- We’ve all had them — the wild, all-too-brief fling with a really awesome guy, or the fuck-buddy you secretly wished could be more than just a friend. Do you ever catch yourself thinking wistfully ‘if only …?’ Well, don’t. For a start it’s a waste of time — there’s no rewind button on life, and secondly, there’s a reason why those youthful liasons seem so ideal. Let me switch off the iron and pour myself a glass of wine, and I’ll explain. I was twenty-one when I lost my innocence, in the bedroom of the North London flat with suncatcher windows that I had moved into that day with my boyfriend. He was several years my senior, spoke three languages: an experienced man-of-the-world, with hair so richly dark it shone blue where the light caught it. Eager to espouse my new role as his chosen woman and lady-of-the-house, I was going through the laundry basket, sorting a load for the washing machine. And for the first time I came into contact with a man’s worn underpants. I stood there, rigid with shock as the scales fell from my eyes and I saw my beau in a new light. A panicky surge of: ‘Oh God! What have I done? Get me out of here’, rose in my stomach. It was a more traumatic rite of passage than the loss of my physical virginity some years before. In that distasteful moment I realised that there were certain advantages to the kind of casual, fun, no-strings sex that meant you never had to do his laundry. Because that sort of thing can really ruin your image of a guy. So, here’s to all the guys whose underpants I never had to wash. They will stay forever hot, cool, awesome and ideal in my mind. With immaculate pants. How do I cope with the problem now that I have two men in my life? I simply do the kindest thing — take their smalls out into the back yard and shoot them.