When the UK Government introduced ‘Support Bubbles’ in England on June 13th, the Daily Mail ran the headline “BORIS LIFTS SEX BAN”.
It wasn’t classy, but it wasn’t wrong exactly. The Support Bubbles were to intended to ease the isolation for single adult households who hadn’t been able to so much as shake hands with another adult in three months.
And it, of course, meant that couples who didn’t live together could finally get together and touch one another genitals, provided that at at least one of them didn’t live with any other adults.
Since the fourth of July and the pubs reopening and everything, then suddenly we’re all allowed to fraternise with one another (well, with one other household at at time) indoors, in pubs, in hotel rooms and in well-sanitised brothels (possibly).
You’re still not supposed to touch one another though. This is rather pertinent to my situation. Gentleman friend and I couldn’t bubble up due to the existence of adult children and elderly parents in our respective households.
The Poetry of Chris Whitty pic.twitter.com/Vn4VwiKmgL
— Darren Dutton (@Darren_Dutton) June 11, 2020
Thanks to @Darren_Dutton, every time I say the word ‘bubble’ now, I think of this.
It’s been FOUR FUCKING MONTHS since we’ve seen one another. Well, four NOT-fucking months. That’s rather the point.
We’re going to spend this weekend together in a hotel. And, you know what? There will be touching. All the touching.
I’ve been patient, I’ve been good since the middle of March. I am observing strict social distancing and not-leaving-the-house-unless-it’s-really-necessary rules in every other regard.
But right now, I really really need to have my bottom spanked by someone who loves me. And in less than twenty-four hours, that’s exactly what’s going to happen.
I just hope Boris understands.