Friday, 30 May 2008

Something For The Ladies #14

Friday again, is it? Mint. Let's do our usual thing;

: 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, so the comments section of each Something For The Ladies post will be yours and yours alone for 24 hours. 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.

This week's question...

Janice Doe writes: I was watching Clerks with my boyfriend the other night when an interesting subject came up. Turns out, although he has received oral from numerous girls, he has only been on the giving side with two females - myself and his ex of 4 years. Apparently, he feels that cunnilingus is more intimate than fellatio and that while he loves performing the act on me he wouldn't perform it on just any hook-up. According to my sexist beloved, most guys feel this way and won't pleasure a girl orally unless he's very serious about her. I'm wondering if what he said is true across the board. How do blokes feel about cunnilingus, and how willing are they to give?

'Mr Sex' says: First off, Sam's away at the moment and I've been absolutely burned out from doing something else unrelated to sex (alas), so I'll handle this one myself. And a bastard of a question it is, too, because I think it's ace and I can't understand why any bloke wouldn't want want to give a lady a bit of a nosh. Think about it; tongues don't have erectile problems and they don't go off after 30 seconds. When your ex bitches about you to her mates, she doesn't use her thumb and index finger to sneeringly demonstrate the size of it. Furthermore - and this is the thing I really don't understand about men who don't get it - cunnilingus is the greatest sexual leveller ever. Face like a carrier bag full of slugs? Doesn't matter when you've got it between someone's legs. Hung like a button mushroom? Who gives a toss when you've got a mouth and you know what to do with it?

And therein lies the problem; a lot of men just don't, because from our point of view, it all looks remarkably complicated. Women have it comparatively easy when it comes to oral sex; I could get me nob out for Maria in the Sound Of Music, and she'd instantly have a rough idea of what to do. Lady-bits, on the other hand, look far more complex to the oral novice. Jesus, it took me ages to actually know what I was supposed to be doing, and it wasn't until I met my fourth sexual partner until I did - mainly because she was the first one to actually tell me what she liked. Maybe it was to do with the fact that she was bisexual and had actually done it herself.

But anyway, less about me and how ace I am, and let's talk about these other types who can't handle it. I have to laugh at the idea that cunnilingus is 'more' than fellatio (if I'd have been you when he said that, I would have told him to go and suck your Dad off next Christmas, if it were such a mere bagutelle to him), and the cynic inside me has a feeling that 'more intimate' means 'doing something without getting any attention on my genitals'. But - and I can't say this enough - every man has his own individual opinion on licking the tuppence, so let me shut up and let our male readership have their say.

Gentlemen of TT: Comment!

Wednesday, 28 May 2008

Sex Toy Review: The Monkey Spanker

Sorry if I sound a bit snippy here, but of all the sex toys I've reviewed so far, this one has pissed me off the most. Not because it's rubbish, but because I invented the bastard six months ago before it even knew it existed. I was lying in bed, thinking about a sex toy for men no-one's done yet, and I thought, hm...hoopy thing on a waggle it like fuck...this time next year, I'll be a millionaire. Sadly, I've been beaten to it. Even more sadly, it goes to show how badly my sex life has gone to shit, if I'm reduced to fantasising about new ways of having a wank, for God's sake.

Offering a new and improved take on the art of the Hand Shandy, the Monkey Spanker is a stretchy, vibrating diaphanous tube that forms a seal round your dick. Yes, you may look like a Korean table-tennis champion on human growth hormone while you're using it, but not as much as you feel like one. Maybe you and a mate could liven up a dull Tuesday evening by thrashing away at yourselves with one each while you veer from side to side found the dining table, Forget I spoke.

You Will Also Need: Lube, lube, lube.

Instruction Sample: “We cannot be held responsible for unwanted pregnancies or any STDs”

Looks like: Again, congrats to the male sex toy makers of today, for creating something that looks nothing like a sex toy. Only the vibrating bullet that clips into the handle gives it away. Otherwise, it's crying out to be dipped into a bucket of soapy water and blown through, don't you think?

Feels like: A very tight thing indeed. Takes quite a while to get the hang of. If you use too much lube, it creates a rather gunky paste. If you don't use enough, it's a bit chafey.

Clean-up: As there’s no spoff reservoir, cleaning up the Monkey Spanker is piss-easy. Cleaning up your shirt or the bedding might not be.

Partner Compatibility: Very high indeed. Ladies, if you’ve ever wanted to do your partner with a toy without shoving one of yours up his arse, this is something you need to get hold of. Combine it with a blow job (whilst trying not to repeatedly bash yourself in the nose, of course), and he’ll be putty in your hands. If you've ever wanted to develop a different strain of RSI, here's your chance, girls!

Pros: It’s a wank that feels like someone else is doing it without having to lie on your arm for half an hour.

Cons: If you don’t use enough lube, it’s a bit too cheese-gratery. And please, male sex toy industry - try to move away from the vibrating angle, please. To us, vibrations round the groinal area don't imply as much erotic splendour as they do for women; for us, they bring to mind things like sitting on a bus, using a jigsaw on a workbench, or being trimmed just before a vasectomy.

(oh, and I was going to call my invention the 'Cock-A-Hoop'. It's just not fair)

The Monkey Spanker, £17.99, kindly provided by
Adapted from Boy's Toys, Scarlet magazine (March issue) –

Monday, 26 May 2008

Sam: Dirty, Sexy Money

Did you know that according to Kate Fox, a renouned and respected sociol anthropologist, most English people would rather talk about sex with their parents rather than money. Now this is something astonishing. Consdering the massive, huge, head exploding embarassment of talking to your parents about sex, money really must be a really, really dirty topic.

Money is quite a tricky subject when you are dating. The realities of modern dating can make is a rather expensive business. With internet dating you might set up a couple of dates a week, and if you are a traditional type, you might end up going for dinner, which could easily end up costing £80-100 quid a throw. Now if one person has to pay for this, suddenly dating becomes a horribly expensive business – especially if in the first ten seconds you realise there is no chemistry, but Kamakazi style have committed to an entire expensive evening.

Needless to say I recommend my clients always go on a ‘coffee date’ first if they are meeting someone on the internet.

Most professional women are getting to the stage where they are often getting paid just as much, and in some cases more than the men they are dating. To me intellectually it seems fair that if you are both earning the same amount, then you should split the bill.

But, one women recenly rather bluntly put it this way – ‘If he can’t pay for dinner, how is he going to support me when I’m on maternity leave with the kids?’. Us guys on the other hand are probably thinking ‘I could have just bought Grand Theft Auto IV with that money, and I didn’t even fancy her’.

I actually advise my male clients to pay on a first date – and with good reason – a recently survey found that 6 out of 10 women think paying the bill on a date makes for a bad dating experience. We live in a modern world, but still doggedly hang on to our old world traditions.

So who pays on a date? Should you go 50/50? Or should the man foot the bill?

Friday, 23 May 2008

Something For The Ladies #13

It's Friday. So just before Todger Talk clocks off at its part-time job at a paint shop to go home, have a row with its Dad, put on a medallion and stand in front of an Al Pacino poster in its pants shouting "AT-TIC-A! AT-TIC-A!" before nipping to the disco and then seeing its best mate fall off a bridge, we'd better do this:

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, so the comments section of each Something For The Ladies post will be yours and yours alone for 24 hours. 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.

This week's question...

Anon and On Writes: have a problem that you and your readers could hopefully help me with. It is regarding why you men react the way they do when confronted with something just a little bit delicate/negative/serious.

The thing is, I was abused by an adult for a number of years in my early teens. It is not something that I feel affects me too much now, and I am sure I have dealt with it well (although there are a tiny number of things I am not comfortable with sexually - for example I cannot dress up in certain sexy outfits, which I am fine with). As you can imagine, it is not something I readily divulge to any passing stranger, but if I am in a relationship I feel could go somewhere I have told the person I am dating about it - both as explanation of my slight sexual inhibitions and because I feel that if I don’t I am lying by omission. I’m not telling them to invoke pity or even understanding; it’s just that I think I should.

The problem is this, all four of the men I have told have either demanded to know the name and address of my abuser so they can avenge me and then act like a hero, or have shrunk away from me, refusing to have sex, treating me like a child. I understand that it cannot be an easy thing to hear, but why confront it with either masculine stupidity or plain fear? I guess what I want to know is how to broach the subject without provoking the need to 'avenge' or 'protect' me - Or should I say nothing at all? I’ve been with my current boyfriend for six months without telling him and I really like him. I don’t want to ruin it by doing the wrong thing. Please help!

Sam says: Basically, as you have discovered, being confronted with a woman who has been sexually abused brings up some pretty basic and raw emotions in men, when we struggle with our emotions at the best of times.

This kind of binary response does make a strange sort of sense. The more macho men are clearly going for the revenge option; making it clear that they will protect you, a very basic instinct for a man, since for millions of years he played the role of the hunter and sometimes the warrior. It’s pretty much genetically programmed into us to want to bash someone who threatens our mate, even it if was from the past.

On the other end of the scale, you have the more sensitive man, who has a bit more control over the aggressive-monkey part of his personality. What he fears is that he is that if he treats you wrong, he is going to turn into some sort of sexual abuser himself. It’s a bit like discovering someone is blind; you want to immediately massively overcompensate by stopping them getting run over when they are crossing the road, when they are perfectly capable of doing it themselves. You invariably become ridiculously patronising and massively over-compensate.

Everyone keeps secrets to various degrees. Do you tell your partner that your last boyfriend’s penis was actually larger than theirs? No, there are certain things you keep quiet about because it would be just too much of a minefield. Would you do it if he asked and really, really insisted? Well, yes, but then you might just lie to save the grief.

I suggest this – despite being a far more serious thing, obviously - is a similar case. Clearly most men just really can’t handle it, so since it doesn’t really seem to actually affect your current life that much, let sleeping dogs lie. Dredging up the bad stuff in the past generally just makes everyone unhappy. The past is over. All we have is now and the future to look forward to.

‘Mr Sex’ says: For the first time ever, I’m disagreeing with Sam. Talking about deciding to put the lid on past traumas or not is a moot point, as far as I can see; things like this tend to come out one way or another, either by accident or design, through having The Talk or it all pouring out one night after too many shandies. Even sleeping dogs wake up, have a bit of a stretch, and then bite you on the arse.

Sam’s dead right when he talks about the standard male reactions to something like this; both of them are reflex-actions, and both of them, although well-meaning, are not conducive to a decent relationship. Yes, the revenge reaction is natural; if someone ever did that to any friend of mine, let alone someone I was in a relationship with, I’d want to pull a Bronson on their arse. Shit, I wanted to kill everyone who my first girlfriend had been with, regardless of the fact that she consented with them. The problem with that is every hero needs a victim, and it’s obvious that you have absolutely no intention of playing that role.

The sensitive reaction is similarly well-meaning but ultimately defeatist. You can try to understand, but, unless you’ve gone through something similar (because it’s not a gender-specific trauma), you don’t, really. An ex of mine told me early on in the relationship that she had been raped, and although she had overcome it, I started treating her with kid gloves, thinking “well, I’d better not be too spontaneous, or dominating, then”.

(The upside of all this is that as men get older, they become more accepting of their partner’s pasts, whether that involves a ridiculously active sex life, kids with other people, or personal traumas. It will get better, trust me)

So, I think that if you’re really into this bloke, and he feels likewise, you should have The Talk with him, but in your own time and on your own terms – and only you will know when that is. For one, you’ve already demonstrated to him that you’re capable of an active sex life and you’ve already pointed out to him what you like to do. For two, because if you don’t and it eventually comes out, it’s going to do his head in even more than it would if he told him, because even the most sympathetic, understanding man will still have a nagging feeling in his brain that will scream “But why didn’t she tell me in the first place?”.

If the relationship cools because you didn’t want to carry a monkey the size of a wardrobe on your back for the duration of your relationship, well, he wasn’t right for you in the first place. And there are plenty of men out there who are.

Men of Todger Talk: advice, please…

Thursday, 22 May 2008

'Mr Sex' and his Merry Band of Aging Roués

So, I was in the pub last night, in order to meet a mate from back in the day (when The Day was The Day) who I’d not seen for four years. The first surprise was his hair. Where once there was a wavy mullet, was now full-on Silver Fox. The second surprise was that he’d just crawled out of a complete train-wreck of a marriage (I dunno what happened, and don’t want to know. I never met her, because when she found out I was a Smut Pedlar, she didn’t want anything to do with me. So bollocks to her.)

Anyway, we’re clustered outside in the alleyway having a fag, and my mate clocks a woman who I’d been chatting to on and off for a few weeks (on a ‘can I ponce a light?’ level). He’s already had a skinful, he’s starting to slur, and by noticing his eye level sweeping downwards across this girl, I know what’s coming.
“’Scuse me, duck - can I tell you something?” Oh God no. He takes a drag on his fag, exhales, leans in, and points.

“Top tits!”


She looks at him, laughs, and says; “Can I tell you something? You’re old enough to be my Dad

I immediately piss myself, do that snappy thing with my hand, lick my fingers and apply them to my mate’s forehead (making that ‘TSSSSS’ sound, naturally) and shout; “Oh, I don’t think he is. When you were born, he was at college dressed up as Oscar Wilde, singing the whole of The Queen Is Dead in the middle of the refectory on his own to his Walkman, and shoving a matchstick up his nose. Trust me, he was having sex with no-one at that time, let alone your Mam. Tee hee!”

And then I stopped laughing.

And then I thought; hang on - he’s three years younger than I am.


It’s a common male stereotype; the aging roué. The older bloke chucking his money at a simpering, giggly young thing. The Dad who acts all funny when his daughter’s mates come round. A lot of my mates are getting to that stage now. I see them in the pub, making absolute arses of themselves in front of women who not so long ago were not even allowed to go to the youth club, never mind a licensed building, and I can feel my hands sliding down my face.

But I feel I must speak out in their defence.

The first thing that needs to be said is that when you get older, you genuinely don’t know that you’re older, particularly when you’ve had a few and you’re in a frisky mood. You actually forget. Thing is, men of my age are flying blind. Our life experiences are totally different to the ones our Dads had when they were our age, being completely bound to our Mams, sitting in all-male pubs and not giving a fuck about their beer guts. We, on the other hand, can still go to all the places we used to in our twenties, and no-one bats an eyelid. We can dance for longish periods of time without worrying that we're going to have a heart attack, we can drink for hours without leaving a massive piss-stain on our strides, and we're all thinking Oh my God, I'm still alive and mashing it and not glued to an armchair watching Taggart. Fucking YES.

Problem is, where the available women of our age at? It seems like they’re either all married or coupled-up, or sitting at home knitting. And you’ve got to chat someone up.

Because here’s the other thing; God, if she exists, takes the absolute piss out of men throughout their lives. When they’re at their absolute sexual peak, they’re too young to do anything but wank themselves bandy and shove their nobs into things in their bedrooms. When they’re actually of the age to do something about it, most of them put women on pedestals so high that they’re too scared to talk to them (I was fucking terrible for this; until more recently than I care to admit, if I ever saw a really attractive woman in a pub, I’d deliberately move my chair so I couldn’t see her. How fucked-up is that?). And when they finally become mature enough to realize that, actually, women are just as confused and awkward and rubbish and normal as you are, and you can actually talk to them like human beings…it’s too fucking late to do anything about it.

Nowadays, whenever I’m out, I make a point to compliment at least one woman before the night is over, no matter how old she is (and no, I'm not as forward as my mate). I love having the confidence to chat to (and even chat up) a complete stranger, even though I know nothing is going to happen. Perhaps that’s the reason why I do it.

Actually, I know it is.

Wednesday, 21 May 2008

Manbits #3

*** If you're male, and you want a bit of advice on your sexy, sexy mither, drop us an e-mail at todger dot talk at googlemail dot com ***

Hairy Geek writes: With the recent ladies question on hair, it got me thinking. What are people’s ACTUAL thoughts on body hair with men? (be it pubic or general body hair)

I used to train a lot and be in great shape, part of my training regimen was Muay Thai (great art I recommend it to anyone BTW). And I am quite a hairy guy (not really a bear, but quite hairy) and often got frustrated with body hair pulling when clinching and grappling in other martial arts. This obviously gets worse as the sweat starts to build up. My instructor said I should shave it off - that’s why a lot of boxers/mixed martial arts guys are bald.

So I did, and it worked a treat, lot better when training (no more pulling and makes escapes easier since you slide off of them) and – in my opinion - looked better when nekkid since you could see the definition more. During the bedroom antics the lack of friction between mine and whatever poor girls body I was awkwardly fumbling with at the time was great too, I found it quite sexy :)

Thing is I have had mixed comments from both the ladies and the men. Some guys said "shaved/waxed chests/whatever is for pussies and 'fags'" (and for the most part, these are overweight men that probably want to have sex with the light off, and if they don’t, they probably should). And the ladies, well they just said they either like hairy men or not.

So, thoughts?

Sam says: This is really quite an interesting question. Last year I did a survey for a shaving company (with a shaver for all parts of your body, especially below the waist) and what really quite surprised me was how pro-shaving women were. My gut reaction is that women would have found men who shaved rather feminine, but the survey said that they would see it is as a sign of a man that looked after himself.

Now there are a couple of advantages as a man to shaving – if you shave off your pubic hair and go commando you get an extra ‘optical inch’. Apparently your willy looks bigger because it isn’t nestled down amongst all that foliage. However, there's a distinct disadvantage to shaving either your armpits or genital region, as we have lots of hair there for a reason – to capture our sexual body scents and store them up to lure the opposite sex.

Personally I think each man to his own – though for me, chest-waxing seems like a horribly painful business. I’ve got a mate who is a dancer – he has a proper jungle on his chest, and waxing all that off must have been...well, it doesn’t even bear thinking about.

The real thing you are getting at here is the deeply in trenched homophobia that many men have where doing anything - especially shaving - to look after yourself means you must be gay. These sort of men should go and shove one of these right up where the sun don’t shine. I think those sort of men have secret homoerotic fantasies, are probably struggling with their urge to run their hands all over your smooth chest, and are accusing you of being gay to try and assuage their own guilt and fear. Fuck’em, I say!

'Mr Sex' says: I think the Hairy Geek knows exactly what he's on with here, and he doesn't need me to tell him what's what, so I'll be brief. As someone who's been shaving pretty much every other day for the past ten years (the head, and elsewhere whenever it's been necessary or out of boredom) and pretty hirsute elsewhere (a proper Medallion-Man chest and an annoying crop of back-tuft), I fail to see the fuss about it. Then again, I'm not a gym-rat - neatly avoiding the only time in modern life where straight men are bollock naked in front of each other.

The only advice I need to give here is; don't be afraid to experiment. It's your body after all, and it's only hair, for fuck's sake. It grows back. However, if you are prepared to put the clippers or razor to a place where they haven't been before, be prepared for itchiness and mither when it grows back. Oh, and a message to our younger male readers; speaking as a baldie, have as many mad haircuts as you can, while you still have the opportunity.

Your thoughts, please...

Tuesday, 20 May 2008

Sex Toy Review: The Fleshlight

Now then. You knew this one was coming, didn't you?

If there’s a male equivalent to the Rabbit, that thing up there is it; not because of what it does, but how popular it is. Over 800,000 have been sold worldwide, and they don’t come cheap - which means it must be pretty damn good, or there are a lot of men out there with a fetish for DIY tools. Maybe they should bring out a Black and Decker Workmate with some tits on 'em.

The real reason for its incredible popularity is that it claims to deliver on the top two male requirements; genital realism (the Superskin insert can be pre-ordered with a choice of holes – a fanny, an arsehole, a mouth, or a ‘non-descript’ slot, for anyone whose always wanted to have sex with a fruit machine – as well as a choice of inner linings) combined with the fact that it doesn’t actually look like a sex toy. In theory, you can do the business, give it a rinse, and stick it in your toolbox – which, seeing as that's one of the places where men sequester their grot - make it the perfect sex toy for the modern male.

Instruction sample: “Towel or air-dry the Superskin™ insert and put it back in the case for storage. Excess moisture may generate mold”

You will also need: plenty, plenty lube.

Looks like: A torch, when screwed up (although the huge 'FLESHLIGHT' engraved on the side is a bit of a giveaway. Unscrewed, it looks like a stridently feminist art statement about the commodification of female sexuality. And a bit scary, too; I spent the first five minutes looking at it with a facial expression not dissimilar to Hyacinth Bucket after someone fired a rocket up her skirt.

Feels like:
Well, not exactly like a fanny (very cold, extremely squidgy - you can purchase a special warmer, or run it under the tap - but under no circumstances should you leave it on the radiator), but neither does it feel like having a wank, either. After a generous lubing-up, you get tight but comfortable penetration, and the screw-off cap at the rear of the torch allows you to control the suction to some extent.

Because the Fleshlight is basically a glorified wank-sleeve, it’s incredibly easy to get the hang of; you have total control over the speed and depth of the strokes, most of the pressure is focussed on the much-maligned base of your cock (which results in more intense orgasms), and if you squint hard enough, you feel like you’re in possession of a very big, very thick (albeit very plastic) todge.

a good rinse should do it, although you feel a bit like an eco-activist washing down a massive jellyfish after an oil spill.

Partner compatibility: Minimal. You could do it for him, but if you get arm-ache after a few minutes of a normal hand-job, you’re gonna have the forearm of Popeye with this.

It definitely works, and you don’t have to bury it at the back of the wardrobe…

…although you don’t want to be out when there’s a power cut and your flatmate remembers he saw a torch by your bed. Particularly if you haven’t washed it out, and he opens the back up to discover, er, severe battery leakage.

Pink Lady Fleshlight, £34.99, kindly provided by

Adapted from Boy's Toys, Scarlet magazine (March issue) –

Monday, 19 May 2008

Sam: What makes a good wife?

What makes a good wife? Well according to a marital rating scale from the 1930’s keeping the fridge well stocked, keeping her chilly toes away from you in bed and having a pleasant disposition in the morning will win her points, while wearing red nail polish is a definate no no.

Last Friday I did a piece on this very subject on Channel 5 news – which you can find here if you fancy a bit of a laugh.

Clearly things have changed massively since the 1930’s, but it does bring up an interesting question. What do modern men want in their women? What are the essential features that make a good long term partner?

Personally I think the tables have turned somewhat and women now have much more demanding marital scales – or certainly a long list of tick boxes that they want completed in their long term partners. Driven, sporty, successful, etc etc.

I find that when many of my clients come and see me they tend to have long lists, but they often seem to miss out the essentials. What about love? What about sexual chemistry? What about being able to talk? It often strikes me that the simple and most important things tend to get left behind.

So what are you guys looking for in a long term partner? And ladies what makes a good husband?

Friday, 16 May 2008

Some Manbits For The Ladies, #12 & #2

Wahey! No sooner did we put the call out for chaps willing to have their manly mither picked over by the TT team than the e-mails piled in. So we thought, Cor Blimey O'Reilly - where are we going to put Something For The Ladies? And then, one of our female readers popped up with the exact same question, meaning we can combine the two and have a day off. Hurrah!

Anonymale writes: OK, here goes. I am a man in his 50s who has recently got divorced after 20 years in a sexless marriage and taken up with a 35 year-old woman. She is quite insatiable in bed and we regularly screw for hours in all sorts of positions, and yet I find that no matter how much she turns me on, I can't come inside her. In a way this works to her advantage as I can keep it up for ages!

Luckily she is very understanding, but I have even felt obliged to fake an orgasm or two before now as she has hinted she feels a bit rejected (am I the only man to have done this, I wonder?). I saw a similar post a few months back with a woman asking why her bloke has to wank to come when he's with her, I would just like her to know it may well be a common problem, especially with blokes who have had to resort to "Mrs Palm and her 5 daughters" for any length of time.

Meanwhile, RLT writes: We hear a lot about premature ejaculation, but unfortunately I have to ask about the opposite. I have been with my new man for quite a while now, it’s going really well. He is really keen and everything is good. However, when we have sex he can't 'finish'. This has never been a problem before and to be honest, I'm a bit concerned and frustrated. He does orgasm every session, from other things, but with penetration, it just doesn't happen.

It feels good, he is clearly enjoying it, and we have tried different positions, different condoms, more foreplay etc, but its just not happening. He is often on the brink, but something is in the way. He says he just has a lot of stamina and finds it hard to relax. I know he is really stressed at the moment and has a lot of issues, but surely he should be relaxed enough to orgasm? Gah - you can understand my frustration and to be honest slight embarrassment. Its starting to introduce insecurity on my part. Any advice?

Dr Ayan says: The question here is whether you do come when you masturbate on your own – in other words, do you ever reach the feeling of orgasm, even if it is with via 'Mrs Palm and her daughters'? If the answer is ‘yes’, there is probably a deep psychosexual reason behind why you can't come inside her. By this I mean something buried in your subconscious mind which is holding you back.

Obviously, you won't be consciously aware of it. So don't try and think of reasons - but they could be anything from an irrational fear of getting her pregnant or something deeper from past experiences. It sounds crazy, but this is almost certainly the case. You clearly fancy her as you can 'screw for hours', so there's no conscious issue. It's a reasonably common problem and I think it's worth you asking your GP to refer you to a psychosexual counsellor. It's not that you are impotent or don't fancy her, so that is definitely the way to go in my mind. A good psychosexual counsellor can often draw out issues that you never knew were there, deal with them and allow to you get on with a complete sex life again. Here's a link for more help.

‘Mr Sex’ says: Well played, Dr A. Anonymale is right – we did address something similar to this a while back, but that was more a ‘won’t come’ than a ‘can’t come’.

Firstly, to our male reader; you’re a man in your 50s, and you’re finding it hard to ejaculate in penetrative sex. Guess what? I was in that position when I was 20 years younger than you. It’s a condition called ‘getting older’, and, by and large, is a good thing. Rather that than the two-pumps-and-a-squirt performance levels of what we laughingly call our ‘prime’, eh?

The problem both you and RLT have is that, like everyone else in the world, you have an idealised rumpo goal. Ridiculously simply put, you both want to give your partner an orgasm, and have one yourself. Absolutely nothing wrong with that (and I can hear our readers across the globe simultaneously going “DURRRRR”), but when we put downers on ourselves and each other when it doesn’t happen, we’re loading the dice against it happening the next time. And the time after that. And the time after that. And so on.

I’m not a gambling man, but I bet RLT has had a satisfactory penetrative sexual experience without climaxing herself at least once in her life, and I bet it didn’t bother her either. I also bet that she was happy enough with the intensity and intimacy of the moment. Obviously, no-one wants that all the time, but the point I’m trying to make is that when it comes to sexual problems, the more you worry about them, the more they start to hang around. Easier said than done, of course, but it’s a start.

As for faking orgasms, yes, it is possible for men; all you need is a condom, the palming skills of David Copperfield, and a clear run at the toilet door. But one day you will get caught, and it will be a train-wreck of colossal proportions, and you will run the risk of faking the next one on your own. Both you and your partner have to accept that not everything is running like clockwork and enjoy what you already have (without frustration or embarrassment), so it can get better over time.

Everybody: comment!

Thursday, 15 May 2008

'Mr Sex' and the disgusting 80s women who won't stop touching their fannies

Whenever the subject of Sex and Censorship raises its pixilated head, I immediately go back to 1997, when I was still chiseling a living at the coalface of Grot and grabbing any freelance work that was going.

Back in those pre-DVD, just-before-everyone-knew-what-an-Internet-was days, the latest wheeze to get
Women You Will Never Be Able To Shag and Someone's Wife's Minge a-tumbling off the shelves was to give away a covermounted video. It fully achieved its goal; the magazines were so fucking bulky that old dears reaching for Womens Realm would regularly be clobbered by an avalanche of Asian Girls Have Fannies Too whenever a lorry passed the newsagents. More importantly, they needed someone to edit the videos. Enter me, with a few weeks' experience in video editing at university and a strong desire to earn as much cash as possible to spunk on trainers and Playstation games.

The deal was simple; the company had recently acquired the rights to a full set of brand-name grot videos. Gentlemen of a certain age will shiver at the name of said brand;
Electric Blue. Back in the 80s, entire playgrounds would shudder to a halt if you mentioned that your Dad had a 'Leccy Blue hidden under the video cabinet. And I was being paid to look at the entire set. While the terms of the deal were being laid out (half-hour vids, three different women a vid, blah blah blah), my inner 14 year-old was doing that snappy thing with one hand, whilst blowing on and polishing the fingernails of the other on the lapel of his school blazer.

And then came the difficult bit.

As we all know, censorship in the UK is
weird. But what you might not be aware of is that when it comes to wank mags, it's even more complicated. Yes, there's the Obscene Publications Act (which was last updated in 1964, for fuck's sake), but back in '97 the real censors were WH Smiths and John Menzies, both of whom were originally deeply religious family concerns, both of whom remarkably strait-laced (the original WH Smith's son became a Tory MP known as 'Old Morality') , and between them had an absolute stranglehold on the magazine industry. If Smiths or Menzies refused to stock an issue of your mag for whatever reason, your mag was fucked.

(oh, and by the way; remember when WH Smith made a big fuss about taking wank mags off their top shelves and replacing them with sandwiches? The real reason they did it wasn't because they were taking a stand against filth or that they weren't selling; it was an attempt to keep teenage shoplifters out of the shops)

So anyway, it dawned on me very quickly that the job wasn't going to be as easy as I thought. Then the terms were laid out by my gaffer;

"First off, no pips or batwings, and no pink whatsoever"

Trans: "No arseholes, distended labia, or close-up internal shots"

Fair enough. As far as soft-porn in the 80s went, women didn't have arseholes. And due to the fact that all porn women of that era had fannies like monkey's faces, it would have been impossible to see anything without the use of a heat-sensitive camera.

"They can hold dildos, but they can't use them. Not even to suck"

Ooer. This was starting to get complicated.

"And no simulated masturbation whatsoever"

"So they can't touch their fannies, then?"

"Not only that, but they can't even
look as if they are. If their hand moves across their crotch - even if it's a foot away - cut it."

Cut to an editing suite in the Docklands, at 3am. Your humble filth-monger has been there since 6pm the previous evening, having rolled up with a bag full of cans and a quarter of weed. And he's not finished one fucking covermounted video. For starters, he forgot in his teenage reverie how fucking awful the
Electric Blue series actually was. The tapes, in the long-standing tradition of BritGrot, are absolutely rammed with filler; EB1 starts with a montage of clips of car crashes at the Indianapolis 500, and then wastes five whole minutes on a film starring Diddy fucking David Hamilton, for fuck's sake, before interviewing various women on the streets.

Now this is bad enough if you actually bought this shit for £60 in 1980, slapped it into your breeze block-sized VHS with the analogue clock on the side, and watched with a rapidly deflating hard-on. But it's an absolute pain in the arse when you realise that your formerly piece-of-piss job is transforming before your eyes into an archaeological dig.

When I actually find something vaguely worthy, it turns out to be so shit that I daren't use in in fear of sparking a firebombing campaign of newsagents by irate punters. In one clip, a woman in a garage dips a paintbrush into a tin of white emulsion and plasters her naked body with it, presses herself against the wall, and steps back to admire her handiwork. In another, assorted models with party hats, kazoos and 80s hair'styles' that resemble wicker lampshades take turns weigh their enormous baps on a set of kitchen scales. Why? Don't ask me, I've only spent the last 11 years trying to work it out. One of them looks alarmingly like Cheryl Baker of Bucks Fizz. When I notice this, the spliff falls out of my mouth, scattering ash all over my crotch.

(Oh, and let's not even mention the music; the bloke who did it really wanted to be Chris De Burgh. Enough said. Me and the other poor sod who was working nights in the editing would pass by each other in the street and sing "
Live out your fantasies! Lose your mess over birds like these! Bloo! Bloo! ELECTRIC BLOOO!" at each other)

When I finally, finally,
finally get to something acceptible, I start to relax. A woman. Sat on a bed. Getting 'em off. Thank Christ for that. I start converting the clip to the master tape, and go for a piss. When I get back, she's got a dildo in her hand. Bollocks. I rewind, and cut out five precious minutes of filler. Then, after I've got about 30 seconds of footage, her hand creeps downwards.


In the end, the poor bastard who actually shells out for his free video gets a shitload of footage of women snaking their hands down their bodies, which cross-fades into close-ups of that facial expression porn models do that looks a bit like a dead horse. Over and over and over again. I doubt that anyone looked at them for more than five minutes before chewing up a mouthful of toilet paper and shoving it into the tabhole of the video so they could tape an episode of
The Fast Show over it.

The point I'm taking a shitload of reminiscing in order to try and make, dear reader, is that although there appears to be a load of regulated bodies in operation when it comes to censorship - and more than enough newspapers and pressure groups with an opinion on the subject - no-one actually appears to know what the fuck they're doing. How come something that was pretty tame even by 1980s standards suddenly become illegal in the 1990s, and then become something tamer than something a 12 year-old could see on the portable in their bedroom after 9pm in 2008? Because someone kicked up a fuss, which made someone else kick up a fuss, until the two cancelled each other out.

Another thing you need to know; with a few rare exceptions, the censors are actually quite reasonable sorts. A few years later, when we'd moved to CD-ROM discs and DVDs, my mate (who was editor of Mayfair), got in touch with the BBFC and had a go at their 'distended labia' ruling, claiming that they were unfairly discriminating against women who had such appendages. They came back to him with a letter that said, in so many words, "Er, actually we'd never thought about that. Fair enough."

The fact is, people out there worried about the amount of cock-and-ball torture jpegs on their hard drives, when it comes to censorship in grot the goalposts move all the time, invariably when someone in the papers Thinks About The Children. They get uprooted and moved in one direction, until someone on the other side pipes up and says "Well, hang on a minute, you have to take this into consideration". Then they get moved back. And even if they're not, there are always enough loopholes in legislation to get round it. And then something else pops up - a new furore over something else, or a different media format - and it gets forgotten about. And even if it doesn't, the consumer carries on watching whatever they want to watch, in any case. And nothing actually changes.

Think of it this way; round about the time I was grappling with the Dirty 80s Women, Gary Glitter was taking his laptop round to PC World, unwittingly kicking off 11 years of revised legislation and media furore against online child porn. And, whilst definitely not seeking to draw comparisons between that and whatever the BDSM community are into, virtually every police force in the world has poured in huge amounts of time and money towards stopping that bastard, and there's still a frightening amount of people still making and watching it. And if they can't stop that, how can they stop you watching something that involves consenting adults?

Wednesday, 14 May 2008

Dave: Facing the Dragon

If I have to read about or listen to one more ignorant demand for men to be more confident … It’s up there with ingeniously advising a stutterer to ‘speak slower’ or suggesting to a paraplegic to think really hard about it then leap out of their wheelchair.

C’mon girls, do we insist you inflate your bust, or go on a diet, or complain about that monthly bleeding, moody thing you do? Okay, some of us might do. But that’s not the point.

Besides, it’s alright for women, they’re not born with irreversible expectations of magnitude on their shoulders. We all sympathise with the sexist mantra handed them – of seeking a husband, raising a family, and forming an unhealthy bond with Karen Millen – and so totally encourage all the options for modern life.

In reality, women are aware that thanks to the male libido, which they mock so disparagingly, they would never be permitted to falter in life. If they needed somebody, anybody, they could emotionally (read sexually) ensnare them with considerable ease. Now, even if that were true for us fellas, we wouldn’t believe it.

How can men exude confidence when women are in control of pulling situations? It’s tantamount to publicly presenting ourselves to the Dragon’s Den panel, then waiting off screen while they consider their options. What the fuck are our, oh so flattering, options? Wait around for somebody to approach us, then blow it due to the coronary induced by the overwhelming shock? Or be fortunate enough to be like the ‘lads’ women go for who prowl around indiscriminately trying on the same line to 50 ‘birds’ in one night, looking for a hole to poke no matter how unattractive they find the packaging. Hmm, I’d love to view it like that.

Most of the guys who are able to approach women on a whim are self-absorbed, over-confident jack-the-lads with a brains the size of seedless grapes. But I think most women know this, it’s part of the attraction and yet hypocritically they still berate us for fantasising over the moronic air-head with the fantastic legs and long blonde hair. There’s a difference? Well actually yes, there is. And we still hold the moral high ground. The most absurd differentiation adopted by some women is the divergent category theory: nice equals spineless. Is that like pretty girl means dumb as fuck? On the contrary, it depends on how the term spineless is judged. Nice and shy could still be the most authoritative character in a crisis, whereas bold and brash quite often equates to cowardly and ineffective.

What frustrates me is the fact the women so often fail to appreciate the blindingly obvious – the less confident the guy is in the girl’s company the more flattering it is for her, as he’s quite clearly smitten with her. And a decent rule of thumb, I’ve noticed through observing some of my less than admirable acquaintances, is that the more confident the guy appears, the less the woman he’s smooth-talking is actually doing it for him. You might call it a bit o’ rough justice.

Tuesday, 13 May 2008

'Mr Sex': Down With This Sort Of Thing!

So anyway, Sam drops me an e-mail asking me to look at this and to comment about it. So I look. And then I look at this, this and this. And then I started whining softly at the keyboard, thinking; "Fucking hell. This is an absolute minefield". So I look at this instead to calm myself down a bit. Because, when you're at all Sexperty, you can cover your arse on a lot of things by saying; "Oh well, as long as it's between consenting adults, it's alright as long as it's not illegal". And then the politicians pop up and start trying to move the goalposts. And as we all know, politicians are not exactly the most reliable people on matters like this.

I mean, how can we even begin to talk about the legislation of extreme porn? As someone who likes women in both the 'Ooh, I'd like to kiss her' sense of the word and the friendship sense, there's a shitload of moral dilemmas to encounter even when you're watching, quote, 'normal' porn, let alone anything else. A mate asking me if I wanted to come round with a few cans to watch some women being tied up and slapped about wouldn't be my idea of a fun evening, but to tar everyone who enjoys watching that sort of thing with the same brush is as stupid as claiming that everyone who plays Grand Theft Auto is going to nick cars and shoot folk.

Because here's the thing; sex and politics should not mix at all. And I mean, at all. I could have an argument in the pub with someone from the polar opposite of my political viewpoint, and - providing they're not a thick twat or an out-and-out bigot - we could grope our way towards some kind of an understanding of each other's viewpoint. It wouldn't change my beliefs as such, but I'm capable of thinking "Hm, well, I sort of see their point. Never thought of it that way".

Change the subject to what we do with our own and other people's genitals, however, and most people's minds are set firm at best and vehemently immovable objects at worst. "Ugh! How the fuck can you like that? You dirty bastard!" "How dare you inflict your morals on me, you inhibited, strait-laced twat!"

For example; I've never once felt the urge to leave a big red hand-print on a woman's arse, and I wouldn't be massively up for seeing it, seeing as I've been brought up to believe that hitting a woman is the last refuge of a shitbag. So what does a woman who actually enjoys that sort of thing (and possibly even makes use of summat like this) think of me? I'm inhibited? I'm patronising? I've got the nerve to tell her what she should be doing with her own bits?

(and this cuts both ways; I was at a party one time and was told by a very forward lady that I looked as if I needed to be tied down and punished in a nearby bedroom right now. When I said that, erm, I was actually halfway through having a conversation with the host's sister and I was allergic to pain in any case, she chose to rip into me for being a small-minded bigoted closet-case Mary Whitehouse-wannabe cunt. Not the kind of thing you need to deal with when you're trying to chat someone up, really)

I haven't got time to go into this further today (I will return to it, though, promise - I have a great story about WH Smiths and distended labia), but, right now, I'm more interested in what your lot have to say...

Monday, 12 May 2008

Sam: Women 11 - Men 1

What is it about blokes and talking about relationship and sex stuff? This Friday really gave me some cause for thought.

We are up to something for the ladies number 11. Women are just happy to write in, share, ask advice and have a chat. Not so with us men. How many episodes of manbits have there been? One. Yes, one. One measley question from us blokes.

Now I know there are guys out there reading this blog. And I know that you have questions you would like to ask and topics you would like to discuss. So how about sending an email for manbits?
It is totally anonymous. It is quick. Just email todger dot talk at googlemail dot com.

Usually with these things it just takes a couple of brave souls to get the ball rolling. A bit like the dance floor at a night club when it’s empty. Everyone would really like to get up and dance, but no-one it quite brave enough. But once two or three floor breakers get out there, everyone rushes on . . .

I thought it would be worth giving it another try, so If you’ve got a question you’d like to ask, please do write in. Otherwise the girls will keep their firm headlock on Fridays.

Friday, 9 May 2008

Something For The Ladies #11

Blinkin' Flip! It's only bleddy well Friday, in't it? So that means...

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, so the comments section of each Something For The Ladies post will be yours and yours alone for 24 hours. 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.

This week's question...

Virtually every other woman who e-mailed Todger Talk wrote words to the effect of: I am aware that this can be a controversial issue, but I'd like to hear your male readers' opinion on female pubic hair etiquette. Personally I like a trimmed-down, triangle cut, and cannot stand the Hollywood (100% shaved/waxed off) for three reasons: 1. painful when waxed off (just try it boys, I'm not kidding); 2. itchy, uncomfortable re-growth; 3. (and this for me is the cruncher) it smacks of paedophilia. This last point it's because it seems to me that, traditionally, a completely hairless woman is a girl who hasn't yet fully developed; women have hair, deal with it! Some have more, some have less (I am a Mediterranean woman and we usually have more). I have met men who, at least theoretically, would refuse to have sex with a woman if she has any pubic hair, what is up with that?

‘Mr Sex’ says: Sam’s away at the moment, but I can handle this one myself.

First off, I cannot overstate the influence of Porn on modern-day male sexuality. I could visit all your houses, put a brick through your window, climb in, and spray-paint ‘THE INFLUENCE OF PORN ON MODERN-DAY MALE SEXUALITY IS DEAD, DEAD, DEAD IMPORTANT’ in red on your living-room wall, and I would still be understating the case. Put it this way; when you’re 12 or 13, you want to know everything there is to know about sex. School won’t tell you: all they bang on about is periods and puberty. Your parents won’t tell you: more often than not, they’re just as embarrassed and awkward discussing it as you are.

When you get older, and have a bit of a dabble, you’re still not sure that you’re doing it right. Your mates won’t tell you: they know as little as you do, or they’re bullshitting. Other women won’t tell you, for obvious reasons. Your girlfriend might tell you what she got up to with previous partners, but you won’t want to hear it. So the only place men can gravitate to – the only place that offers any kind of indication of what you should be doing and what you should be attracted to - is the wank mag, the grot video, and (nowadays) the porn site. Back in the 80s, baldie-bitted women were a niche market (Shaven Ravers, anyone?). Nowadays, the average female pubeage you saw then is now the niche itself.

Put simply: when you’re that age, and you see some bloke whipping it out and ejaculating on some girl’s face without asking – and she appears to be enjoying it – you assume that that’s what couples do (and boy, are you in for a surprise). More importantly, when you’re sexually excited by pretty much anything, and virtually all the women you actually see naked are sporting the tuppenny all-off, that’s what you’re going to be into and hope for from any women you end up with in the future. That’s not to say that all men are brain-dead knuckle-draggers being lead about by the cock by a cartel of mad bastards from California, but when you see something often enough, it becomes the norm.

(Conversely, I’m not dissing the tuppenny all-off either; it’s very popular with certain women, for reasons that they’ll no doubt go into in the comment section better than I ever could.. My last five sexual partners either shaved it all off, or left the merest wisp, and none of them were particularly gormless; they chose to cop off with me, for example)

So what do men really like when it comes to pubic topiary? Speaking for myself, I prefer neat and tidy; I like women to look like women, but I don’t want to feel like I’m snogging my old geography teacher when I’m going down. But then again, this is one subject where you just can’t pigeonhole every straight man in the world. Some men prefer the Hollywood for various reasons (and yes, it can’t be denied that the dodgy ‘innocent’ element is a part of it for some); to be honest, some of us are a bit intimidated by a hairy fanny as it’s associated with uncleanliness, particularly when it comes to oral sex.

(Fact: everybody assumes that ‘Down Down’ by Status Quo is an oral sex song, but when Rick Parfitt was asked about it in a recent-ish interview, he said “Oh, God no. No-one ever did that. People weren’t very hygienic down there in the 70s”)

Meanwhile, some men love the full-on 70s bush (i.e., the normal untrimmed fanny), because, well, they just do. And that’s what women have looked like for the past 4,000 years or so. And then you have men who like the compromise; either the Brazilian (or ‘Badger’ or ‘Landing Strip’), or even mad shit like love hearts, diamonds, or whatever. We like to think that you’ve done it for us, even if you haven’t. At the end of the day, however, it’s your lady-garden, and you cultivate it in whatever way you like. We’re just glad to be allowed access to it.

(Oh, and a quick word about the men you’ve met who wouldn’t go there unless it was Hollywood; absolute lying bell-ends not worth the steam off your piss)

Gentleman of Todger Talk; what’s your preference?

Thursday, 8 May 2008

Sex Toy Review: Tenga Onacups

The Japanese - aren't they skill? They can take a television and turn it into a watch. They can take a massive tape deck and fit it into your pocket. And now, it appears, they can take a hi-tech fanny and hide it in a 1980s roll-on deodorant.

Let's not mince words here: if the cards fall the right way for Tenga, their range of products could absolutely dominate the male sock drawer of the future. It certainly ticks off all the requirements that modern men demand from their wank-contraptions. First, it looks nothing like a traditional sex toy (when I threw it to my female friends and said, Rolf-like, “Can you guess what it is yet?” they were nowhere near), it’s ridiculously technical (the cross-section diagrams look like a fuselage on the Space Shuttle, revealing an array of valves, nubs and chambers that create a vacuum effect), and it’s a piece of piss to use – there's a built-in lube reservoir, eliminating no end of faffing about. Rip off the plastic packaging, unscrew, stick nob in, go at it hammer and tong. Unsurprisingly, these things are selling like a bastard in Japan.

Tenga - aware that even wankers like a bit of a choice - comes in a wide range of designs. The
Deep Throat cup combines a slurping sound and slippery friction (with no gagging, or pube-on-tongue mishaps), the Soft Tube cup allows you total control regarding tightness, the Rolling Head cup adds stimulus that no partner could ever provide unless they could detach their head from their neck, thanks to the flexible body (shame it doesn’t make an accordion sound when you’re humping it, though), the Double Hold cup has a hole on either side (one of which has – eek! – a ‘Warty Zone’), and the Air Cushion cup clings like absolute bloody fuck.

Instruction Sample: “Be positive, be smart, be free to maximise your sex life” (one of my lady friends uncharitably added “Be ugly, be sad, be single”. Hmph)

Looks like: Something you’d find in Andre Agassi’s kitbag circa 1987.

Feels like: A right mouse’s ear’ole and very fanny-farty at first, until you notice the little sticker at the top. Then after you peel it off, you feel a very interesting ripple effect up and down your cock. It’s a bit cold at first (although you can buy a special warmer for £8-£10), but seeing as I wanted to get my money’s worth, I went very slowly indeed.

Clean-up: well, here’s the thing; at present, you don’t clean it up at all. You use it once (or a few times, if you’re a bit mingy and you use a condom) and then you bin it.

Partner Compatibility: In this case, it only takes one to Tenga - unless you’ve always had a fantasy about watching your chap get it on with a bottle of Studio Line.

Pros: It’s a pump-it-and-dump-it high-level masturbatory experience that doesn't necessarily feel like a fuck or blow-job, but more importantly doesn't feel like a wank, either. Not one part of your penis is left unattended, and the big red nubbiness of the thing is quite an ego boost, if you squint your eyes hard enough.

Cons: …but at up to £11 a pop, it’s a very expensive wank - the kind of thing you save for special occasions like England winning the World Cup, your 30th birthday, brother's wedding, etc. I could have done with more lube, and to be honest, it’s not the most environmentally-friendly sex toy on the market either. I have nightmare visions of millions of them washing up on Pacific islands, and sea birds getting their head trapped in them. A reusable version has just hit the market in Japan, and if it takes off there, it could be the male Rabbit that we (well, me, at least) have been waiting for.

Tenga Onacups, £9.99 - £10.99, kindly provided by

Adapted from Boy's Toys, Scarlet magazine (March issue) –

Wednesday, 7 May 2008

Sam: Spring has sprung and Saucy Searching is up

Well the spring weather is truly upon us and the sun is very much warming up more than the temperature. Have you noticed that everyone’s libido’s seems to be on the rise along with the sunshine?

You can look around and see it everywhere, even the squirrels in my local park are madly at it shagging in precarious positions on the trees.

Now I tried doing a search through the database on psychology today for the connection between spring and sex and it disappointingly didn’t bring up any papers. So on spec it strikes me that:

* it’s warmer, so everyone is getting their gear off. For the first time in six months we are all getting much more of an eye full of lovely cleavage and a nice bit of forearm and leg

* this means we are getting stimulated where nature intended, women show off more flesh when they are ovulating, so our poor man brains must be going mad when suddenly all the women around us have gone from pretty much fully covered, to bare minimum

* Sunshine stimulates and improves your mood, so not only are we seeing more, but feeling better and have more energy to do something about it

Interestingly all this anecdotal evidence is back up by the facts, and according to (they are the search engine that searches all the search engines at once) saucy searches are up by 60%.

Top saucy searches are in order:

1) Viagra
2) Romantic breaks
3) Outdoor antics
4) Erotic stories
5) Lingerie
6) Casual encounters
7) Online dating
8) Striptease
9) Sex toys
10) Escort services

So a lot of people are either paying to get it up, or paying if they can't get it.

Some rather telling top local searches are:

Brighton – Nude beaches
Liverpool – Casual encounters
London - Spanking
Southampton – Single sailors
Manchester – Escort services
Birmingham - Striptease
Bristol – Outdoor antics
Portsmouth – Sex toys
Nottingham - Viagra
Bath – Erotic stories

In Brighton they want to do it in the sea, and in Southhampton they want to do it with seafarerers (personally I'm a bit surprised it isn't the other way around).

What are you seaching for this spring? And if you can tell me the scientific source of this spring sauciness I would love to know!

Tuesday, 6 May 2008

Dave: Same sex abuse

As Thom Yorke sings, “You do it to yourself. And that’s why it really hurts.”

Perhaps he wasn’t referring exclusively to the abuse we inflict upon members of our own gender, based solely upon sartorial or physiognomical discrimination. But, I’m going to run with it anyway.

Each day regardless of what our brains are trying to distract us with, our eyes, ears and noses are perpetually focused on every woman who passes by. We’re conditioned to check out all potential shags from the point of innate reproductive compulsions. Hence the bitter frustration felt all round during these modern times as the opportunity to indulge in such carnal pleasures appears to be more complicated than ever (and this time it’s nothing to do with the ingrained shame of religious doctrine). No. It’s mostly down to our concerns over how others may view us should we give way to regular spontaneous fuck-fests.

Now, with the raging conflict between intrinsic desire and social decorum bubbling millimetres beneath the surface we need to lash out. Doing so in the direction of our would-be conquests would be counterproductive. So, reverting back to our caveman days of animalistic competition we attack our own.

We’ve all seen it. We’ve all done it. Women watch potential rivals like a hawk. We may glance up to check out a great arse in tight jeans, smooth shapely legs disappearing up a mini-skirt or a low neckline inviting you to explore the cleavage for hidden treasures. Notice, it’s all about the clothing (not simply lack of it). Grooming is the way we sell ourselves to the world, shamelessly. Done correctly it can transform the appearance of anybody into a sex-goddess (okay, perhaps not Vanessa Feltz).

I digress. But our hang-dog leers aren’t half as lingering and critical as a woman’s. They are so unnecessarily harsh about one another. And make no bones to even disguise it. Whereas us fellas, we don’t even try to disguise our mutual victimisation. Pointing out each other’s flaws: nicknames such as Baldy, Pecker, Hairy-Back, etc.

And no. None of them were mine.

But the funny thing is we’re generally fairly decent to the opposite sex. Despite what our personal Iagos whisper in our ears. In point of fact, I will rarely be seen using the urinal in any public establishment, no matter how pissed I am. Not if there are other guys standing shoulder to shoulder with me. It’s not a prejudice I have, more a rebellious penis.

For whatever reason, I have a bit of a shy bladder in public arenas. And when you’ve been stood beside a bunch of fellas pissing into a pig trough, without producing even the tiniest of streams, self-consciousness rears its ugly head. And that head is the one in your hand failing to do its job. You know full well that to admit defeat, zip up and walk away with your bladder still painfully bloated would make you rife for ridicule. So you strain until you’re red in the face, while trying not to inadvertently force out a dangerously wet fart.

All the while, the chap between fingers and thumb is the one feeling the embarrassment. And he decides to hide, shrinking back into the palm of your hand like a magician concealing a coin. So now, you’re noticeably not pissing in public because you’re ashamed of you small cock. All this stems from the same sex competition we impart.

And yet, the little man behaves himself beautifully on the rare occasion I find myself alone with a woman. So I never have any ‘self-conscious’ issues in that environment. This is because both he and I know we are less likely to be criticised by the opposite sex. Even though this goes against all we’re brought up to believe.

If we could only ease up on the bitching between ourselves, perhaps it may help bolster our self-esteem. On the other hand, the genders could start attacking each other for real and having a semi-naked woman mocking my own naked form would be mortifying. Yes. Perhaps we should leave things as they are. Right Baldy, Pecker, Hairy-Back, oh, and you too Fat Bastard?