When COVID-19 first broke out, finding your 'pandemic partner' was a very real thing.
Faced with our own mortality – or at least the end of the singleton’s sex life – time felt short.
People paired up in panic, as if every orgasm could be their last.
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And I flocked to men like a zombie in an apocalypse.
As far as we knew, the world was ending, and that was a great backdrop for some mind-blowing sex.
But after six months in Australia, I found myself back in the UK, with some of the toughest lockdown laws in the land.
Within weeks businesses were boarded up, 'stay at home' measures were put in place, and social distancing was more than a guideline.
It was now illegal to even socialise.
Confined to my three-bedroom flat share, month after month of restrictions dragged on, as my sex drive retreated into a government-mandated isolation.
Just like the pubs, gyms and nails salons, my vagina had shut up shop.
And for the first time since I was a prepubescent teen, I felt nothing in my nether regions.