than Burning Man, anyway.

Elsewhere in Wired News: “Why The Entire Population Of New York
Cast Aside Their Old Religions And Now Worship A Giant Wicker iPod” by
Leander Kahney