Badges.

That's where the future lies. Badges. A little enamel marker on one's lapel, declaring to the world that you are vanilla. Not trying to juggle 17 different relationships while trying to work out where the new scar came from. Not planning to buy a combination buttplug and juicer. Not trying to see how many naked people you can pile on top of each other with only a fly swat and a bottle of poppers.

Just wanting a normal relationship where the question "where's your girlfriend?" does not elicit the answer "fucking her boyfriend I should imagine". Or at least a shag where you don't have to plan ahead and heat up the curling tongs and soundproof the cellar first.

Just think. No more "want to come back to mine?" "Yes, I'll just ring John and Kenneth and get them to come over too". No more trying to clumsily establish that actually, no, you don't wish to be nailed upside down to the bathroom door first. No dancing round the subject of whether they have a large collection of significant others and merely wish to add one, as they were only missing a grey haired grumpy bastard to complete the set.

Badges. It's the way forward. Not sure what they should say, but it's perfect. Now bring me a wench.