Something For The Ladies #3

Right then, it's Friday. Time to give the womenfolk of Todger Talk an advisory seeing-to. Here's the drill;

Ladies: If there's ever been anything about men you've wanted to know but were afraid to ask, or wanted a male viewpoint on a certain relationship niggle you're going through, drop an email to us at todger dot talk at googlemail dot com. Every week, we shall pick one out and answer it to the best of our capabilities.

Gentlemen: We would very much appreciate your input on a weekly basis, so the comments section of each Something For The Ladies post will be yours and yours alone. In other words, all female comments will be deleted. Sorry ladies, but in this case we'd be very grateful if you'd hush those sweet keystrokes and let the chaps have their say. Just for today though, we love hearing from you the rest of the week.

This week's question...

CC writes: I am only 25 and I am not being vain - men and women tell me that I am very attractive. My life's in a bit of a rut (my career - I'm a new attorney - isn't what I'd like, but I think that's normal) but I'd still like regular companionship or at least sex (the kind that involves a modicum of respect - not so much one night stands). Why does it seem no one's interested, and being forward only gets me in trouble? When I meet men I am attracted to, they always flirt with me - but then either they immediately want sex, or they just move on and find other people. I don't have bad breath and I do have friends. Is there something I can do to keep their interest, and go from sex interest to love interest?

'Mr Sex' says: Hmm. I think the key here is the second part of your question, so I'm gonna focus on that and let Sam handle the other bits. If you're trying to go from 'sex' to 'love', aren't you going about things arse-about-face? Yes, meeting a saucy madam and immediately getting down to the nitty is all very well and good - but in a lot of cases, where do you go from there?

This may sound hard to believe, but proper men actually adore the thrill of the chase - the feeling that something is slowly building to a crescendo. We love those moments when we hold each other's gaze a bit too long, and start to realise that those goodbye hugs seem to be getting longer and longer. As Jacques Brunswick said in that episode of The Simpsons when he was getting ready to finally cop off with Marge after weeks of flirty bowling lessons...

To the most beautiful moment in life;
better than a deed,
better than a memory,
The moment . . .
of anticipation!

Please don't think I'm suggesting you're slagging it about at the moment. Nor am I saying that you should be a prick-tease. But I think the problem that you and a lot of us have is that we're so excited about being able to run around the sweetshop of no-strings sex, that when we finally work out what we want, we discover that we've forgotten the art of courtship.

That sounds very Barbara Cartland-ish, I know, but if you want the right person to fall in love with you, you've got to give them the time to do so. Yes, he'll want to jump on your bones right away, but if you think he's a keeper, give him a chance to actually think why he wants to. If he loses interest, then he wasn't worth the steam off your piss anyway. If he doesn't, and fills the time by wanting to find out more about you, then off you go.

Sam says: You are caught in the attraction trap. It’s a bit of a nastily ironic thing that actually makes life really quite hard for attractive women.

I remember two clients I had that were models – they were caught in the attraction trap. The men they fancied would never approach them, and the only men that did were player wanker types. The trouble was twofold; firstly they were approached by wankers so often their default flirting signal was essentially ‘fuck off’, and because they were so attractive decent men who fancied them were to scared to approach.

You have to realise that our society puts a ridiculously disproportionate emphasis on how attractive women are. Just a small difference in your level of attractiveness can make a huge difference in terms of earning power (e.g. models) or the way men react to you. If you really attractive, it makes a really, really big difference.

I suspect that you must be just over that attractiveness threshold where the average decent guy is really seriously intimidated about approaching. The catch 22 is that when women approach men they (unfortunately) assume that those women want sex. Also as an attractive woman, quite a few men would secretly like to add you as a notch to their belt to brag about. Really, you are kind of caught between the devil and the deep blue sea.

Contary to popular belief, your attractiveness is actually a kind of disability on the relationship front, or rather it means you have to work a lot harder and smarter to get a guy who just isn't up for a shag.

The solution? Firstly, with guys you find attractive, you have to make it really obvious that you fancy them. I’m talking looking across, catching their eye, and giving them a smile. Secondly you have to make is really easy for them to approach you - e.g., going and standing at the bar next to them when they are getting drinks, playing the damsel in distress and asking them for help or directions etc. You make it really easy for them, but leave it to them to make the first move. That way you get over giving the impression that you are just up for a shag.

Secondly, you need to stick to the good-old fashioned rule of making a man wait. Unfortunately athough it’s the 21st century, if a woman sleeps with a man when they first meet, he tends to assume that she is not long relationship material. Snog him, yes, but make him wait until the 3rd or 4th date before you sleep with him. This also sorts the wheat out from the chaff on the male front; if he’s willing to wait that long, then it’s likely he’s more interested in something long term. Al's put it far more eloquently - make him love the anticipation of the chase, show plenty of interest, but make him wait and dream about the main meal!

Finally you might like to try www.mysinglefriend.com, which is the Selfridges of internet dating. Essentially there are so many other hot and successful women on the site, you'll just blend in - so much so that you'll have to email the guys you fancy rather than wait for them to come to you.

Gentlemen of Todger Talk, what is your advice to this very attractive lady?

Dave: on the pull alone

So many films have captured the romantic ideal of the straightforward pull. Picture the dimly lit bar in some American city, usually East or West coast. Devoid of custom or rammed to the ceiling. A man trudges in, seats himself at the bar and orders a Scotch. Inevitably, there will be at least one woman (usually the same age or possibly younger) also at said bar. And also drinking alone. A brief back and forth of monosyllabic decadence, several more inexpensive drinks and bobs your uncle. Another notch on the bedpost. Or most likely a scratch on the crack-riddled, nicotine-stained wall behind your manky pillow.

Unfortunately, opportunities like this just do not exist. Indeed, did they ever? Was it an entirely fictional premise? In the days when film was based around escapist entertainment as opposed to the modern obsession with documentaries, attempted realism and all the other genres designed to cull the population through mass suicide.

Where is there to go for the opportunity of engaging with a woman you’re yet to meet without either being surrounded by your pissed up mates or having to earn the approval of hers? It’s incredibly rare to see a woman drinking alone in a pub these days. And even in this modern day Pompeii, immediate suspicions surround the lone male drinker. It seems your only way to secure access over the ramparts and into her acknowledgment of your existence is through the company you’re keeping. Even then to cross the moat, you’d need to bring your mates into the conversation. Getting her to relax with raucous tales of the night Gerry got arrested for simulating sex with a traffic cone on the bonnet of a parked police car, blissfully unaware of its inhabitants. I was going to keep going with the impenetrable fortress analogy with a further Portcullis reference. But I think the moat was touching on dangerous ground so I shall not over egg the pudding.

There are clubs, I suppose. An illegitimate free for all for the worst type of primeval butt-rutters. However, owing to the volume of music, it’s less a convenient system of flirting and more a place to get away with touching someone up. Call me over-sensitive but personally I’d rather not end an evening, having misread the signals of one particularly seductive dancer, being made to feel a would-be molester. With that kind of guilt swimming around your head you wouldn’t even be able to go home alone and touch yourself up. Well, not unless you’re a very bad man.

Then some bright spark fooled the public into giving Speed-dating a go. Thank fuck that ludicrous phenomenon died a three minute death. It takes that long to exchange flirtatious glances and breathless pauses between generic compliments. Having a stranger rattling off his or her career, personal or sexual history at pace is precisely why women avoid drinking alone in pubs in the first place. Where’s the appeal in having to sell yourself like a reduced infomercial?

“I dunno, Bob, I’d sure like a little extra for my money.”

“Well, hold on there, Chad. I’m also gonna throw in good hygiene, a winning smile AND a BA(hons) in caring for small furry animals!”

The notion of potential suitors passing between school desks via conveyor belt in order to present a favourable account of themselves before the princess doesn’t even have a novelty factor. Especially when you’re bound to encounter her ugly evil stepsister at the next table.
And of course the infamous Singles nights held discreetly in the function room above your local pub. Advertised as thirty and up, to encompass a broad scope in clientele. But in actual fact only attracting men over sixty hoping for so nubile younger totty, and to there dismay discovering the women had the same idea. The only woman in her thirties whom actually turns up, invariably brings a male friend for moral support. They then spend the first half an hour chatting exclusively to each other before bogging off downstairs to main body of the pub and people nearer their own age group.

So what’s a guy to do? Enlist his friends, rally acquaintances, pay the odd stranger to stand next to him laughing at his hilarious tales of derring-do? Does he have to wait around for the next work-do or birthday party to try and get his end away? Or is it the soul-destroying solo night at a cheesy club, whereby you feel too depressed to channel any appeal into your visage and just end up getting smashed on extortionately priced vodka. But it makes no difference at this point because you’ve been gradually deafened by the excessive thumping generated by some Dutch ‘musician’ with an adjective for a surname.

'Mr Sex': So did the earth move for you?

I don't know what you were doing when the Great Midlands (And Other Bits of England) Earth Tremor of 2008 struck, but I was sitting next to a large box of sex toys, and I immediately thought they'd all gone off at once and, I dunno, were going to leap out and wank me to death.

And yes, like all of you who were up and wondering what the hell was going on, and then calming down a bit, I thought the same thing as millions of people across the country; why wasn't I having sex at that precise moment? That would have been the best brag ever. Sulk.

‘Mr Sex’: Time for some Spring Cleaning

Yeah, I know it’s still winter and the nights are still depressingly early and it’s absolutely bitter, but the sun is out, next door’s cat is spark out on the garden table, the blossoms are tentatively on the bough, and I’m thinking “Fuck it – time to talk about getting them pubes trimmed”

Putting all the Metrosexuality bollocks aside, there’s a lot to be said for pubic topiary. Thanks to the eradication of what some would call ‘70s bush’, and what we in the porn industry used to call ‘fannies like monkey’s faces’, we now live in a world where you can actually go down on a lady without feeling like you’re snogging a Geography teacher. So it’s only the decent thing to sort out the Sherwood Forest down your trousers, so they don’t feel like they’re headbutting Jermaine Jackson circa 1972 over and over.

Even better than that, trimmed or shaven bits are pretty damn sensual. If you have an erogenous zone, surely the prudent thing is to expose it as much as possible, right? And more importantly, a well-kept thatch can put as much as an extra optical inch on your nob, without having to arse about with pills, weights, and all that other shit that doesn’t work.

Obviously, this is something you’re going to want to do yourself, because you won’t be able to nip to the barbers, point at a black-and-white photo of some bloke’s junk, and say “Ooh, that one, please”. Yes, you could get your partner to do it, but you’ll only feel like you’re being prepared for a vasectomy, which isn’t exactly one of the most erotic role-play scenarios I can think of (and there’s also the option of going somewhere for a Back, Crack and Sack. No? Me neither).

Here’s what you need to get rid of your Groinfro for the first time;

A trimmer or clippers (not your flatmate’s or your Dad’s, please, and definitely not a standard shaver with the rotating head-things)

A new razor

A bit of newspaper

Somewhere private, preferably the bathroom

A lot of time

1) The first thing you need is an idea of what you want, the time and determination to stick to it, and the acceptance that you could just go for a tuppenny all-off if it goes tits-up.

2) Next, spread newspaper on floor, get kit off, turn clippers on and gently trim away at the area above your nob. Voila! There’s your extra inch! Feel free to spend the next half an hour or having a good look at it in the mirror, taking photos of it on your mobile, etc.

3) If that’s all you’re bothered about, make sure you don’t forget to trim the side bits to match, whizz it round your cobblers a bit until you’re happy, and you’re done. Now get them pubes in a bin and get a shower.

4) If you’re after something a bit more porn-starish, get in the shower (which, if you have a waterproof trimmer, you should have been from the off), and apply your cream or gel. WARNING: if you have sensitive skin and get allergic reactions from creams when you’re shaving your face, imagine how bad it’ll be down there.

5) You won’t realise how much hair you have down there (and in a bewildering range of nooks and crannies) until you shave for the first time, so expect to be in there for quite some time. Go slowly – unless the lot is coming off, one slip can cock it all up, or worse.

6) If you’re shaving your balls (and you should, because it feels mint afterwards and your girl will be more interested in them), go even slower and more carefully than before. You will find everything much easier to shave when you’re bonked up, as it’s out the way and your scrotum tightens up – and if you can manage that with a razor on your genitals, you’re a better man than I.

7) When you’re done, wash the area properly, and then go and touch it every thirty seconds for the rest of the day. Because you know you’re going to.

Right, here’s the downsides; for starters, it’s a bastard to maintain. Men who shave their bits for the first time discover that within a couple of days, when the stubble grows back, it prickles like buggery. What’s more, it’s going to get a bit pimply, too. In short, if you don’t maintain it, you’re going to have genitals that look like Adrian Mole for a bit. And if you’re single and have the tuppenny all-off, it’s inevitable that after a week or so, you’re going to meet an absolutely stunning girl and take her home, only for her to say “What have you done that for? Have you had crabs?”, and then bombard you with accusatory texts for a week when you’ve given her stubble rash. You have been warned.

Sam: Desperitis

Desperation is something that people can seem to smell a mile away. If flirting is like running a race, then desperation is like running through mud. You don’t get anywhere and you end up looking unattractive.

What is really unfair about Desperitis, is that the more someone needs a relationship, often the less likely they are to be able to find one. Essentially people who are needy are less attractive and people who are desperate are extremely unattractive.

Let’s take a guy I’ll call Jack, who is the epitome of Desperitis. You can just see how desperate he is to find a woman. He signs up first to every single event. He hands out cards with his contact details to every single woman he talks to. He has a kind of half crazed ‘please love me’ look in his eyes. His body language is over the top, he always leans in too close and seems just too interested when he is speed dating. Another fascinating thing is that when one talks with him, whether are a man or a woman, Jack has enormously dilated pupils.

Pupil dilation is a natural response to finding something or someone physically attractive (the black bit in our eyes gets bigger). It is something that babies do when they are young. It is a very clever tactic to make themselves more attractive to their parents and the people who look after them. There has been a fascinating study where people were shown identical pictures of the same people. There was just one simple change – in one of the pictures, the size of their pupils was digitally increased. The photos with larger pupils were universally rated as substantially more attractive then the normal photos.

Poor Jack is so desperate that he is trying to be attractive to everyone he meets. This ends up inevitably having the opposite effect. Essentially, he is showing his cards indiscriminately and far too fast.

By being desperate you are giving a very strong message, I am needy, and also perhaps suggesting that there is something wrong with your life that you are trying to get the other person to fix or fill. Do you remember those experiments at school where you put the two same ends of a magnet together at school and they just pushed away from each other. Well essentially this is what Desperitis does - it pushes people away.

The terrible thing is that this then becomes a self reinforcing cycle. The more you push people away, the more desperate you become. And then the more you push people away. It is a big downward spiral. So how can you pull out?

Let’s take eating as an analogy. If you don’t eat your breakfast, then you get hungry at lunch. The less you eat, the more hungry you become. Emotions in a way are the same – they are a hunger, something that needs to be re-filled on a regular basis. So one way to deal with desperation is to have what we could call an ‘emotional breakfast’. This then fills you up for the day, and changes the way you behave for the rest of the day. By the time lunchtime comes, you can be more relaxed about what you want to eat. If you are desperate, you need to find how to feed your own emotions, before trying to feed off other people. How you actually do this is of course a whole other topic!

Have you ever suffered the effects of desperitis? Know any sufferers?

‘Mr Sex’: If you need an explanation on how depressing this is, then we got a LONG day ahead of us

It's not the policy of Todger Talk to post over the weekend, but then I saw this article on the BBC News website, commissioned in the wake of the conclusion of the Ipswich prostitute murder trial. If you want to see of how completely fucked-up certain men can get over sex, here you go. On one hand, you want to commend the punters who have been interviewed for their honesty, but you also want to use the other hand to slap the living shit out their ignorant, bell-endy faces.

Patrick, Pete and Mark have some things in common. They are all successful, professional men, who work long hours and have to travel away from home. But what really unites them is that they all use prostitutes and are utterly unashamed about it.

I think we’re supposed to be impressed by the fact that they’re all professional and successful, as opposed to, say, Peter Sutcliffe.

He (Patrick) does not appear to have a problem leading a double life with his partner. "She doesn't know. I don't believe it's changed my relationship with her in any way. To some extent I feel closer to her.

This was round about the part where my hand automatically rose to my chin. How does nipping out to pay someone to be de-spunked not change anyone’s relationship with someone they’re married to? Giving up on any hope of a sex life with your missus to order to dip your hand into the Lucky Bag of paid sex with assorted prostitutes doesn’t change your relationship with your partner how? More importantly, how does going off to get a gobble off someone in a massage parlour bring one closer to one’s partner?

"I don't have to demand things that maybe I was demanding from her, like oral sex and things like that. She didn't like doing that. Now I no longer have to ask."

Ooh. ‘Demand’. That’s an interesting word, isn’t it, kids? Maybe if Patrick hadn’t treated a nosh like it was a birthright because he saw someone on a wank video having one, maybe he wouldn’t have to be forking out for one. Just a thought.

Management consultant Pete, 40, from Oxfordshire, is blunt about his motivation for buying sex. "I've not had sex with my wife for at least five years," he says. "In simple terms, it's how I get sex. I've not noticed a change in our relationship at all. "There is no emotional involvement [with the prostitutes]. At the risk of sounding cruel and heartless I don't think I do have a moral issue with it. If I did I wouldn't have done it."

Admittedly, he does have a point here; yes, he is sounding cruel and heartless. If you want sex but don’t want emotional involvement, maybe sex just isn’t for you. If you want an ego boost and can afford it, maybe you should have a wank into a handful of fifty pound notes instead. You'll feel just as good afterwards, and you can run the notes under a tap and put them on the radiator.

Mark says he used to spend a lot of time trying to pick women up in clubs and bars. Now the 31-year-old business consultant from London doesn't have the time.

Well, exactly. Why bother wasting your time talking to a woman like a human being when there’s no guarantee of unprotected anal in a car park at the end of it?

Patrick views it as a totally mundane transaction between adults.

So if it's mundane, why are you doing it, you fucking gibbon?

"I see us as adults. I want to pay and someone wants to sell. As long as I'm not hurting them in any way what harm am I doing. I'm distributing my wealth to people who don't have it."

Well, that puts a new spin on 'trickle-down' economics.Yes Patrick, all of these women desperately wanted to grow up to make a living by sucking on some sweaty, half a century-old IT spod-cock. Presumably, this twat also thinks that, by racking up another line of Wanker Powder on a toilet seat, he’s helping to put a Playstation 3 in the hands of some poor Bolivian urchin.

Pete suggests the world of street prostitution is "probably the grubbiest, grimiest bit". Patrick says he is not tempted, saying it is "risky and not comfortable". Mark's view is also revealing: "There is a slightly exploitative element to street prostitution."

Lovely bit of snobbery here. It’s a bit like viewing child porn in an ornate frame in a country mansion, and looking down your nose at people who watch it on the internet.

"There's always a lot of girls that I know," says Patrick. "We have a good camaraderie. I treat them as my friends and I feel to some extent they confide and talk to me."

THEY FUCKING HATE YOU, PATRICK. THEY LAUGH AT YOUR SONIC THE HEDGEHOG TIE, AND IMITATE YOUR GURNING PIG-MASK OF A COME FACE ON THEIR FAG BREAKS.

Mark's position is clear. If he did meet a woman he suspected was trafficked he would do something about it, there and then.

What, you're gonna slither down the Bat-Pole and mash down assorted Albanian henchmen with obligatory POW! and BIFF! effects?

The real root of prostitution is in the economic system and not the criminal laws, says Patrick. "There are a lot of single mothers who feel that's the only way they can make money. If you want to get rid of prostitution the way is to reform the welfare system."

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(That was me bashing my head against the keyboard over and over again)

Should prostitution be legalised? Course it should. Should shit-thick ignorance be criminalised in its place? Hell yeah. These deluded nob-ends seem to be living in a world where the women loll about on beds in fluffy mules with fruity foreign accents, capitalising on the cow-like frigidness of the local womenfolk by earning a nice bit of cash for their dear old Mams in Potatovia in a sexy, sexy way until Richard Gere comes along, and pimps are evidently crazy funsters with big Afros, that’s all.

According to the BBC, one in ten men currently use prostitutes. And you can forget the traditional myth that they’re all henpecked old men scurrying away from a hatchet-faced missus brandishing a rolling pin; most of them are single and in the prime of their lives. Let’s abandon this ludicrous pretence that it doesn’t happen, but let’s also junk the even more ludicrous pretence that the Pavlovian urge of 10% of the male population to have their genitals joylessly milked in a room above a garage in the scabby end of town by someone who needs fast cash is anything other than a fucked-up situation.

Something For The Ladies #2

Part two of our let-the-chaps-educate-our-female-readers segment, and this one is a cockbird of a question. Here are the rules again;

Ladies: If there's ever been anything about men you've wanted to know but were afraid to ask, or wanted a male viewpoint on a certain relationship niggle you're going through, drop an email to us at todger dot talk at googlemail dot com. Every week, we shall pick one out and answer it to the best of our capabilities.

Gentlemen: We would very much appreciate your input on a weekly basis, so the comments section of each Something For The Ladies post will be yours and yours alone. In other words, all female comments will be deleted. Sorry ladies, but in this case we'd be very grateful if you'd hush those sweet keystrokes and let the chaps have their say. Just for today though, we love hearing from you the rest of the week.

Got that? Good. This week's question...

TheGirl Writes: If a man loses his erection during or before sex (eg. especially when a condom is about to be put on), how would he like the woman to respond? I obviously have my own, personal, ways of dealing with this, eg. flirty humour, some compassion, and enthusiastic blow-jobs, but a) I would be very keen to hear the best responses men would like to receive from a woman when this situation arises (bad pun not intended), and b) I would like to learn how men really feel when this situation happens. For me, it's not a big deal at all - sex ain't just about the penis after all - but for a guy? How do men really feel?

‘Mr Sex’ says: Ooh. God, this is a bastard of a question, because it happened to me very recently. For starters, here’s what you don’t do;

• Assume that it’s your fault that he can’t get bonked up because you’re not attractive to him any more, or any of that bollocks (it’ll make him try harder to do so, which makes it even worse)
• Assume that it’s his fault that he can’t get a stonk-on (because, unless he’s been quaffing pints all night, it usually isn’t)
• Tell him to ‘hurry up and get a bit of fucking blood in it’
• Feel massively sorry for him
• Have a cob-on about it and roll over.

Let’s jump to the second part of the question; as a man, you feel absolutely fucking useless when it happens. For starters, you can’t even begin to work out why it’s not happening. Then, you start to get the feeling that you’ve failed the audition. Then you feel rubbish that you’re not able to satisfy your partner. Then you feel even more rubbish that you can’t satisfy yourself. After that, even if you manage to get it sorted, you start worrying that you’re never going to be as good to go like you used to be ever again. It’s a morbid carousel of doubt and self-loathing, to be honest, which is made even worse when you’re right next to a saucy madam who fancies a bit.

So what to do?

• Yes, oral is good. There’s nothing better than the feeling of growing in someone’s mouth, and the penis is still capable of feeling loads of sensations when on the flop. But even that might not work, so . . .
  
• Give him something to do. By this time he’ll be absolutely desperate to please you, so if you’re going down on him, turn it into a 69. Remind him that he’s also got a tongue, eight fingers and a couple of thumbs – and they’re not likely to go flaccid any time soon. If he can still get you off, his pride will remain intact
  
• Take advantage of the opportunity to point out that he has other erogenous zones, and they’re not all concentrated between his legs.

But yes, a very good question. And a horrible one. Sniff.

Sam says: Well, to be honest Al has pretty much nailed this one.

Really, as a man I just want the woman to be understanding, realise it happens sometimes, have a laugh about it and move on.

It is really quite rubbish as a bloke when things are getting all hot and heavy, and suddenly you’ve got to break the flow by scrambling around to find the little bugger, rip it open with your teeth (why is it condoms are always so hard to open?) and then shove it on yourself. It really breaks your concentration, which is a prime cause of Mr Floppy.

My biggest tip, if you want to avoid this sort of thing, is put the condom on him yourself. Ideally give him a blow job, then when he is really hard either slip it on with your mouth, or with your hand. (having craftily opened the condom while you are giving him the blow job so it’s immediately ready to roll on). If you get really good, he won’t even notice.

Gentlemen of Todger Talk, what is your advice to this lady about how to react? And how does it feel to get the droop?

Dave: Stick it up your bum

As Al proposes, there is a distinct discrimination against male self-gratification. Women’s needs and desires are catered for with the vast selection of dildos and vibrators available. Whereas we’re inconsiderately waved aside to spank our monkeys (or as a rather charming Australian friend of mine refers to it, kicking the ever-loving shit out of his gorilla) in the good old tried and tested way.

Perhaps though, introducing an assortment of artificial pussies would be admitting defeat. I can’t even picture what would constitute a variety. Once the NASA approved SuperDeluxe cock-muncher 3000, incorporating state of the art aeronautic systems of suction, has ensured cocks of all shape and size get a perfect workout, where does that leave the other plastic orifices on the market? But that’s precisely the problem. We’ve allowed our imagination to become stifled. Maybe because of the inequality of permissible methods of self-adoration. It’s deemed acceptable, nay, adventurous, in the eyes of both sexes, when a woman utilises the contents of her kitchen, dressing table or fridge for items to play with.

When women discuss their penis substitutes openly, it invites salacious leers and whooping from all those listening. However, should we let slip when down the pub that we too have had our moments of invention: Marigolds, a congealed Pot Noodle, your sister’s knickers – the black silk ones, with the rose on the front; a gawp of incredulity is the most we can hope for. Typically followed by disgust. As if initiative is a negative quality to have?

As the sex toy industry continues to leave us behind in the docks, it’s become evermore apparent that it’s up to us to massage our own creative juices. Let’s rediscover the days which spawned those heinous slurs of guys sticking it in anything and everything.

Venture forth, with a war cry of “I’m Stiff, and I’m Proud!” And raid every room in the house. Be experimental. Mix and match. Use a couple of toothbrushes (obviously not your own) and incorporate the colgate too – Icy Blast is a particular delight.

I want to hear ideas. Together we’ll show the sex toy industry we don’t need them – well, not together as such. We are after all, Men: inventors, conquerors, wankers!

'Mr Sex': Return of the porn letters

It's about time we had a rummage through me chatty Jiffy Bag of Grot, isn't it readers? And Cor Blimey O' Reilly, I've pulled out a belter. This bloke here used to write three - three! - letters a day to one of our models, all in the same tortured prose that brings to mind Groundskeeper Willie after a three-hour paint thinners-sniffing binge. I'm absolutely kicking myself that I didn't post this one before Valentines Day, as we can all learn from this man how to write affectionate, intelligent, subtle love letters that stylishly allude to potential sexual frisson, if the lady plays her cards right.

Without any further ado, I'd like you to read, digest, learn, and then force back a little bit of vomit in your throat;

Dearest Adele,

How good you must smell first thing on a HOT summers morn. But OOO My Gorgeous Adele. How I Just yern to lick & smell your Gorgeous Gorgeous sexy Botty. I want you to know my sweet. Yours is the MOAST Cutest Botty. That’s ever turned meez on I just canie get those Sexy Bum photies OOT o my mind. In your recent photo shoot for Mayfair. Aw Adele. Your Magnificent Rosey BUM CHEECKS are so Beautiful and I Love Seeing you my Sweet in Black Stockings and A BLACK BRA & PANTIES too. When I woke Feelin RANDY & HORNY. As Hell. Cause of you. I New I had to wank whith your sexy photies to look at your BUM. And end up Spunking IN MY PANTS. Aw Adele how Sweet your BUM must smell. And yer JUICY JUICY pussy. Even if you don’t write please, keep showing me yer sexy gorgeous botty. As even my ex GIRLfriend Never gave me such Great ORGASMS When I’m Wanking over you Adele. But Sweetheart I’d just love to smell YER PANTIES. Adlele Och Adele yer ma favourite GAL and I’d Love to Drink yer pee suppose I’m a wee bit kinky. But I want to ask ye oot Sweetheart my treat fur a Sexy Romantic candle lit meal. Cause Adele ye make me feel & explore myself when I Stroke my BALLS and and PRICK. You really make my COCK Grow 9½ Long each time I see your Golden BUM. I want you to finge your Sweet pussy Just after you’ve peed and dunie wipe it. And think of my 9½ inch penis between your Gorgeous Thighs. It’s cause Adele I think yer so sweet and I find you so ATTRACTIVE but I like to Wank Lots ower you Adele. I carn’t get yor gorgeous sexy BOTTY oot o ma mind AND I’m so desperate to get a pair of your PANTIES Adele please promise some for me please. Now Adele I must awha Noo. But afore I dae/do I’ve a secret to tell ye. When I find time tae tell ye. But I wish you wid come sit yer BOTT upon my face. So’s ah could TOUNGE & lick it and please do me a big favour Adele. Sit that Gorgeous BOTT upon this letter and take doon yer PANTIES first. I dunie ken another GIRL who’m I Want to Sleep Whith Darling Adele only you. You make me Loose Controll and then I wee in my PANTS as I’m thinking of my 9½ up yer BUM. And how I’d love to lick & slurp yer Juicy pussy Adele. Please let yer pubis grow Adele. Aroon yer pussy. Yer bum looks so clean. And so beautiful too. So please Adele be so kind and send me a pair of YOUR PANTIES. And by the way when are you free fur A HOT SEXY Romantic DATE.

ADELE I XX YOU ALL OVER LOVE FRAE YER HORNY LOVER BOY CAN YOU PLEASE LET ME NO

ADELE I FANCY THE PANTS OF YOU
Sweetheart
AND I LOVE YOU LOADS

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

LOVE FROM HORNY RIKKI

When are you Free Adele
For a Date Whith Me
A Night Whith my 9½ penis
Adele think aboot it then
Write and let me know

By the WAY Adele When are you next appearing in Mayfair Darling
Make it ASP please
So’s I CAN see your Gorgeous Beautiful
BUM

I dunno about you, but I think he's a bit of a bum man.

Dr Ayan: Peeing razor blades

Why 'urine infection' symptoms should always be taken seriously in men....

It's one of those things that women get commonly but men should really never get - urine infections. Why? Well, if you think about the urethra which is the tube that leads from your bladder to the outside world, in men it is usually relatively long compared to a woman. This makes it hard for bacteria to travel up it into the male bladder, whereas in a woman, bugs from the back passage have only a small way to travel to get into the bladder. Of course activities like having unprotected anal sex will increase the chance of developing a urine infection.

So what do you do if you get burning on passing urine? What are the possible causes?

Rarely some men are born with abnormalities of the structure of their renal tract, but this is rare.

• If you are over 50, think about your prostate - it could be infected and enlarged...


• It could be a stricture (narrowing of the urethra) which can happen as a result of a sexually transmitted infection, sometimes many years down the line


• It could be a sign that you've caught a sexually transmitted infection


• You could have a bladder or kidney stone
  

So what should you do? Well, either go down to your local sexual health clinic or see your doctor, but do not ignore it. The bottom line is that urine infections in men almost always need checking out... they don't 'just happen' like they do in women.

You can also check any symptoms on NHS Direct, either online, on digital TV, or talking directly on the phone to a nurse 24 hours a day (0845 46 47). They can also give you the address and details of your closest sexual health clinic.

Something For The Ladies #1

Right, here's the deal; every Friday, we're going to allow the nice ladies who read Todger Talk the opportunity to not only pick our massive sexperty brains, but also give our male readers the chance to impart their knowledge. Think of us as a 21st century Cathy and Claire, but with penises. The rules are as follows...

Ladies: If there's ever been anything about men you've wanted to know but were afraid to ask, or wanted a male viewpoint on a certain relationship niggle you're going through, drop an email to us at todger dot talk at googlemail dot com. Every week, we shall pick one out and answer it to the best of our capabilities.

Gentlemen: We would very much appreciate your input on a weekly basis, so the comments section of each Something For The Ladies post will be yours and yours alone. In other words, all female comments will be deleted. Sorry ladies, but in this case we'd be very grateful if you'd hush those sweet keystrokes and let the chaps have their say. Just for today though, we love hearing from you the rest of the week.

Are we all clear on that? Good. Here's the first question...

Paula Yates’ Wine Lodge writes: "So, Valentine's Day's come and gone, bringing no roses, chocolates or even a pissy cheap Asda card. Instead, it brought a lot of genuine requests as to whether a fantastic girl like me was inundated with the things. I'm in my thirties, successful, great company and attractive in a womanly way. Men fancy a go, thanks to what has been described as me having 'earthy sexualilty'. So why does no bugger ever ask me out? Does being confident and independent still put men off women; do they think we're going to give them orders in bed and laugh at the size of their dicks? Do they think we're so busy having a good time that we don't need them? Are they afraid that we'll laugh at them for daring to ask us out? Would they feel better if they knew that a girl like me likes to be tied up in the bedroom, although she can be a riot in the bar-room? I'd be really keen to find out what you guys on the blog think about this one, as I'm actually a bit nervous to ask my r/l male mates in case they tell me that my theories are actually right, and that I'm doing it ALL wrong."

‘Mr Sex’ says: Right then, so many questions;

a) Does being confident and independent put men off? No. But what it can mean is that these chaps (who I’m assuming you know quite well) are seeing you as someone who is dead happy with the way things are and isn’t interested in Thingy Whatsit with them. Men can be really cack like that sometimes. Maybe a bit of a hint might help them along (and when I say ‘hint’, I don’t mean screaming ‘FUCK ME! FUCK MEEE!’ and then spinning your head 360 degrees and doing yourself with a crucifix, like Linda Blair in The Exorcist – something a bit subtler, obviously)

b) Do we think that ‘successful career’ equates ‘performance-hungry size-queen’? No. But we do tend to fall into the trap of assuming that successful women want to couple up with equally successful men, presumably so they can have, I dunno, power-breakfasts, or power-trips to the local Asda, and power-sex. We basically like women who earn loads of money and have interesting lives, but we tend to assume that they wouldn’t be massively interested in us. Rubbish, I know, but there it is.

c) Yes, we do tend to think you’re so busy having a good time that we’d get in the way. Fish, bicycle, bicycle, fish. It’s all percolated through to us after so many years, and we feel that we need you more than you need us.

d) Would we be interested in knowing you like to be tied up in the bedroom? Hell yeah. But make sure you say that only those whose fingers you'd like on the knot, if you will, because there's nothing worse than having a woman tell you things like that when it's obvious they don't want to do it with you. It's the sexual equivalent of Jim Bowen saying "Here's what you could have won" on Bullseye.

Basically, it sounds like your life is pretty much sorted out, which makes you a very decent catch indeed. The trick is to relay your availability, but in a Quiet Storm-like manner, and see what happens.

Sam says:

Ok this is pretty simple. You have on what I call 'successitis'. Essentially you have such a successful confident exterior that men presume if you want them, you will make the first move. Or they are too intimidated to make the first move themselves, probably unless they are wanker players who just want a shag. Also they probably assume you are such a strong successful feminist you are over all that girly flowersy, cardy stuff. Oh how wrong they are. Many men have yet to embrace the concept that women can be feminists and still like girly stuff. (I struggled with it myself for some time)

Probably lots of really great men find you really hot and attractive, but just don't have the courage to make a move. (Think back to Dave's piece last week!)

Also what most men fail to realise is that powerful women like you do love to lose control, or more importantly have other people take control: hence being tied up in the bedroom.

The solution?

a) Turn up the flirting volume - When you are around men you fancy, double your flirting volume. Check to see if the blokes responds. If not double it again. And again. Because of your successful exterior you practically will have to wear a sign around your neck saying 'yes, I find you hot, make the first move. Now.' What feels like a rock concert of flirting to you, will look like a slight glimmer of hope to us.

Another way of looking at it is to treat us like Donkeys. You need to hold the carrot right in front of our noses so close it's easy for us to bite. As blokes we are quite dopey at picking up signals, unless they are dangled right in front of us, hopefully accompanied by 'here donkey donkey, try the nice carrot', just so we can be really sure. This is especially so if it is an attractive, earthily sexy and successful carrot.

b) Make the first move yourself - at least half the men that I speak to would be massively relieved if women made the first move. If you think he fancies you, then get drunk with him and you start the snogging. That way if it goes wrong you can blame it on the booze and laugh it off. Or if you fancy a date, ask him out, he will probably be massively relieved and pleasantly surprised.

The downside? - welcome to the horrible man's world of constant possible rejection.

Gentlemen of Todger Talk, what is your advice to this lovely lady?

'Mr Sex': Happy You’re Single, And The Whole World Wants To Rub Your Face In It Day

...and personally, the world can piss off. It's great to be single on February 14th. Here's why...

It’s not a crime to be over 21 and single anymore. The time when being on the wrong side of 30 and still independent brought to mind the words ‘suspected paedophile’ are long over, and thank God for that. Back in the day, we’d look at sitcoms like Dear John and be invited to laugh at the misfortune of a collection of social misfits. If anyone tried to make a programme like that these days, it would have to be on after the 9pm watershed in order to get as much shagging in as possible. You’d like to feel sorry for your recently-divorced mates, but they’re too busy doing things and meeting new people to care.

You’ve avoided all the bollocks and mither associated with the morbid carousel of corporate phoneyness that is Valentines Day. Well done. No handing over fistfuls of money you can’t afford to Interflora for you. No wedging yourself into that overpriced Italian restaurant and having the same set meal with all the other sheep.

You can sit back and take a cheap holiday in other people’s misery. See this wonderful post here for further details.

You can wallow in your own glorious selfishness. Want to spend Valentines night watching Japanese chaps getting tortured in a gym by people in leather cat-suits, whist eating a sandwich made from wrapping a pizza round a bag of chips? Tonight, while everyone else is out and getting ripped off, you can. Hell, you should.

You can luxuriate in the knowledge that one of your mates is having an absolutely horrific time. Because there’s always one. The pressure to perform is so astronomically stifling that someone is bound to buckle under the weight. Last year, a friend of mine got so stressed out before dinner with her new partner that she proceeded to get absolutely battered. Halfway through the meal, she went to the bog to curl one off, and then shouted “HEY! DON’T GO IN TRAP THREE, IT FUCKING STINKS IN THERE” across the restaurant at her paramour. When they were finally poured out of the taxi back to hers, she ended the night by collapsing on her bed and pissing herself. I think they’re still together, which proves that Love does indeed conquer all.

Tonight is the best pulling night of the year. Without question. Even more so than New Years Eve. For one night a year, all the proper pubs in town who aren’t ramming Valentines Day down anyone’s throats will be full of people who are absolutely, 100%, no-two-ways-about-it single. The amount of women I’ve met this week who are vowing to go out on a mission tonight with all their other single mates is astounding.

So, whatever you're doing, and whoever you're doing it with - if at all - have a lovely VD from all at Todger Talk.

Dave: the attraction of disloyalty

We’re often upset when we discover the woman we’ve just boned chose to have sex with us purely to alleviate the intense emotional void she’d been cultivating since her cat died, or ‘cos she’d accidentally overheard a friend commenting on her natural big-bones.

It’s not so much the pondering of whether it meant anything to her, though it can hit your pride, albeit as a distant after thought once you’ve finished strutting your stuff around town for a week – I got lucky, oh yeah, baby. The frustration lies in the considerable ease in which women are able to accomplish their task; plenty of guys ready and waiting without having to engage them in witty banter – a quick glance and deliberate brush of the hand across his genitals will do it.

Not so easy for us (you can get in quite a bit of trouble brushing a hand across the genitalia of a complete stranger).

Especially when your self-esteem isn’t at its peak. The lower you feel the tougher it is to sustain the necessary act required to secure the pull. This becomes a vicious circle of repeated rejection, further dejection, greater need for companionship and thus less ability to provide the appropriate cheery persona, etc.

Having been out of the ‘game’ for such a long time, confidence (never my strongest attribute, if indeed, it exists within me at all) has been at an all time low. I was sincerely wondering if I’d ever have sex again.

So I decided, following weeks of deflated deliberation, to visit a hooker. And one within my budget – not the best idea – weighing up the socially and emotionally ingrained indignity of the concept of paying for one of the most natural of human pleasures.

Needless to say, the entire process was incredibly unsexy and demeaning (for both of us no doubt). In a nutshell, my mind refused to allow my cock to get on with what it’s designed for – and it had nothing to do with the several drinks I’d consumed for Dutch Courage as my penis never seems to get as pissed as I do.

She forced a condom on to my flaccid member and sat back holding one leg in the air. Thoughts of shame, despondency and self-ridicule whirred around my head at volume until I sorrowfully mumbled an apology, dressed myself and fled, red-faced and £20 out of pocket.

Where is this going? Well, the last girl I was with, assumed, from my appearance, rather than my attitude or anything I’d said, that I was some kind of ‘player’ (I wish). Once we’d screwed a couple of times over the following weeks, it transpired that we got on well, better than well, we became best friends – so a relationship blossomed. A relationship which lasted longer than most marriages I’ve known.

That’s what hurt so much, once I’d dedicated myself to this person (as was my way) she, through personal insecurities and expectations based upon her father’s infidelities, decided I wasn’t cavalier enough (well, I am circumcised).

It wasn’t until I’d deigned to drunkenly visit a whore that her ‘passion’ returned. I neglected to tell her that I failed to perform because of feelings of self-loathing. Had I cheated on her with a non-working girl, I later discovered, it would have set me up in blowjobs for life.

However, she failed to understand that had I been sleeping with anyone else, I wouldn’t have stayed with her (possibly a greater attraction) but more to the point, it wouldn’t have made me more ‘manly’ but less so.

It may sound a little unsympathetic but then again, she left me. Hooked up with some geeky older family man and now lives alone. I guess it says a lot for my judgment. Though, until that disturbing turn around she’d always claimed to abhor such philandering.

Yet another example of that old adage ‘nice guys finish last’, as made homage to by numerous 80s teen flicks.

'Mr Sex': Knickers to Valentines Day

And so, the relentless death-march towards Valentines Day nears its end, and you still haven’t sorted anything out. Practically everything with red petals has been stripped from the land and reserved under someone else’s name. Every restaurant up to and including that Little Chef on the nearby motorway has been booked up. You’re starting to panic. You’re casting around wildly for ideas. And then, out of nowhere, the idea hits you. It’s so logical – so painfully obvious – that you’re practically kicking your legs up with glee.

And then I step in, and say the following; No, Mate. Do not – repeat, DO NOT, under any circumstances whatsoever – even think about getting some fancy knickers in as a surprise for your partner this Valentine’s Day. That way lies danger.

Before I go any further, I need to get the following absolutely clear; no, there is absolutely nothing wrong with taking an healthy interest in your girlfriend’s knicker drawer, or anyone else’s for that matter. Speaking as someone who has known the misery of clothes-shopping with a girlfriend, I know only too well what an oasis of wonderment the kecks department can be when you’re properly supervised. If you play your cards right, it’s guilt-free staring at massive blow-ups of models in their pants (as long as you make enough glances at your partner) and endless fiddling with gussets and lacy bits (as long as you remember to say “this would go really nice with your favourite outfit” every now and then) all the way.

The problem is, you’ve left it much too late in the day, and you’re going to have to go it alone. Let’s just pause for a moment and remind ourselves of the following;



Hm. A lesson for us all there, regardless of religious denomination.

But anyway, even if you’re strong enough to wander into Knickerbox on your Jack Jones, the fatal flaw in knickers-as-gift presents itself very early on. The male thought process almost always seems to go something like this;

1) Chocolates and flowers are impersonal sops unthinkingly thrown at women by unoriginal types.

2) She’s always moaning about not having enough underwear.

3) If I bought her some, it would demonstrate how well I knew her, and how thoughtful I am.

4) I could get her a suspender belt as well, and KWOOOOORRRRRRR (five minutes of drooling, Sid James impersonations, involuntary groin-thrusting, etc).

So, in about two seconds, your thought patterns have veered from “I must buy something for her” to “I’ve got to get something for me”. And women rather tend to see through things like that in an instant. In some extreme cases, she’ll even misinterpret “I bought these for you, because you’re lovely, and you’d look even lovelier in these” as “Oi, you’re not turning me on anymore – get these on and I might be interested”.

The second flaw, as you may be dimly aware, is that women are not like us when it comes to pants. Whereas we’ll quite happily wear anything way that’s been wrapped in a bit of paper with the words “Merry Xmas, Son – Love Mam xxx” scrawled across the top, women are extremely particular about what they wrap around their arses. Here’s a test; do you know your partner’s bra size? Without putting your hands in front of your chest and shaking them about a bit? Thought not. One of the biggest mistakes I made was dashing into a shop and throwing £30 over the counter for the first thing that looked nice but not slutty, and seeing my girlfriend’s face crumple into a mask of hate when she looked at them, turned them round, and screamed “I never wear thongs!” I hadn’t even looked at the back of them. She soon saw the back of me.

The best thing to do, of course (which is too late now for the likes of you), is to hand over a chunk of money and go to the keck emporium together. And even that can be a disaster. I once did that very thing with my first girlfriend, and ended up blowing nearly £200 on a basque with all the trimmings (seeing as I was working as a bingo caller at the time, it was a huge layout). When the time came for her to wear it, she looked like a frightened animal caught in a trap of lace and underwire, and she never wore it again.

And if you’ve read all that, and you still insist on going that way this VD, I shake my head and offer the following advice;

Get the sizes right. Go through her knicker drawer right now and look for labels. As many as you can. Although this might not work, as bra sizes of different manufacturers seem to fluctuate like a bastard, according to my lady friends.

Different is not necessarily better. You can’t force something she doesn’t already wear upon her, no matter how experimental she may be. If she doesn’t wear thongs now, she’s not going to on your say-so.

Go for a variation on what she already likes. If you know what she wears for ‘best’, go down the same route, but a different colour.

Go for a variation on what she already likes, but more expensive. If she has brand loyalty, pick out the kind of thing she’d wear, but is out of her price range.

Don’t show off whatever you’ve bought her at work. They’ll get ripped out of your hand, be fingered to buggery, and will invariably end up over the face of that IT bloke who does nothing but eat Scotch eggs all day.

Keep the receipt.

Don't blame me if it goes tits-up.

(oh, and if any women out there suffer from wrong-pantage this VD, here’s a tip to get rid of ‘em without mashing his ego into a pulp; before you put them on, make a few crafty snips here and there with a pair of scissors, and rip them off during foreplay. He’ll get his jollies, and you’ll never have to wear them again. Suggest that the two of you can go together and buy some more – whilst subtly dropping what you’d really like – and everyone’s a winner)

Sam: The Invisible Man

Looking through the forums last week one poster brought up something that I have been thinking for a while. She complained that there were six women talking, and then one man talking and one other person talking who she didn’t really know if he was a man or a woman.

Todger Talk was originally set up as a place for men to talk comfortably about sex. Usually this happens without women looking over our shoulder and commenting on everything we say.

Men can be quite shy creatures when it comes to talking about sex and relationships, especially if we are going to get a good thumping from articulate and opinionated women.

So it turns out that what men are thinking about relationships and sex has proven to be rather popular with the ladies – as is evidenced by all the great discussion that has been happening on the forums. And of course there is a great benefit to male readers, we get lots of advice and perspective from the fairer sex.

But I have to say I am a little worried that the blokes are being a bit scared off.

So lads, let me suggest as solution, become invisible men. Protect yourself. Make use of the great thing on blogging ANONYMOUS POSTINGS. You can say what you want and they won’t know who you are. We want to hear from you, so stick on the magical cloak of invisibility and get talking.

All that said, I was really pleased to see that Dave’s piece last week really flushed the blokes out of the woodwork, hopefully a trend that will continue.

But dear readers I’d be interested to hear what you think.

Are the forums here so dominated by women that it looks intimidating? Are you a male reader but just can’t bring yourself to join the discussion? Do you feel you are just going to get a bollocking if you speak your mind? Is it ace to get all that free female advice?

Something for the weekend, Sir? (9.2.08)

Todger Talk isn't exactly sure what it's going to do this weekend, but it knows for a fact it's not going to have anything to do with football as a protest against the general greedy-bastardness of the Premier League. Until Monday, feel free to gorge yourselves upon the following links...

Dave Dee (ask your Nana) publishes a seminal diatribe against the horrors of the female fashion industry, from that vital feminist textbook the 1970 Fab 208 annual

Bête de Jour talks about getting some pussy

How big is this sex toy? Why, it's a foot! (ba-dum-TISH!)

Hear the dulcet tones of Mr Sex talking to the wonderful Tania Glyde and the one and only Tim Fountain about his aversion to anal sex on the much-missed Midnight Sex Talk (he's, erm, changed his mind a bit since then - and get well soon, Tania)

And some proper Valentines cards

'Mr Sex' opens the TOY BOX OF MISERY

Here's something I want to know, and I want to know it now: when are male sex toys going to achieve parity with their female counterparts? It's bad enough that women have far more pulling opportunities than we do. Even worse that they have access to sex toys that actually work. Here's an experiment; imagine that one of your female work colleagues let it slip that she had a Rabbit in their bedroom drawer. What would be your reaction? I'm guessing it would veer from "Good for her for exploring her sexuality" to "Fwooooorrr". Now imagine that one of your male colleagues had something similar in his possession. Not such a positive image, is it?

Women absolutely dominate the sex toy industry these days, and rightly so. The Rabbit may have been a handy plot device in Sex and the City, but the reason that people bang on about it all the time is that it actually works. I used to know an incredibly attractive and ridiculously flirty woman in her late thirties who had no end of male attention, who told me that she'd never had an orgasm in her life until she bought a Rabbit. That's how good it is. Meanwhile, us blokes are still stuck in the Dark Ages of inflatable this and simulated that.

In a way, we've pretty much brought it on themselves. While women demand products that actually deliver the goods, we demand some kind of ludicrous 'realism' to help us get over the fact that we're not actually having sex with a real woman. Obviously, this has got to change sometime soon; the female market is nearing saturation point, and - more importantly - there's too much money at stake. Whoever comes up with a male sex toy that blokes will use without feeling guilty will probably be able to buy Australia.

It goes without saying that Todger Talk will reviewing male sex toys at some point, but for now, I'd like to dig something out of the archives. It's the balmy summer of 2000, and I'm working for a grot mag who is giving away £1,000 worth of sex toys in a competition. A huge box of filth has arrived in the post, and we drag it to a Soho rooftop to take pics, have a cheeky spliff, and piss about, basically. What follows is a valuable document of female sex toys in those pre-Rabbit times, and male sex toys as they pretty much are now...

It goes without saying that then, as now, vibrators pretty much dominated the female end of the sex toy market. But look at these. They're special. The one on the left looks as it it was hand-carved by Masai tribesmen, so I think it's supposed to be very ethnic and authentic. But then again, when you remember what they do over there, it rather defeats the object (Oh, and it's made of plastic).

The one on the right, on the other hand, has a rather fetching giraffe-skin effect, and was part of a range that includes tiger, leopard and zebra skin vibs. Perfect for Bet Lynch, or women who fantasise about being shagged by jungle animals.

Because we all know you do, eh ladies?

Wahey! Wasn't I lucky to find a dick pump that matched me two-sizes-too-big shirt, eh readers? I really regret that I didn't get a pic of the box, as it had some bloke on the front who looked as if he usually did photoshoots for Kay's Catalogue, and wasn't happy about the last-minute booking. His body posture screamed "HEY! I'M MAKING MY COCK BIGGER, AND I LOVE IT!" while the look on his face said "I want death. Now." Yes, they still sell dick pumps. And yes, they still don't work.

Obviously, there were a lot of sex dolls. Back in the day, they used to be really manky, but with the advent of new 21st-century technology, you can bet your arse that they're a lot more realistic. And look! This one is based on top porn star Sharon Slone (whoever the fuck she is), and the packaging says it's hyperrealistic! Fucking YES! Let's have a look at it!

Oh.

(Incidentally, I had a friend who used to work at a sex shop round the corner, and once overheard him pass on the following advice to a punter; when you buy a sex doll, never be tempted to blow it up the whole way, because if you do the vagina will pop out and it's an absolute bastard to get back in. If you learn nothing else from Todger Talk, take that factoid to the grave)

Anyway, let's have a look at this other one and get a threesome on...

Ooer. A Ladyboy doll with 'Realistic Vibrating Penis' and 'Strong Breasts'. So, 4,000 years of human endeavour has come to this - being taken up the arse by a balloon.

Here's something that appears to have been consigned to the back of History's wardrobe - the Butterfly. And thank God for that. I understand what they were supposed to do - I just never worked out why they had to look like butterflies. Was there some kind of board meeting at a factory in Doncaster?

"So, Les we've got this great new product that lasses can strap around their fannies and have a right good fiddle with. It'll sell like hot cakes"

"Aye, Roy, but there's a problem. It's a big chunk o' plastic, and the nice ladies will not be keen on lobbing a big chunk of placcy wotsit around their flanges"

"Hmm, you've got a point there, Les. let's make it look like summat nice and feminine that lasses lik...hmm...what about a cat's head?"

"A nice cake? A Catherine Cookson book? David Hassellhoff?"

"I reckon an animal of some sort. A Shetland Pony...no, a baby elephant...a panda?"

"A butterfly?"

"A BUTTERFLY! Champion suggestion, Les! What lady wouldn't want a butterfly flittering and a-fluttering around their minge? Let's do it!"

When you actually hold one of these in your hand, many questions come into your mind: "Why?" being the main one. I don't know about you, but if I was a woman, I think I'd sooner prefer having Ronald Reagan's face up against me crotch. The second question is "Why does this 'butterfly' look more like a Gay facehugger out of the Alien trilogy?"

(Still, it had its uses. I nicked it and went to a fancy-dress party as the poster for Silence Of The Lambs)

The next item nearly won the prize for Most Unsavoury In Show. According to the box, this is a genuine rubber cast of the genitalia of some famous porn star whose name escapes me. There were photos of her arse and fanny encased in Plaster of Paris. According to the blurb, this is the most realistic experience one can ever have with something that's made of rubber and looks like something you'd find on a plate at Little Chef. I don't know about you, but I see nothing 'realistic' about having sex with something that resembles the contents of a jar that Jack The Ripper would have paid a thruppenny bit to see at a Victorian fairground.

But this wasn't the most horrific thing I saw. Oh no. Not by a long chalk.

This, my friends, was called 'Lolita', and at first glance, it didn't look any more different than all the other bits of plastic that you stick your cock in, set to vibrate, and look like rolled-up socks that have been thrown in the corner of the bedroom after a night on the piss. At the previous company I worked at, we sold something very similar called a Talking Vagina. You pressed a button, and it would go "FUCZZZZZZZZHHH MEEEEHHHHZZZZ! FUCZZZZZZZZHHH MEEEEHHHHZZZZ!". It was very popular in Wales.

This was far worse, and I'll tell you why. Disregard the obvious paedophilic overtones. Let's not talk about the fact that it looks as if you're shagging a Lilliputian prostitute. Come and have a look around the, er, 'Tradesman's Entrance'...

Now, according to the package, this item will let you relive 'The First Time'. And I hear you working right now. Your First Time was probably as disappointing as mine, but it could never be as bad as humping a wodge of plastic that looks like a big pink walnut. So, how? How does it recreate that special inauguration into sexual maturity?

I'll show you. See the slit? There's a thin membrane covering it. In other words, you have to break it in. On my Mam's life, I'm not lying. The whole point of this fucking thing is to feel the satisfaction of taking the virginity of a hunk of latex.

OK, so that was then, and this is now. As I said, male sex toy reviews will be forthcoming...