I hate Saturdays.

Why? Well, because it means my local high street is always filled with couples. They are everywhere with their sickly, loved-up-ness, holding hands like pathetic teenagers, rather than the thirty-something adults they are. It’s disgusting.

There they are at my local fruit and veg stall, sniggering to each other as they push and prod the vegetables; their talk of dinner parties holding up the line. And there they are again, at the newsagents, smirking at each other as they queue up with the Guardian. And there they are once more, sitting at all the cafés, making eyes at each other as they sip their cappuccinos and read the day’s news, ignoring the sad singletons who wander forlornly past.

It’s sick I tell you, sick. OK, it’s not, but it’s annoying: everywhere I look, are happy couples in their mid-thirties, an in-my-face reminder that I am single. It forces me to confront the reality that I don’t have that same companionship; that I don’t get to walk down the street with my man; that I don’t have that happy, sunny, loving outlook – and, to be honest, it really fucks me off.

Don’t get me wrong: most of the time, I actually like being single. I rather enjoy the freedom it affords me; I like the fact I can live my life independently, with no-one to answer to; it’s nice not to have the pressures or constraints of another person to consider. It’s exciting to have an interchangeable love-life buffet: I’m really enjoying my current ‘serial dating’ – aside from the fact I get to meet lots of new and interesting men, I also get to see (some of) their cocks too. Which is always nice.

But occasionally – and especially on Saturdays – I miss that I don't have a partner. I shuffle past all the couples walking arm in arm on my high street and I find myself wishing I was one of them. I watch as they share a private joke and it makes me long to have that same connection with someone. I see one of them subtly fondle the other’s bum as they’re walking and it makes me yearn for the same intimacy: it feels like an age since I shared that with someone. All this does contribute, just a little, to making me feel lonely and wanting a special man to be part of my life once again.

I’m not going to dwell on it though: whilst I may envy those who are in love, I am not one to wallow in self-pity – love'll happen, at some point; I’m ready for it when it does (I think). So I won't be spending my time worrying about my single status, when I could be doing other, better, things. Like shagging, for example.

However, there is one thing that I really do miss, what with my being single, which is this: waking up early on a Saturday morning and reaching behind me to find my partner’s cock, sliding it between my wet thighs and then having a long, slow, deep, fuck.

I can’t think of a better way to start the day than with a half-asleep, intense mutual orgasm. Aside from the obvious intimacy and pleasure derived from this, there's also the fact that it would put me in a good mood for the rest of the weekend - which, given the fact that I can be a bit difficult sometimes, would be a definite advantage for any partner that I do eventually end up with, that's for sure.