'Mr Sex': Fiends Reunited

So, Friends Reunited has finally bowed to pressure from Facebook and axed its fiver-a-year membership fee. It had a pretty good run, was one of the most popular sites on the internet for ages, and it made a shitload of cash for someone.

And we all know the reason for that, don’t we, readers? (hint: you’re reading a sex blog)

When it started up, the premise of Friends Reunited was innocent enough. For no charge, it gave you the opportunity to lie like a bastard about your amazingly brilliant career, check on how everyone who bullied you at your school was doing, and have a fucking monumental gloat if they were still on the estate, working in Tesco, and having a crappier life than you. An absolutely splendid way to spend an afternoon, as I’m sure you’ll agree. But ponying up a fiver so you could e-mail them? Fuck that.

Until you chanced upon someone you used to fancy the arse off back in the day. The first girl who made your thing go ‘Ding!’ Then you nearly severed the tendons in your fingers getting your credit card out your wallet in a frenzy to shove it into the disc drive, in a frantic attempt to make an almighty withdrawal from the Wank Bank.

If you’re female, and you’re a member of FR, I really hope you’re aren’t gullible enough to believe that, when some bloke you vaguely knew from school comes a-tippety-tapping on your inbox, he’s doing it just to say hello and have a good old reminisce about mad Geography teachers and Thundercats. The hidden context of virtually every e-mail sent by men to women on FR went something like this;

Dear girl I used to stare at in Biology lessons every time you stretched your arms until your knockers strained against your nylon jumper,

You don’t know me, but half a lifetime ago I used to deliberately forget to bring my kit to Games lessons so I could jog around the hockey field and have a good leer at you in a flippy skirt, and I used to cut out photos of topless models in The Sun who looked a bit like you and grind against them in bed.

Since then, every relationship I’ve ever been in has been a morbid carousel of failure, and I still live under the whopping delusion that you haven’t changed a bit (even though I have, for the worse), you’re still available (even though I’m not, and I’m typing this with the chair up against the handle of the box room in case my missus comes in with a cup of tea), and you want some.

Let’s have sex,

Some bloke you haven’t thought about since

Seriously, whoever devised this site was an evil genius. They made a fortune by capitalising on male masturbatory fantasies without having to put up one single pornographic image. How clever was that?