Bathroom Eyes

Newly single and in Sydney for a night of frivolity with the Sydney Sluts component of my single girl crew I suddenly realised how quickly things change in the fast-paced world of singletons. (Don't worry, Tequila, you'll always be there for me).

Flipping many a flirtatious glance over the rim of my martini glass, I giggled with breathy anticipation as a hot (straight) Sydney boy approached.

Follow me.

Well… Why the hell not? Security personnel were looking suitably jumped-up and steroid-paranoid to take him down if I sounded the bar-room SOS, my drink was sans GHB and my buddies had my back. Thinking we were headed outside, I was a little confused as we headed for the same-sex loos.

My head started to spin – were Sydney's good looking, broad-shouldered boys really just a bunch of mummy’s boys who need someone to wait outside the door lest they look friendless on their mission to a bar-room cubicle?

Not quite. With an amorous grin, he yanked me into the – admittedly very nice – toilet…

The bathroom bang is rapidly gaining currency amongst my contingent of increasingly ADD, instant-gratification seeking, time-poor friends. Instead of spending the night rehashing worn-out old lines – when the point of the night was to hang with your friends anyway – you can knock one over before your drink gets warm. Even better, both parties are well-aware that the bathroom bonk is not headed for a second date. In their view it’s a simple sexual transaction: no strings attached, no complications, no time wasted.

Lotharios take note: it’s cheaper than a hotel room, there’s no awkward request that whats-her-name split before your girlfriend gets home, and women are supposedly way more up for it now thanks to Samantha Sex-Like-A-Man Jones.

Gemma took a whirl on a disco stick – in the disco’s toilets – a few weeks ago. Not a shrinking violet, she had only good things to say: not as stinky and cramped as aeroplane toilets, no boring chit-chat afterwards, and direct access to condom machines in the loos themselves. And mirrors. Her only concern was the feistiness of queue-dwellers, hating on those spending too long in the lav. In her post-shag bliss though, Gemma claims to be bullet-proof and (apparently) terribly charming to even the grumpiest loo-hunter.

Of course, the toilette shag doesn’t have to be confined to nightclub pick-ups. Anyone seeking to alleviate the tedium of a 5 day test match or obligatory family wedding need only seek out a good-sized disabled toilet (the support banisters and extra space for the disabled amongst us means there's way more room to move, and some useful prop-ups for non-toilet seat action) and an up-for-it partner, and suddenly your day can become a whole lot more interesting. Come prepared with a handy excuse for your use of the disableds at stadium events however: my mate Karyn found herself laughing off a “super hot” day to patrolling police when she emerged dripping with sweat from the disabled toilets after a shag at the Australian Open in Melbourne last year.


Rewind back to my Sydney encounter – those beseeching eyes, the L’Occitane products and mood lighting guaranteed to flatter… It was certainly tempting, but what’s a girl to do when she’s wearing a dress that took 20 minutes to slide into – and 20 hours overtime to afford? Monica Llewinksy would have been sad: leaving my dress intact I settled for a good old pash and dash. Almost as satisfying, still just as uncomplicated, and enough to gossip about later – almost on par with the bathroom romp.