Monday, 30 June 2008

Sam: We’re all going on a Summer Holiday

Well Summer is here and lust and love is in the air. I’m rather inundated with clients, and poor Mr Sex is up to his eye balls in Summer related sex and love writing.

So just to give you all the heads up, for the time being there will be a slight windown of our normal target of getting you something to giggle at or think about every weekday.

As soon as things slow down a bit, we’ll put our foot back on the Todger Talk accelerator!

Thursday, 26 June 2008

'Mr Sex': Asda can suck my cake

Bad news for any of us planning a birthday party for a paedophile; Asda have censored a cake with a photo of a 21 year-old when he was a baby because it deems a bare arse to be 'pornographic'. Seeing as this was the company who ran adverts consisting of housewives slapping their buttocks for years on end, they've got some fucking cheek, if you'll pardon the expression. It's bad enough that censorship in the UK is wielded by some crusty old judge who hasn't seen a fanny since decimalisation, but someone whose just been promoted up to Cake Manager determining what's obscene or not? Fuck that.

Sigh. I'll just have to go to Tesco next time I want a cake with a fisting image, I suppose.

Tuesday, 24 June 2008

Sex Toy Review: Nexus Vibro Ribbed

Yes, it's up-the-arse time again, but this one is a bit special. For a kick-off, it's dead expensive - nearly a hundred quid. Secondly, there's a stainless steel ball that rolls up and down the old perineum. Thirdly - and the title might be a bit of a giveaway - it vibrates. And it's ribbed. And did I mention the opportunity to stick a hundred pounds up your arse?

You will also need: An Olympic-sized swimming pool of lube. Also, if it's your first time, a towel on the bed, loads of tissues, and a wardrobe that you can slide over the door. And maybe some sandwiches and crisps and summat to read - it's going to take some time to do it properly.

Looks like: a broken-off bit of Conan the Barbarian’s sword.

Feels like: Due to the ribbiness, it's a very cautious procedure getting it in (but at least you know it's not gonna slip out and skitter across the floor). Once in, it was more comfortable than I ever thought it was going to be – until I clenched and the ball-bearing kicked in. Yoink. As for the Vibrations, they're surprisingly relaxing, coming as they do in waves. Apparently, which practise, you can attain a very strong orgasm by just clenching (leaving both hands free to read the paper, or play Football Manager), but you'll have to experiment for yourself.

Clean-up: A quick scrub under a hot tap'll do yer.

Partner Compatibility: Depends if your partner is up for ramming something up your jacksie. They usually are, though, aren't they?

Pros: It's pricey, and a bit intimidating, but it's the best on the market. Maybe not the best one for a newcomer - the Rude Boy would be the ideal first choice - but it's dead, dead, dead good.

Cons: It takes a 6-volt battery, which means you'll be traipsing round town looking for somewhere that sells em, until you find out that the only place that does is the bloke who has a stall in town twice a week, and then when you approach him you find out it costs a fortune, and then he says 'What do you need it for, anyway?' and you say you don't know because it's for a mate, and you'll come back when you have the money, and you never do because you're scared.

Nexus Vibro Ribbed, £99.45, kindly provided by

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

Monday, 23 June 2008

Sam: What price for love?

A little while I was asked to comment about a woman who put a date with her sister up for sale on ebay, it’s a bit of fun but got me thinking.

Here is a person who is literally putting her sister’s love up for sale – well of course that’s the idea, the actual chance of the highest winner being a person that she is going to fall in Love with, is, in my opinion, pretty low. Though on the other hand James Blunt’s sister did find love through ebay, but then that was the chance to transport to her a funeral in Ireland.

I think this raise a really intersting issue of the commodification of love – or put another what price would you pay for love.

It’s been happening for a while, starting with old fashioned dating agencies, and then really hit the big time with internet dating which is now globally worth hundreds of millions of dollars each year. To put my hand up I am part of that process – people pay me to teach them the skills to help them find love.

But it really hit me when I was chatting with one of my clients (who is rather minted) and he casually told me he had joined a top end dating agency and forked over £10,000 for probably 4 to 5 dates. There are matchmakers in the states who apparently charge $100,000 to help millionaires find love.

Now when I think about love, I really find it hard to put a price on it. Love is one of the most important things in my life, so to me it is really priceless. But I guess that’s why collectors pay so much for rare artworks, there is nothing else out there quite like it, or quite as important to them. So if something is priceless, and it goes up for sale, then people are potentially going to be willing to pay quite a lot of money for it.

Personally I think love is something natural and should really be free, perhaps like air. But in today’s world where love seems to be increasingly hard to find, then it clearly becomes worth something (otherwise I wouldn’t have a job!) and potentially a lot. So what do you think? What price for love?

Wednesday, 18 June 2008

Manbits #6

*** 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 ***

Sex Wasp says:
I feel a right Judas asking you this, but here goes; I’ve known my best mate and his girlfriend for ages, and I get on with them both, but from what he’s told me and the way he’s acting, I’ve got this horrible feeling that he’s either on the verge of (or already having) a fling with someone from his workplace. I haven’t asked him straight out, and it’s none of my business, but his girlfriend is now almost as much of a mate to me as he is (and she went on my wife’s hen do, so they know each other), and I know that if my suspicions are correct, I’m going to be dragged into a world of shit. What do I say to him – if anything?

Sam says:
You are really playing with fire here – the danger is either way you are going to get your hands burnt and will end up having to take sides. Confront him and it looks like you are taking her side. Turn a blind eye, and then it might all come out in the wash when the shit hits the fan down the track.

You could try the indirect route – once you’ve had a couple of pints ask how things are going with his girlfriend, mention you notice things seem a little rocky. Often when people play away, it’s because they are not getting what they want from their partner, whether it is love, excitement, the lure of the forbidden, or things are just getting mundane. Where there’s smoke there’s fire.

You are not going to stop him playing away by telling him how bad he is – chances are you’ll find there’s something amiss in the relationship, at least from his point of view. Either he might bring it up himself, or maybe you might actually get to talk about what’s up with his girl. Stop the fire, and then you might stop the smoke.

‘Mr Sex’ says:
This is a big, fat, big-titted bastard of a dilemma, and I feel your pain here. No, it’s none of your business if he’s got a knock-off on the side. And yet, it is. He might not want you sticking your oar in at the moment, but who’s he gonna call when the shit hits the fan, and whose ear is he gonna chew off if
it all goes tits-up? Exactly.

Also, it’s in your best interests to help sort it out for absolutely selfish reasons; I don’t have to tell you how hard it is to find a mate’s girlfriend who you actually get on with and doesn’t get in the way of a friendship, and when she’s involved with your missus…well, you’re going to get involved and be forced to take sides whether you like it or not.

Personally, what I’d do is to take the Sam route and have a quiet word – but I’d also take the time to point out as subtly as possible how mint his girlfriend is (if she is), and make it clear to him that women as good as that aren’t exactly dropping off trees – and if he’s got time to kill, he should be killing it with you. Even better, sort out some quality time between the four of you; demonstrate that the coupled-up lifestyle is far removed from the Terry And June stereotype, and – when the relationship’s good - it’s a fuck’s sight better than trawling the pubs for meaningless sexual encounters or whatever’s going at the office.

And if the worst comes to the worst and he is carrying on with someone else, at least you’ve made him take the first step towards being a man about it and ending his current relationship. Telling him he’s being a twat won’t solve anything, but make it absolutely clear that, although you won’t tell on him, neither will you help him hide it.
I’m very interested to see what other people think about this, so I’m shutting up right now and saying…

People of TT: Comment!

Tuesday, 17 June 2008

'Mr Sex': Return of the Porn Letters, AND the Groundskeeper Willie soundalike

Oh yes.You asked for it, I shoved my arm round the back of the sofa, and here it is. Remember this charming letter from a few months back? He's back. So, plump up the cushions, turn the phones off, and prepare to read the following;
Please ADELE Show me your Lovely Gorgeous BUM please Dearest ADELE, How I Wished that I was that Toilet Seat on which you sat your GORGEOUS SEXY BOTTY on. as I've always admired your gorgeous Beautiful Super Sexy BUM. to me no Girlies Bare BOTTY excites me more than yours and Adele I Love to Masterbate. Whilst I'm looking at your BOTTY bare and so sexy. I'm a BUM fancier but AW ADELE how lucky must your panties be stuck up the CRACK of your Adorable Beautiful Gorgeous BOTTOM I Love your lushious BUM Adele but it's a pity you didn't Flash your BOTTY off for me Sweetheart a bit Mair/More you may only be a beautiful Sexy model ADELE but truth is I really enjoy many WANKS over your rather gorgeous BOTTY and When ever I play Wi ma 9" Penis ADELE I always look at Mayfair Sweetheart just because your Sweet Sexy BUM excites me. I'm in Heavon Adele when I Wank over your BOTTOM. it's ever so Gorgeous and a Cutie Sext BOTT. Aw Adele. I'm growing ever so fond of you and your rather Scorching Sexy Sexy BOTT. I hope you liked the photie I Sent you Sweetheart as its no every GIRL that gets tae see ma MASSIVE HUGE PENIS
(Photo attached of nasty, not-9"-at-all willy held up against even nastier duvet cover)
but Darling your Gorgeous BOTTY just turns me on. Adele. and I Just carn't help mysel from pulling doon my KNICKS and Wanking over that ever so Gorgeous BUM of yours Sometime I no I'm gonie CUM in my pants When e're I see your Bare Bottom. How I find your Gorgeous BUM excites me So. your Gorgeous BUM Adele brings m so much Joy. but I've always Wanted to shag you yer BUM Adele and WOW What a very lickable pussy too. I keep thinking Adele abooy how many times Ye take your PANTIES doon and why Girlies nearly always SQOT to pee. Your so Sweet ADELE and Beautiful too. and I hope your BUMS in Mayfair for manys a year tae make me shoot lot o my CUM ower. I think yo aught tea come live whith Me Darling. So I Could Finger and Massarge your Gorgeous BOTTY cheecks and Finger Yer ANUS too. aw DARLING I whish I had your BOTTY in my Double Bed. When Oh't When Adele. Will you please Send me your KNICKERS please Adele. at the Moment tho I'm in Hospital but I'm haeing Such Wet Dreams Adele caused by you. I Wish. I could still see your incredibly Sexy Gorgeous BOTTY. Adlele. Just Afoew I go. hoe many times do you MASTERBATE Adele in a day? must go as nature calls. So Just ye take care o yersel Adele SWALK

Monday, 16 June 2008

Sam: Feminist or Gentleman?

The contradictions of the modern world throw us some interesting dilemmas, not the least of the question for men of whether to be a Feminist or a Gentleman.

I have a client who was brought up by a feminist mother. He was taught it is right to treat women equally, that women can look after themselves, that they should be respected, that men and women should carry the same load.

His partner is a powerful career woman. She works in a big company. She is very successful in her field and heads a large team.

Yet his partner loves to be treated like a lady. She loves having doors opened, him taking the seat out, him taking her hand as they walk across the road. It makes her feel loved and it makes her feel feminine.

My client and I had a long conversation about this very issue – because he finds it hard, and he finds it confusing. He was told to treat women equally, he was told that power should be shared, that being a gentleman was pretty much equivalent to being a male chauvinist pig – implying that it was the man in control, and reinforcing traditional and staid stereotypes. His values push him one way, while he feels that his partner pushes him in the opposite direction.

To him it seemed hypocritical, that a woman wanted to be treated equally, to have all the power of a man, but yet retain the old trappings of being a feminine woman. Can you have equal rights while still pining for traditional roles? In fact while pretty much demanding adherence traditional roles?

I reminded him of how some of the most successful religions of the world have embraced the new while retaining the old – Christianity kept many if not most pagan festivals and just stuck a new coat of paint over them – and maybe to be really successful it helps for feminism to do the same?

It took a while for him to get his head around the seeming hypocrisy of the situation, but now he is happier for it. And really who of us are really consistent to our beliefs all the time? I know that I believe it is crucial we reduce carbon pollution, but still get a huge buzz out of hitting the accelerator hard on the open road. Perhaps a bit of hypocrisy is human – now his partner feels more feminine and loved, he feels more like a man, and they both still share the cooking.

Friday, 13 June 2008

Something For The Ladies #16

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...

Anonymous writes: I am currently in a long-distance relationship with a wonderful man, who I see for a week at least every four months (we usually endeavour to meet more often than that). Things are going as great as you can expect a LDR to go, except for one thing. We're not having sex. That is not to say we don't do *anything*; we have a great time fooling around, and I wank him off most of the time. We just never get to the point of the old in-and-out, as I have a tendency to freeze up if he goes anywhere near my genitals, and I don't know why. We're both virgins, but I don't feel as if I have any issues with sex - so why do I freeze up? I don't know if it's because he's not very good with his hands. I don't think it's the case, though I would appreciate advice on how to bring up the issue of practising with him (only way to learn, but I recognize it's a sensitive subject).

There is one thing that might be relevant, and that is that I suffer from tokophobia (fear of childbirth/pregnancy). The thought of having something inside me growing and living completely freaks me out and puts me into a state of panic. I can't bear using a tampon. Not because it hurts, it's just, having something in my body freaks me out and I suspect it relates to manbits as well.

How do I approach him about how to work on this problem? I love him so much and I do want to have sex with him, but I just can't. I know it's not good for our relationship, because I'm beginning to resent him for it. He gets to come and I don't (me not letting him touch me on the relevant parts do have something to do with that obviously, I know it's not a rational feeling). We've tried working on it, but it's just led to me breaking into a sobbing mess on several occasions. I think he's retreated to the "it'll go away if I give her space and time" position, but I don't think it is, and I can't do this on my own. I'm at a loss on options and things to do to solve it.

Sam Says: Well to be honest, this sounds like something you have to sort out yourself. Really it’s a bit like complaining that a man won’t put his pet spiders on your body when you have a terrible fear of spiders. You’ve got to be cool with the spiders in the first place! Phobias create can create very strong reactions – I would strong recommend seeking professional help – try for a local qualified therapist.

Perhaps you could learn to masturbate yourself first with a vibrator, and then show him how to do it. If you use a vibrator, you might be able to start teaching yourself that when things go near your vagina it means pleasure not pain! Then you could just gently suggest that he is having all the fun, and that you would like to have some too, and then show him how to give it to you.

'Mr Sex' says: Ooh, this is - forgive the term - a proper Snatch 22, in't it? You've got the double-whammy of long-distance relationship and virginity to overcome. Either one of those conditions is a catalyst for Godzilla-sized expectations; both of them together must be an absolute nightmare.

I'm not your man for the
tokophobia issue, and I don't know how old you are, but speaking as a previously-frustrated teenager, let me reassure you that 99.9999% of female virgins suffer from fear of pregnancy (and a lot of male ones, too), so you're not exactly alone. Not only that, but I feel the pair of you may be loading the losing of your virginities as a massive, daunting, life-changing experience. Trust me, it probably won't be. Virtually everyone who has sex for the first time goes through the 'Oh, Is That It, Then?' thing; it's not until later, when you lose your inhibitions and let go of preconceptions, that it becomes a natural, enjoyable thing to do.

As for your bloke, he has the patience of a saint, and you both deserve better. He deserves to know what you're going through, and you deserve to have as much fun as he's having. So I suggest that you try to drop at least some of your inhibitions. You say that he's not very good with his hands (and no wonder - he must be on edge most of the time) and I'm assuming you masturbate (you didn't mention anything about your own fingers near your lady-garden), so a good way to break down the barriers is to masturbate with him - under the covers in the dark at first, if needs be. Eventually, if all goes well, you can actually show him what you like (which is how all men learn, even the ones who think they've seen it all before, because no two women are the same), and you can both take the first step towards what you really want.

Gentlemen of TT: Comment!

Thursday, 12 June 2008

Sex Toy Review: The Xtreme Optimum Vertical Power Stroker

You thought the Triffid up the arse was the scariest sex toy in the Todger Talk cupboard? Ha. Look at this bastard. Now imagine it moving. Up and down. Very quickly. Eek.

This none-more-90’s-sounding wanking machine (and Whoa! It's so EXTREME, Dude, that it doesn't even need an 'E') is intimidating as fuck. Not only does it sound like something the Power Rangers would use on their day off (if they could get out of their catsuits), but it takes four C batteries. Four! That's enough to power a decent-sized Third World village, for Christ's sake! The premise is simple and promising enough; a Turbo-Wank of the type you used to be able to give yourself when you were 15, and then stare in awe at the size of your Popeye-like forearm afterwards.

Instruction Sample: “Any product use for medical purpose or that has an adverse effect on any function of the body is prohibited”

Looks like: A miniature Tombola machine.

Feels like: You’re being molested by an industrial milking machine. Not to say that’s a particularly bad thing, but it takes a long time to get comfortable with. To fully enjoy the sensations this machine can provide, you need a) the girth of a French stick, b) some earplugs (as it makes the kind of racket that could wake up the entire street if your window was open), and c) the tolerance and patience not to inwardly scream "I AM NOT A COW! I AM A MAAAANNNNN!"

Clean-up: Detach the noduled Senso© Shaft, turn it inside-out, give it a rinse, put it back in the milker, put back in box, bury as far down in wheelie bin as possible, make sure you're out when bin men come round.

Partner Compatibility: You might as well go out shopping or something when this is on.

Pros: It's supposed to be hands-free, but it isn't; you need one hand to grab the massive speed-control-thing, and another to keep the milker balanced on your lap.

Cons: Bit noisy. Bit bulky. Bit scary.

Xtreme Optimum Power Vertical Turbo Stroker, £68.95.

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

Wednesday, 11 June 2008

Manbits #4

*** 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 ***

Supreme Monkey Overlord writes: I currently share a flat with another bloke, who I don’t know all that well, but apart from one thing we get on fine. We have a shared PC (mine) in the living room, and I don’t mind him using it at all. But recently the browser has become absolutely rammed with porn bookmarks, and I know for a fact that they’re not from me. I really want to have a word with him about it because I feel he’s taking the piss (I’ve told my girlfriend that it’s bust at the moment, as I don’t want her using it, thinking it’s me and kicking off), but I don’t want to start a row - and I really don’t want to raise the possibility of what he gets up to on my PC. What do I do?

Sam says: I think a computer is a bit like a bed; it’s actually a very personal thing and part of your territory, but the trouble is people tend to treat it like public property these days. How would you feel if the bloke you lived with just slept in your bed every time he felt like it and had a wank while reading porn? Pretty pissed off, I’d imagine.

Apart from anything else, he is putting you and your computer at risk. Loads of porn sites have adware, trojans and viruses, and looking at porn is a (if not the) prime way to get spammed and have your computer turned into a zombie bot.

Talk is cheap and people stay the same – you asking him to stop looking at porn on your computer (and probably having a good old monkey spank at the same time) isn’t going to actually stop anything. At best he will just delete the bookmarks and keep doing what he already does.

Therefore, you’ve got to bite the bullet on this one and take action. Move the computer into your bedroom, which is your personal territory, which makes it much harder for him justify using it. Then, also tell him that you have had some problems with spam and viruses, that it’s your personal computer and he’s going to need to get himself a laptop. He’ll take it on the chin, stop taking the lazy option and if he really wants some good wank material, buy himself a laptop. Probably better for everyone - there is no chance that you or your girlfriend are going to have the horrible experience of him caught in the headlights monkey in hand, and he gets to the look at porn in the privacy of his own room. Laptops are much cheaper these days (you can even get one with a new mobile phone contract), so really it shouldn’t be much skin off anyone’s nose.

‘Mr Sex’ says: Hm, one of the great dilemmas of the age, this one. I’m gonna play Devil’s Advocate here, and take the side of your mate.

Obviously, the situation is pissing you off enormously, and by the tone of your e-mail, you’re about this close to bursting into the flat after spending a night brooding in the pub, laying about his skull with a keyboard, and screaming “I’M! NOT! PAYING! FOR! YOUR! WANKS!” with every stroke. House-related toss-problems always bring about extreme reactions; we know that we enjoy relaxing in a gentlemanly manner, but when we think about anyone else we know doing the same…yeuch.

Speaking as someone who doesn’t have £400 quid lying about, I’m not down with Sam’s idea that one can pick up a laptop just like that, and the moving of something you’ve offered to share is the first step towards a war of domestic minge-bag attrition that invariably leads to people writing their names on their eggs. So let’s not do that, not just yet. Furthermore, firing wankusations at another man is not on, either, and will cause far more trouble than its worth. In any case, these bookmarks could have come from anywhere - a gambling site, a P2P programme, a dodgy software site – and for all you know, you could have activated them yourself.

I’m not the most spodular person I know, but a quick and easy solution would be to do a complete scan and de-grot of your hard drive (even reformat the whole thing, if you can back everything up on a portable drive), and then create separate password accounts for each of you. That way, neither of you knows what the other one is on with, and your girlfriend isn’t going to be invited to look at God knows what (unless you’ve put it there). Then, and only then, should you broach the subject of laptop-related apartheid.

Oh, and if your flatmate happens to be Gary Glitter, burn it. Now.

People of TT: Comment!

Tuesday, 10 June 2008

'Mr Sex': It Shouldn't Happen To A Sexpert

Big news in the realm of the shag-blog: Girl with a One-Track Mind is pissing off to America, and inadvertantly causing an international incident along the way. Although I'm ever so slightly narked at her having a go (or being pushed into having a go) at British men (i.e., Londoners), I'm hoping to get me end away when I go on holiday later this summer and am shitting myself that the Skegness Standard are going to blow my cover, so I'm very much feeling her pain on this one.

The first time I clocked GWAOTM, It didn't strike me as particularly shocking. To my mind, 'Single woman working in the media in London has loads of sex' is about as shocking and controversial a premise as 'Dog enjoys licking own genitals'. Nothing wrong with that. And actually, quite a lot right with it. If she wasn't as good a writer as she is, I would have looked once and never gone back.

Of course, the really interesting bit of the story came when the Sunday Times decided to out her, for reasons that no-one can really understand. My reactions were as follows;

1) Oh, the poor cow, that's bang out of order.
2) Who gives a fuck who she really is?
3) Welcome to our world, duckie.

The thing is, being a sex writer is a double-edged sword that constantly gets rammed into your genitals. People think we all sit around with our £500 shoes on the table of some poncy bar, knocking back Cosmopolitans and talking about anal masturbation before going off to have an orgy with each other. The reality is a bit different. Yes, it's a good laugh; I've done loads of mad shit, it opens a lot of doors, I've got to know some of the best people one could ever share a life with, and I don't regret it at all.

But there are drawbacks. I know loads of female sex writers, and with a few exceptions, they've had absolutely shocking luck with men. The job they do - talking and advising about sex - seems to automatically turn them into twat magnets. It's not hard to see why; whenever I went round the house of Well-Known Sexpert (who is, more importantly, one of my favourite people in the entire world), the first thing you'd clock was a huge pile of dildos, vibrators, and assorted sex toys stacked up in the corner. The second thing you'd notice was a huge bookshelf with titles such as 'SO HE'S SHIT IN BED' and 'HOW TO HAVE MULTIPLE ORGASMS WITHOUT A RUBBISH TOSSER OF A MAN KNOCKING ABOUT'. I would immediately become intimidated and defensive, and I'd only come round for a cup of tea. God knows what any chap she bought back thought.

The horrible paradox about being a sex writer, if you ask me, is that you automatically seem to get less of the sex that civilians have - the proper, affectionate, we're-doing-this-because-we're-into-each-other sex. If you're female, and writing about sex, you automatically seem to have to rule out 90% of any potential shag-partners that hove into view. It's easy to see why, in a sad, we're-in-the 21st-century-and we're-still-not over-this-shit way; half of us are intimidated as fuck, and the other half is terrified that our sexual technique is going to be analysed, held up, laughed at. A lot of times, the only men who appear to zone in on sex writers do it for the prestige, and they end up going out
with (and being absolutely fucked about by) an absolute shower of bastards, mouth-breathers, stalkers, and outright shitbags.

(and yeah, it's even worse for male sex writers, but in different ways - but I'll talk about that another time. And it's different for me, because I also do porn, which is a profession somewhere just above live animal-skinner on the 'desirable professions for potential boyfriends' list. And I'm a bit rank. But anyway)

And sure enough, the Curse of the Sex Writer befell GWAOTM, who went from writing an anonymous blog about having sex to writing a blog about writing an extremely nonymous blog, and all the shit that came from it. Sure, she got a 'six-figure book deal' out of it (not true, but it sounds good), but then again, you can't fall asleep at night in a post-coital haze in the arms of a book deal. I've never met her, but she repped for TT right from the off, and I wish her nothing but the best and hope she doesn't end up in bed with some neurotic Woody Allen-type.

(Postscript: all my sexperty female mates all ended up with proper, decent blokes in the end. Aw. Bless)

Monday, 9 June 2008

Sam: Dirty Sexy Money part 2

Since money is more difficult to talk about than sex for most English people it is one of the topics that proves very sticky with my clients.

I remember when I was working on ‘How to Have Sex After Marriage’ one of the couples had a complete breakdown of trust over money – he had racked up huge credit card bills and almost gone bankrupt. She only found out when the bailiffs started knocking on the door.

To me this was shocking – how could you be so closed about such an important issue in the relationship? This simple truth was that they never talked about it – that when he lost his high powered job, and then kept spending like he was still in his high powered job it never came up until it was almost too late.

Money is a dirty topic in this country – I even notice it with my clients when they come to speak to me. They hate talking about money – again I took Kate Fox’s advice and only discuss money by email and in writing, which seems to be the most comfortable way forward.

But what about when you are in a relationship? It is really right that you send emails to each other when you want to talk about money? I’ve encountered the most enormous resistance from clients when trying to get them talking about money in their relationship. It is an explosive issue.

The best approach I have found so far is the keep it private but share approach. Each person keeps their own personal account and then each month pay an agreed amount into a joint account to cover joint costs like mortage, rent, bills etc etc. Each person can do what ever they want with their personal account, but the joint account should like Fort Knox – off limits to every one!

The joint account shouldn’t have a card attached to it, or if it does it should be kept safe – this approach ran into trouble with some of my clients when one of them started using the joint account as a personal credit card, leading to all sorts of trouble and arguments.

Money is like a big time bomb waiting to go off in most relationships – if you don’t sort it out early and deactivate the bastard, it’s probably going to go off and do a lot of damage.

What have been your experiences with dirty money in a relationship, and have you got any approaches that work or have ended in disaster?

Friday, 6 June 2008

Something For The Ladies #15

Yesssssss! It's Friday! Euro 2008 starts today, doesn't it? Let me check...ah, rat's cocks, it's not until Saturday. Hmph. Let's do this instead, then...

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...

ZM writes:
My question is how disturbing it is for you if a lady cannot achieve orgasm when with you? I have been with a couple of guys and admittedly it doesn't happen for me every time. Sometimes it was because the guy was lousy, and sometimes despite his best efforts, the fault was in me. I got used to it and try not to get too stressed about it because it doesn't help at all. When it happens, it's just great, if not...well, there's always next time. Some of the guys I have been with never even ask about it as if the issue didn't exist. Others are worried and ask "why didn't you come?", what I hate because it puts a lot of pressure on me to climax next time to avoid the question and accusations of being frigid and inhibited. They also start working on me ferociously which brings no effect because the question already spoiled my mood completely.

So how important is it for you guys that the girl climaxes?

Sam says: Well personally for me, though it sounds rather naff, it’s much more about the journey than the destination. The key thing is how we both feel after sex: you can have great sex and not have an orgasm. An orgasm is a great target to get to, but it is also the icing on the cake if the rest of the experience is great.

The problem is that most men are pretty goal-oriented. Nowadays they feel sex is a bit like a football match, and they have to 'score' at least once to feel they’ve got a decent performance. Basically, many blokes need to get their egos rubbed, and they feel like they just haven’t performed if they haven’t scored the orgasm goal. The sad fact is that most men still don’t realise that it is pretty much impossible for women to have an orgasm without focused clitoral stimulation.

The solution? Take the matter into your own hands – masturbate yourself, or use a toy during sex, or suggest that they use a toy to bring you to orgasm. You could educate your man; give him a copy of ‘She Comes First’ which I’ve heard from women is brilliant at sorting out the orgasm issue for men. Or if they are really annoying about it you could do the scene from ‘When Harry met Sally’ and fake it.

Finally, the more orgasms you have, the easier they are to have as the neural pathways that lead to orgasm get more exercise – so masturbate more. You should be aiming to give yourself at least one or more orgasms a day. Damn, we are tough taskmasters...

'Mr Sex' says: What? Women can have orgasms too?

But seriously; ever since orgasms for women were invented (in an issue of Cosmo in 1975, I believe), it's become massively, ridiculously important for men to give their partners one. And, unlike a lot of male sexual matters, it becomes even more of a hang-up with age. Back in the day, a lot of my mates used to brag about how many women they'd given a seeing-to; nowadays, they talk about how many orgasms they give their wives and girlfriends.

Why do some of us do this? Well, first and foremost, it's because we're deeply into our partners, but there's also a big gloopy mixture of good old-fashioned goal-orientation (proper sex for us ends in an orgasm, so proper sex for her should end the same, too), manly job-well-done satisfaction (putting up a shelf, Paul, is like making love to a beautiful woman), and lashings of outright panic (if I can't give her an orgasm, someone else might). Complicated, aren't we? And there was you thinking we were just humping away with a face like an orangutan that's been licking lead paint off a stick all day.

Although you don't mention it, what you already know that a lot of men don't is that 1) not all women can achieve orgasm from penetrative sex, and 2) that our orgasms are generally easier to attain than yours. So you have to get your chap to realise that there are certain ways and means to getting you off other than the old in-out-in-out, tell him what they are (because we love being ordered about when we're Playing The Sex), and get it into his thick head that it doesn't matter if you didn't come (but only if it really doesn't, mind). Sam is dead right about masturbation and vibrators, by the way - we don't care how you come, as long as you do. And it's saucy as owt, especially when you allow us to do it for you.

A quick word about faking orgasms - No. You're not only conning him, you're also conning yourself. The best thing to do if its not going anywhere for you is to tell him you're absolutely desperate for him to blow his beans, right bloody bleeding well now.

Gentlemen of TT: comment!

Thursday, 5 June 2008

'Mr Sex': Communicating Through Porn

A very small update today, alas - but I could sit here and write 50 million words on how unremittingly awkward, confusing and grim it is to be a male British Teenager, and have it totally eclipsed by two seconds of this. If you've never seen it, put 50 minutes or so aside, and thank me later.

Interview with Chris Needham, 2008

Taylor Parkes on the cult of Chris Needham

Wednesday, 4 June 2008

'Mr Sex': He's been with a Porn Star, you know

When it comes to squiring women about town, I count myself lucky; when it comes to the list of fantasy female professions, I've ticked off a lot of boxes. I've dated a French air stewardess (only dated, unfortunately - she was gorgeous), I've had a fling with a (cliche alert) naughty nurse (she wouldn't let me pretend that I had Ebola and she only had five minutes to wank it out of me), I dated a 19 year-old Czech lap-dancer (could have gone somewhere, but I was still wrapped up in my ex - excuse me while I go off and bash my face against a wall for five minutes), and I copped off my school lust object long after the event.

But if you want to talk about the big brass ring of fantasy knock-offs for a man - the apex of the female profession pyramid, if you will - you're talking about porn stars. And yes, I've done that too. Well, sort of. Allow me to explain...

I first met Kelly (and yes, that’s her real name: I've written about her before and she doesn’t give a fuck) when I was out with a female friend at a theatre in London. I recognised her from a TV series we were both working on, but separately. I would have said hello, but I was too busy trying to impress said mate with my knowledge of early 80s Feminist theatre. More importantly, I thought that the bloke she was out with - a famous comedian - was an absolute bell-end, and I couldn’t bring myself to talk to him.

London media being the incestuous sniff-round-the-dogs-arsehole that it is, it was only a matter of time before I saw her again, this time at a dinner party thrown after the shooting of the TV series. She was a Nordic blonde with the kind of breathy Transatlantic voice that made sex phoneline owners buy another mansion, in a skirt that was shorter than the belt-buckle, with jubblies like two Spacehoppers trapped in a cupboard.

“I love seeing you on the TV. Can I kiss you?” she said.

“Yeah, go on then” I said, expecting the usual patronising peck on the top of the head. One full-on snog later with tongues later, while everyone else at the table stared on, one of the weirdest relationships I’ve ever had begun.

I knew what she did (even though I hadn't seen her doing it), and I wasn't arsed in the slightest. Having worked in porn for a considerable chunk of my career and spending a lot of time hanging about in dressing rooms smoking fags and talking shit with Page 3 models in and out of their underwear, I wasn’t arsed in the slightest about who she was or what she did. I was already of the opinion that they would have made the perfect girlfriends (attractive, independent, open-minded about sex, evil senses of humour), were it not for the ‘shagging-other-blokes-for-some-other-blokes-to-wank-over’ bit. If I hadn't been happily coupled up at the time, I would have chanced my arm with a few of them - but then again, being happily coupled up was probably the reason why they let me share a dressing room with them in the first place.

With Kelly, however, I was single, unattached, and phenomenally, completely, gargantuanly up for it. After the dinner-table snog, we went to one of her private Soho clubs, but it was her time of the month and she had to be on a train first thing in the morning, She promised she'd call when she got back. I pretended to believe her, and that was that.

A few days later, she called me. And after a very long chat, she laid it right on the line, on a plate, with a complimentary side-order of chips. She wanted a relationship with me. When I picked myself up off the floor, the excuses came thick and fast; I was still carrying an immolated warehouse of torches for my ex. I wanted kids, but she was sterilised. I was thinking of moving out of London. We lived on the other side of a very big and faffy city miles away from each other. I was too skint to go out.

As you may have surmised, this was all bollocks. The fact was, I was intimidated rigid by her track record. Not only was she acquainted on a work basis with men who were hung like blue whales, she’d also been out with very successful writers and rubbish but successful comedians. What the fuck did she see in me? What was the catch?

We started going out for drinks, but the damage was done; we were now mates, with all the usual Frienditis bullshit. (I was very impressed by the way she presented me with her latest obligatory STD result to prove that she had a clean bill of health on the second date, though). One night, I was round her flat, she told me she wanted to show me a video. I was expecting some full-on grot she’d been in. Instead, it was a home-made video of her, as a 17 year-old, with her baby daughter. Looking back now, I can't believe I couldn't see all these enormous flashing green lights, but I could see what I was doing; I was desperate to prove to her that there was at least one heterosexual male in the would who wouldn't hump her and dump her.

Of course, this didn’t stop me telling all me mates about this porn star I was knocking about with. To some of them, I had automatically transformed from that poor bastard they know who could do with a girlfriend to Grade One Alpha-Male Cock-Diesel Panther-Man. Some of my mates – who I expected better of, to be honest - were absolutely awestruck. “YOU DA FUCKING MAN!” one of them texted to me when I told him I couldn’t come out because I was at me Porn Mate’s house. I didn’t have the heart to tell him we were only sipping cocoa and reading her enormous collection of Judge Dredd books. And I must be one of the few people in the world who, after telling a mate about a girl he was just starting to date, has been asked “Do you want to come back to mine and see her getting spit-roasted by two black lads on the DVD?”

By this time, I decided to choose a life over a career by going back to Nottingham. The night before I left, she was having a party, and I was invited, on a promise to be seen off in style. Alas, by 3am I had passed out on her bed, and came round to find her shagging someone else right next to me. Not only was this a painfully symbolic ending to my time in London, but it was also the nearest I’ve come to a threesome. I didn’t know whether to laugh, cry or grab his arse just to freak him out. It told me that I was probably right to throw up every defence possible in order to stop myself from getting involved only to get hurt later, and the next morning I walked out of her life. Or so I thought.

Two really weird things happened when I moved away. The first one was when she still stayed in touch, telling me I was charismatic, intelligent and sexy, and she loved the way I rolled a fag and looked vulnerable. The second was when I saw her on another documentary, in a foreign hotel room after filming a watersports video, looking very upset and a million miles from home, and I wanted to jump into the screen, shove her into a shower, and hug her until she cheered up. Shit.

The next time we met, something did happen. I went round her house, she took me shoes and socks off, cut me toenails, and gave me a soapy tit-wank. I’d love to say that it was a mind-blowing experience where every fantasy I’ve harboured since the age of 13 was fulfilled, but to my mind she’d ceased to be a Porn Star a long time ago. She was now Kelly, a mate with the softest lips I’ve ever kissed in my life, who I always wanted to try it on with but it never quite happened due to my own stupidity, and it was very intimate and affectionate. And then we got dressed and went out to the pub.

Nothing like that has happened since, and I can’t see it happening again. The last time I saw her in person was a while back, when I was stranded in London pissed out of my skull at 3am with nowhere else to stay, and she was the only person I could think to call at such a late hour - and she took me in, prepared the futon, and took my contact lenses out. Now that's proper intimacy.

So there we go. My Porn Star experience. Really, I should be kicking myself that I didn't take the opportunity to tick off every box in the Lad Fantasy department - but then again, if I'd seen her as a human being rather than an unattainable goal/bonus point in the first place, I wouldn't be wondering What If, right kids?

Tuesday, 3 June 2008

Sex Toy Review: Briana Banks Vibrating Pussy and Ass

Oh my God. Deep breath. Here we go.

A few years ago, this casting of porn-star minge (with a bonus bum-hole thrown in absolutely free!) would have been the absolute top-of-the-range in blacked-out grot-shops across the land. Whenever you were old and stupid enough to dare to go into Sven Books or Private (or - as was the style in those days - be pushed in by your mates, who then ran off pissing themselves laughing as you lay on the floor in a crumpled heap of embarassment), you'd look at it and grimace (while, at the same time, wondering what it would actually feel like). I mean, just look at the blurb they come out with. They're promising the bloody bleeding Moon on a stick;

Briana Banks has finally allowed her beautiful body to be perfectly cloned in UR3™ realistic FLESH, and built to handle rigorous sexual activity!
How do we know this? Do people actually buy this, take it home, and hold it up to the telly while they watch a porn film and make a comparison? Don't get me wrong, it's a frighteningly detailed facsimile, but this could be anyone's fanny. For all I know, there could be some poor cow at the factory who gets called in every other month to imitate porno flange. I think we should be told.

Slather your erection with the FREE lube,
Ooer. I've seen a penis being 'slathered' before. It was in The Singing Detective. His nob was being 'slathered' for one simple reason - because it had the same texture as them cornflake cakes kids make in junior school.

then thrust into both of her tight openings- you won’t know she’s not real!
Unless you're observant enough to notice she hasn't got any legs, arms, head, or anything else.

For exxxtra thrills, she comes equipped with an insertable vibrating egg with 5 functions and 10 arousing speeds.

Notice that? THREE X's, because EVERYTHING is SEXIER - sorry, SEXXXIER - when you put three X's in! Next year, don't file a boring tax return - do a taxxx return instead. Constipated? Try Exxx-Laxxx! Even Exxxeter and Halifaxxx suddenly sound alluring and erotic all of a sudden.
But anyway. One thing you can't say about Briana's Vibrating Fanny and Ringpiece is that it’s not elaborate; yes, aside from the slab of orifices, there’s a little bullet vibrator that you shove right down a hole cut into the top of the torso, a remote control that goes right up to about 4.5 on the Richter Scale, a bottle of Briana’s favourite lube (and judging by the amount of DVDs she’s made, it must be so thick and slippery that I’m surprised they managed to actually get it into a container), and an archaic talc pump-dispenser thing that looks like something you’d find in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang’s boot.

You will also need: more lube, as you'll easily do the entire sample in one go, and every single lock in your house changed. You'll want a 50-foot exclusion zone around your bedroom, trust me.

Instruction sample:
“Do not rub or lay against sharp objects, abrasives, or other rubber products”
Looks like:
This (warning; it's a big photo of a minge).

Feels like: Having sex with a dismembered body part. Sort of vaguely real, if you discount a) the fact that you have to slap a huge dollop of lube on, b) it’s freezing cold, c) you have to spend ages and use every pillow in the house to sort a decent angle out, and d) you can't shake the feeling that you shouldn't really be doing this. Both the fanny and the arse are complete mouse's earholes, the fact that it's pretty flat means you can quite easily put your back out, and by the end of it there's so much lube flying about that your pillows look as if
Five Star have been kipping over for the night. I lasted ten minutes on this before I gave up, a broken, defeated husk of a man.

Clean-up: A simple matter of getting it under the tap. Well, when I say 'simple', I mean ' you stand there for fucking ages trying to get the water to go in the hole with your foot firmly wedged against the bathroom door, get pissed off, seal the hole around the tap, and then get your shirt sprayed to fuck with jizzy water shooting out of a rubber arsehole'.

Partner Compatibility: Well, you could act out an elaborate role-play where you come home early from a night out to find him fucking a slab of what appears to be something out of a butcher’s shop window, and then run crying to your mates, I suppose.

Pros: If you had tunnel vision and could block out everything else in the world, it looks like the real thing. Even better, you can hold it under your dressing gown in the morning and walk about in front of your mate's girlfriend, 'accidentally' letting it billow open and watching her shoot tea out of nose.

Cons: No legs curled round your back, no arse-cheeks to caress, no fingernails in your arms, no eyes to look deeply into, no-one to tell you they love you.

Briana Banks Vibrating Pussy and Ass, £174.95 or so, kindly provided by, though they don't sell it anymore.

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

Monday, 2 June 2008

Sam: Rules what rules?

Back to my favourite social anthropologist Kate Fox (by the way, shameless plug, if you are not British you must read 'Watching the English' which made what seemed like a peculiar mess crystal clear – suddenly I understood. If you are British you should read it and you might understand yourself and fellow Brits too!).

Kate Fox specialises in watching people and discerning the underlying social rules by what people do. So being a sexpertly type of course first thing I did was turn to her section on what are the rules in the British Bedroom.

Now let me say that before this I hadn’t really thought about how there were different rules in different nationalities bedrooms. Of course everyone is an individual, but there are definitely national differences. For instance, I realised (from anecdotal and personal experience) that the Australian rules in the bedroom for men were essentially meat and two veg. Basically Australian men stick to the basics and might throw in a bit of oral as a really special flourish.

What is really interesting about the Brits is that even though they are so polite on the outside, they stand in line and love to stick to the rules, in the bedroom there are no rules. The bedroom is the one place in Britain where you can pretty much do anything you want and it is ok. As long as you don’t have an embarrassing conversation about it in the morning. This was a very surprising aspect of the British persona, and seems to be backed up by the proliferation of Kinky stuff that the brits tend to get up to in the bedroom. I was pretty surprised when I came to London to find how common BDSM and swinging was, and even that there are whole brothels devoted to men dressing up as babies. What a contrast to the stiff British upper lip! You wouldn’t find that in Sydney, as far as I know anyway!

Maybe its all those rules that make Brits want to have a place where there are no rules – look at the Japanese. They have in many ways a very similar, highly polite, socially controlled society, but man are they Kinky! Have you seen their Manga? And as Al has been pointing out they are the world leaders in producing new and innovative sex toys.

So what have your experiences of the rules in the British bedroom? And for our international readers what are the rules in the bedroom of your country?