Untitled…

This post was originally called ‘Let’s talk about (bad) sex, all the time, because we have nothing better to do, no?’  Good, no?  No?  Ah well…  I changed the title for two reasons.  First, I’ve learnt that putting sex and such like words in the title of your post can sometimes get you unwanted attention; to this day I still have unfortunate idiots landing here after googling ‘naked whores’ (they don’t stick around too long, must be the lack of pictures).  The second reason?  I’m at Project 44 this week (more about that on Sunday) and on that side I’m on the straight and narrow, not so much as a mild ‘shit’ has been used.  Problem is, now that a few of those lovely people are crossing over, well I don’t want ‘bad sex’ to be the first thing they see, what kind of first impression is that?

Hmmm…

This is about (bad) sex.

Better they get the bad news upfront, no?  Folks, this will get rude, and probably crude, and if I’m lucky the comments will be even worse.  You’ve been warned.  If you want the polite version, save yourself a few blushes and click across.

Last month I wandered into the almost local (it’s too expensive to be a real local, plus they frown on dirty jeans and such like rough attire so…) for two and a half drinks and a burger, and upon walking in I was immediately accosted by two drunks whom I hadn’t seen in a while.  They coaxed me into a heated discussion they were having on how best to deal with a woman who isn’t delivering the goods in bed.  One fella is married, but a bit of a whore, and he was of the opinion that sex is only a small part of the relationship and, therefore, if for whatever reason he isn’t getting what he needed from the missus, then he’s allowed to outsource this one component.  His logic is, if he’s happy then the missus is happy too, and him getting good sex, even if from a woman other than his missus, will make him very happy, better that than to leave his wife and kids.  Like I said, a bit of a whore.  Fella number two is usually the more level headed one, so I expected some clarity from him, and he didn’t disappoint.  He said, “If its crap, then fix it!”  Makes sense right?  That’s what I thought, until he expounded on this seemingly brilliant theory.  He said, and this I’m quoting, “Tell her she’s crap only once, if she doesn’t improve, leave her.  That’s it.  No nonsense of but or why, just leave her.”  He said that some things are just plain unacceptable, and unworkable.  He will put up with all manner of crap, except that.  Fella number two is still a bachelor, and now I know why.

What bothered me about this discussion was that the notion of the man being the one at fault was never floated, never.  For men, it seems, if the bed isn’t on fire it can only be because the woman isn’t either.  The men reading this are nodding vigorously and saying, ‘But si of course!’ while the women are frowning and starting to compose hate mail in their evil minds.  Relax ladies, I’m not done yet.  Gentlemen, I hate to be the one to break it to you, but women think exactly the same way.  They think if the bed isn’t rocking, it’s because the man in question doesn’t know how to rock said bed.  It’s your fault, not theirs.  Now tell me, if everyone is busy pointing fingers at everybody else, how the hell do you think we’re going to fix this shit?  People, its time for us to take a good long hard look in the mirror and be honest.  Ladies, gentlemen, we are the problem.  And now everyone’s frowning and looking at the screen with one eye.  I believe the question you want to ask right now is ‘Eh?’, but the question we should be asking ourselves is this: who do we hold responsible for our pleasure and satisfaction?

Are you, for instance that woman who lies in bed expecting your man to climb on top of you and take you to heaven, without so much as a moan on your part?  Are you that guy who believes that your satisfaction equals her satisfaction, despite the fact that your satisfaction is derived from sticking your dick into something suitably wet and thrusting away for a couple of minutes till you reach your climax?  Incidentally, if you answered yes to either, really?  Slap yourself.  On second thoughts, slap me, I thought you buggers were extinct.  If you’re getting into bed with the expectation that the other person will do all the work, then your bed will not be a very good bed, and the only thing worse than no sex, is bad sex.  No really, bad sex is just…bad!  There should be a law that forces everyone to take sex education classes every 2 years, a refresher course if you will, to keep abreast of changing trends and new techniques.  You keep updating your cell phone right?  Then why not update your sex life the same way?  No, I’m not telling you to go out and buy a new model, I’m saying get a newer version, of yourself.

When you first lost your virginity 20 years ago, kind sir, I’m sure getting a woman’s bra off with one hand was quite a feat, worthy of great applause.  Now, however, kind sir, you might want to do more than fumble with said garment for two minutes and then stick the business end of your manhood into the nearest orifice.  Sometimes I think when men see a naked woman all they see is two round thingis and a triangle, nothing above, in between or below.  Did you buggers never sing that ‘head, shoulders, knees and toes’ song in nursery school?  Stop laughing woman, you’re not doing much better, manhandling his dick like it’s an Eveready torch with a magic button, and all the while ignoring every other part of him.  Don’t worry, I’m not going to sit here and try to write a how to manual, but only because I’m convinced that everyone has their own idea of what constitutes a rocking good time, from what I’ve learnt one person’s great sex is possibly another’s crap lay, and vice versa.  This then brings up the next question: if satisfaction is as specific as the individual seeking it is unique, does this mean that there are no universal ‘truths’ that apply to sex?  Is there no magic bullet?

Now contrary to public opinion, I do a bit of research when I’m writing this nonsense, I read and shit, engage in all manner of pseudo scientific analysis, on google.  Armed with the (scanty) knowledge I recently gained, I can now confidently state that all men want is…wait for it…another woman.  Shut your mouth, dear, you’ll catch flies.  Men, it seems, crave variety, which could explain why they’re so fond of role play (Mrs Officer?) and why they’re so easily distracted, but that’s a story for another day.  Thing is, this need for sexual variety doesn’t necessarily translate into him fooling around, that’s actually the exception, and you know what I think about the exception, no?  Yes, he wants another woman, many other women, but apparently he wants them all to be you.  I know, it’s confusing, but no one ever said life would be easy.

Ladies, what he wants is for you to want it as much as he does, enough to actively participate, and instigate, and occasionally maybe even create a new persona, just for him, so don’t just lie there woman, get up, move around, flip his ass over if need be, anything.  Enjoy the man like you’re on death row and he’s the last thing you’ll ever eat, is all I’m saying.  Turn off your brain and follow your senses, all five of them.  Show him the passionate sexy woman you’re hiding under your mother’s union knickers and ubiquitous Kibaki Tena t-shirt, and then let him show you the wannabe Ron Jeremy he’s been too afraid to show, or saves for his kinky chickie on the side.  The finer details of how, where and when are for you to figure out, and his preferred kinks I have no doubt he will share with you once you get going.  Really, once he’s convinced you can handle his deviancy, he will rise to the occasion.

Another reason why I love being in the sewer, the puns are just so much better, no?

Gents, surprisingly women aren’t that different when it comes to the quest for variety.  The predictable routine (kiss, then quick fondle, then even quicker fumble) may have worked when she was 16, but not any more.  She’s been watching TV, she watched ‘Unfaithful’, hell she’s probably been watching as much porn as you have, only she calls it a soap opera.  She knows things and, more important, she wants to try things.  After reading (not too) extensively, I’ve come to realise that that women are more willing to try out new things in the bedroom than we’ve been given credit for.  She may not say it out loud, but she’s just as bored with missionary once a week, tired of waiting for the come that never comes.  She wants you to take her outside on a haystack, the way Alejandro shagged Rosarita last week on cuando de mi whatsitsname.  She wants you to surprise her in the shower with (what I can only hope are) 9 inches of morning glory.  She wants you to go down on her, repeatedly, and hopefully get her off.  She wants you to make like R Kelly and fuck her by the kitchen sink.  What men don’t seem to realise is that women are creatures of fantasy, we have all these freaky ideas in our heads, but because we’re expected to be these demure little creatures, we don’t know how to let them out.  You want to have better sex?  Odds are your woman is sitting there thinking, ‘Ya think?’  What you need to do is get your woman comfortable enough to let her freak out of the closet.

What?  You’re doing that staring at me blankly thing you always do.  You want me to explain, don’t you?  You just nodded, didn’t you?

I don’t know how to get her comfortable, she’s your woman, figure it out.  Try talking to her, tell her what you want to do to her, I mean really want to do to her, in detail, and see how she reacts.  Just be careful not to go too far too soon.  Come slowly, chief, otherwise you’ll scare her away.  Think of it as chemical warfare, only instead of the booze use the words from your nasty little mind.  If all else fails, play her the Will Downing track.  If that song doesn’t work then I can’t help you, or her.

This bad sex story must end, even if it means having this discussion all week every week for the next six months.  Surely, surely I say unto you my people, we have other problems to deal with, no?  In this day and age of almost limitless information at your fingertips and living in a society that is finally starting to accept that demanding greater carnal pleasure is not such a bad thing, there is no excuse for not taking matters into your own hands.  Folks, if you don’t like it, change it.  If you don’t change it, well then you’d best learn to like it.   Either way, stop telling me about it in the bar, just because I’m there alone doesn’t mean I’m idle, you useless buggers…