Dr Ayan: Nothing is perfect

Here's the thing...  No form of contraception is perfect.  Condoms can be a turn off, as we know.  The pill can increase blood pressure, give you migraines, and if you're really unlucky a DVT (clot in a deep leg vein), but in essence, it's pretty much down to luck and how your body handles the drug.  The IUCD (intra-uterine contraceptive device) or coil works brilliantly for some women but not for others.  Some hate the thought of it.  

The best way is to think about what might suit you and what you're willing to try out.  If you don't get on with one type, try another but there are no guarantees.  There is a special type of IUCD called the Mirena or IUD (intra-uterine device) that can have some medical benefits like shrinking fibroids or helping heavy periods, but this has to be balanced with side effects like low libido, mood disturbance, bloating and irregular periods.  You may get no problems at all, one or two, or every single one in the book - you just can't tell until you try.

Something for the Ladies #21

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.

This week's question...

Anonymous writes: I have an issue that I'd like to get your opinion on.

I'm 8 months pregnant with my first child and the problem I have is with my boyfriend. He refuses to have sex with me as it 'freaks him out', but - and here's the problem - he constantly wants and moans that he doesn't get blow jobs.

When he confessed that he didn't want sex with me for whatever reason I was sympathetic and understanding. I understand that this is a problem for some men as they feel weird about having a baby in the way etc, and totally understood, although I was disappointed as I'm probably the horniest I've ever been.

I made it clear to him that I was ok with it, but sex was off limits until we both felt better about it, but now he constantly goes on about how frustrated he is. I've tried talking to him about it, but he just gets stroppy and says all he wants is a blow job.

I enjoy giving head to him, but I also see it as a two-way thing and if I'm not getting anything back then I don't see why I should have to. Sex to me is about being close with someone and giving him head then him rolling over satisfied doesn't fit that bill. I've told him countless times that I'm frustrated too, but he says things like 'well, it's OK for you because you've got a baby up there', which totally doesn't make sense! I'm also starting to think that it's not freaking him out it's just that he's lazy and sees this as a way to get what he wants.

Soon we're going to have bigger things on our minds than sex, but at the moment it's causing us problems as the time we spend together is spent with him sulking and being moody. So far I've refused to give into him, but he's making me feel like I'm being totally unreasonable.

Other than this problem everything else is good and we're both really looking forward to becoming parents, but unfortunately this is taking the shine off it somewhat. Do you have a different spin on this, or way we can talk this through before it comes to a head (pardon the pun)?

Sam says: Hmmm. Despite pretending to be supremely cerebral, us men can be extremely irrational creatures – you’ve got to remember that, really, we're pretty much just monkeys with a thin layer of extra brain that gives us civilisation, art etc. When it comes to stuff like sex, we just revert to being monkeys. The way he is acting, there is no point negotiating - like there is no point negotiating with monkeys or children.

What you can do is to take action. You’ve got to break the stalemate. Try this; get your favourite sex toy and show him how to bring you to orgasm with it. Tell him that every time he gives you an orgasm, you will give him a blow job. Alternatively, if he is good and comfortable with oral sex you can do the same thing.

The key here is that he MUST give you an orgasm first with the sex toy/or through oral sex BEFORE you give him a blow job. Otherwise, you'll give him a blow job, he'll promise to get you off and probably over, make an excuse and fail to deliver. This way at least you'll be getting satisfied, feel that he is actually putting some effort in, and will get what he wants. He may moan a bit, chuck a bit of a wobbly, but all that will be forgotten post-blow job.

No negotiation. Just offer him the deal and make sure he delivers first. With a quick bit of consistent training he will quickly learn he’s got to complete his side of the bargain to get what he wants.

'Mr Sex' says: Ooer. This might run a bit deeper than simple male laziness, I reckon. You could write an entire library of books about the awkwardness men feel when it comes to pregnancy and sex. I'm feeling incredibly awkward just thinking about what to write next, in order to awkwardly describe to you how just awkward it is. That's how awkward it is.

OK, facts first; yes, it is entirely possible to have vaginal intercourse with a pregnant partner. Obviously, you're not going to want to be swinging off the chandelier or diving off the top of the wardrobe, but both rumpy and pumpy are entirely do-able for quite a while (depending on loads of different factors at different points of your pregnancy). And your increased randiness is totally par for the course; my female friends who've been in a stickwardly-upward direction were exactly the same.

Problem is, an alarmingly high proportion of men go absolutely wappy when it comes to pregnant partners. Some of them go all protective and gooey (and want to treat you and Babbeh with kid gloves). Some of them get paranoid as fuck (thinking it's a bit wrong to get their end away while their own child is a mere few inches away), and some of them just don't like the idea of it. At all. Actually, vast chunks of society have a problem with it; they want you to mince around in frilly Laura Ashley dresses, and smile demurely a lot. And when something like this comes along, pitchforks tend to get brandished.

Personally, and I may be wrong here, your chap sounds the type who feels that if he's not getting some cockery-fannyage, he's not really having proper sex - but he will settle for a nosh if that's all that's on offer. If he was that selfish before you got preggeh, then oh dear - this is one man who doesn't know that there's more than one way to skin a cat, and you need to sort that out pronto when you're back on form. Why isn't he offering to go down on you? Have you not discussed the possibilty of anal sex? Is he not aware of the immense personal pride and satisfaction that can be derived from jilling one's partner off? Is he worried that he might get you pregn...actually, forget I just said that.

Personally, I feel that you have to make him see that if he's expecting you to go over six months without getting seen to in one way or another, he's going the right way towards his lack of understanding being reciprocated in future. Obviously a bit late in the day for this advice now, I know, but the next time, you should encourage him not to see pregnancy as 'no vaginal sex', but 'half-year opportunity to experiment like a bastard with dead randy woman'.

But then again, I've never got anyone pregnant or been pregnant, so I'm fully expecting our lovely readers to come at me with things I'd never think of in a million years. And seeing as this has been loitering in the Todger Talk in-tray for ages, congratulations on Mr Stork coming a-knocking.

Readers of TT: Comment!

Sam: The Divorce Pill

The pill, it sparked a good round of conversation in a recent manbits and got me thinking about a couple of run-ins I’ve with those little bundles of oestrogen.

My first pill experience was when my girlfriend started to go bonkers. She started having severe mood swings, would cry at a moments notice and dipped into really quite bad depression. One day my mother was harping on about how rubbish the pills is (a pet topic of hers) and it occurred that there might be some sort of connection. My girlfriend and I switched back to condoms and in no time she was back to her perky normal self. The change was quite sudden and in retrospect, quite shocking.

Another girlfriend went on the pill briefly and the effect was different, but packed just as much punch. She suddenly pretty much completely lost interest in sex and just wanted to snuggle 24 hours a day. I completely lost my interest in snuggling her and suddenly started treating her like a portable rutting post – in the bad, wham bam thank you mam, 20 seconds, it’s all over and roll over for a snooze type way. Completely out of character for me. No, really. Again it all went back to normal once we ditched the pill.

What I found shocking was that neither of my girlfriends were told about any possible side-effects besides weight gain by their GP. And I, as a bloke, was completely in the dark. Let’s face it, anything that tricks your body into thinking it’s constantly pregnant is going to probably have a few side effects. Have a look on Wikipedia and negative side effects include weight gain, loss of libido and lubrication, a possible doubling of your chances of suffering depression oh and perhaps a bit of facial discolouration. Nice.

To add insult to injury a woman’s sense of smell is suppressed while on the pill actually making her attracted to a man with the wrong sort of immune system. You can guess what happens when she stops taking it – no wonder it’s been labelled the divorce pill.

I think pill packets should have the following branded on them: THIS MAY SEND YOU BONKERS, MAKE YOU CHOOSE THE WRONG SORT OF MAN, COMPLETELY KILL YOUR INTEREST IN SEX AND POSSIBLY WRECK YOU RELATIONSHIP. FOR GODS SAKE USE SOME OTHER FORM OF CONTRACEPTION. PLEASE.

 

'Mr Sex' stares a Delicate Female Work-Related Problem in the, er, Face

As I pointed out before, working in Porn is nowhere near what the average punter assumes it is. One of the biggest misconceptions is that we all know the models intimately when in actual fact we get to see them in the flesh as often as the average punter, i.e., hardly ever. When I was working on the mags, they never perched themselves on me desk, with a pen suggestively rammed in their gobs. They never rang me up at the end of a shit day at work and asked if I fancied a pint. In fact, when I actually did run into them - usually at some work-related do - I was even more intimidated than the readers. It's hard to attempt to start a rapport with a woman when you've been Photoshopping zits off her arse all day and looking at her fanny with a magnifying glass on a lightbox.

All that was to change when the Grot Fairy tapped me on the shoulder with a wand shaped like a 12" dildo with veins and I was moved to the company's brand-new TV station (I'll tell you the full story one day; I did the worst TV programme ever). The place was absolutely overrun with Page 3 girls, strippers, and the top rank of UK porn starlets. I once tripped over Samantha Fox when I was nipping out for a fag. That's how insane it was. On my first day on the job, I was required to lie down in a TV studio and be - and there's no other word for it - dry-humped by the two biggest Page 3 stars of the day in basques and stockings. I learned later that one of them was knocking off none other than Robert de fucking Niro at the time, and she had rolled out of his bed, strolled into work, and than rolled about on me (and I'll tell you summat else, Robbo - she loved every minute of it, mate).

Was there a downside to the job? Well yes, there was; there's wasn't a time machine knocking about in the office which I could use to go back to when I was 14, take to the stage of the school hall during assembly, and do a slideshow of me knocking about with the Topless Lovelies whilst shouting "Now listen here, vermins! That lad over there in the Jam Shoes and his Grandpa's rancoat is actually going to do all the shit you miserable basin-cutted fuckwits can only dream about, so instead of bullying him after school, you should be carrying him back and forth from his Mam's to this dump in a sedan chair while everyone else cheers and throws ripped-up copies of Razzle in his path. He is the Chosen One, and should be treated as such"

Anyway, I learned very quickly that the average preconception of porn models was absolute bollocks. Out of all the Grot Goddesses I met, only one of them was truly shit-thick and ignorant. All of the others would have made perfect girlfriends, and if I wasn't extraordinarily happily attached at the time, I would have easily made big gooey cow-eyes at them from a distance. They were sharp, they were clever, they were totally aware that they had X amount of years to make as much cash as possible before calling it a day and doing what they really wanted to do, they were funny as fuck, and - naturally, due to the nature of the job - were not shy in the slightest. In fact, it was scary how quickly you forgot that they did what they did. But they always found a way to remind you.

One day, I was lined up to work with a new model, who I'd never heard of. When she walked in, fully-clothed, she instantly reduced every man in the building - who were by this time so jaded with naked flesh that they would turn the porn videos off whenever they could to watch a kids programme, or an episode of Take The High Road - to quivering blancmanges. As she walked by and said hello, we all started nudging each other like schoolgirls in the back row of the pictures when the credits for Dirty Dancing came up. Cheeky smile. Petite frame. Eyes you wanted to swim in like a baby seal. Jubblies like a dead heat in a Zeppelin race.

Half an hour later, we're in a studio doing the latest episode of The Worst Television Show Ever. I'm concentrating on reading the autocue as she drapes herself around me, and try not to look at her bits. But this time, I can't help myself. Partly because she's drop-dead gorgeous, but mainly because every now and then, her hand darts downwards and she gives herself a bit of a scratch. Oh dear.

After about 20 minutes of this, we're alone, in the dressing room, having a fag break. Me; fully dressed, focusing on work, exuding my usual provincial, salt-of-the-earth charm, trying not to notice the fact that her hands are flitting over her crotch every ten seconds. Her: bollock naked. We try and lay a bit o'sand down - who we know, what we've done before, which one of my fellow staff members she thinks is a wanker, when she gets her fingers right in there, in the manner of one of the Time Team prising a Roman helmet from a burial site. By this time, I can't help staring. And she catches me. Our eyes become locked.

And she pisses herself laughing.

"I know what you're thinking" she says. And I blush, because she does. And then she explains. "I was doing a photoshoot with [NATIONALLY RENOWNED AND DIRTY OLD SCROTE PHOTOGRAPHER] yesterday, and I had to wear these fishnet knickers. And he wanted me to - "

(And here, she mimes the act of grabbing a handful of her knickers and yanking them upwards in the manner described in the trade as 'taking in the laundry')

"I had to do it non-stop for fucking ages, and look what it's done to me"

(and here, she leans against the dressing room table, and parts her labia)

"I've got a fucking paper cut on me fucking clit! Look! Go on, look at that bastard!"

And I do. As she beckons me hither, I bend down, and look. Then I look up at her, and purse my lips and inhale and shake me head, like elderly racist women used to do when they found out that Lady Di was going out with Dodi. And look back.

And then I look up at her again, raise an eyebrow, and say; "Do you want me to kiss it better?"












(Ten years later, in my mind, while I'm lying in an otherwise empty bed)

Manbits #10

*** 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 ***

Anonymous writes: Ok, so here's the situation.

I met a girl - let's call her Charlotte. About 10 years ago, at Uni, she was going out with someone else, I fell in love. Didn't do anything at the time because I was a "nice boy". Became friends. Yeah, you know this one. Eventually some years later decided to tell her how I felt (the "some years" thing being a clue that it hadn't gone away).

Did so, as expected did not have the immediate result of her falling into my arms.
Ten years later. I haven't exactly been a monk, either in the developing killer martial arts moves and a deep sense of spiritual peace sense, or in the "not having sex" sense. However, I've never met anyone who seemed so right - we just seem to be incredibly well-matched. We're still good friends - very close friends, in fact.

Charlotte's been dating a guy for the last few years with whom she is, as far as I can tell, very, very happy. (He's a great guy. He's also really similar to me in a lot of ways - although to be fair is also different in some, notably being a bit less driven.)
I haven't had a relationship of longer than six months in the last six years. All of my relationships have been with very smart, very sexy, very interesting girls, but they've all ended for one reason or another (mutual lack of interest, not-mutual lack of interest (from both sides at different times), mild insanity).

A decade plus seems a reasonable length of time to have met someone else I was interested in, if it was going to happen. I'm starting to wonder if my conviction that there's no such thing as "the one" is in fact wrong. Periodically I convince myself I'm over her, but let's face it, that's clearly crap. I've never met anyone like her - anyone who has ideas like hers, who can point out when I'm talking bullshit like her, who's funny and sarcastic and sexy as her, who's on so much the same wavelength as me, who talks and writes and moves like her. I've had people tell me that I need to stop measuring against the Charlotte standard, but, well, hard to do.

Ah, shite. What to do? Just keep going and hope that I meet someone else whom I fall for? That strategy appears to be sucking so far. I've tried meeting people randomly, dating sites, going to lots of parties, etc, etc...

Sam says: Mmm, this is a tricky one. My first urge is to grab hold of you, give a hard slap and say ‘What are you thinking man! Move on!’ But then this is the real world and you are talking about your real feelings, and feelings are complicated irrational things.

The first issue is that you have clearly fallen into the Frienditis trap - a deadly place to be and almost impossible to get out of. All I can really suggest is that you keep being friends and set yourself up as her Plan B, and get ready to move swiftly if things go tits up with her current boyfriend.

As for her being the perfect girl; the trouble is, that if you actually started dating her, you'd find very quickly that she isn’t. As a friend you don’t have to smell her farts, put up with her being cranky with PMT and a myriad of other annoying things that lurk under the ‘perfect girlfriend’ exterior. As a friend, you almost always see the good bits when she has tarted herself up to go out and is having fun.

There is no real use me telling you to change the way you feel – the only thing I can really suggest is that you go out shopping in some more places where you might find women who are as great as her. Try www.mysinglefriend.com, the Selfridges of the online dating world, where even I get intimidated looking at the quality of their totty. You could also try www.scarletdating.co.uk, the dating site of the brilliant Scarlet magazine – I can pretty much guarantee that every sexy, smart, funny thinking girl in London reads it, so a bunch of the single ones should have signed up to their dating service.

Perhaps you could focus more on the monk angle and take up Zen meditation. You might realise that what is really important is the moment right now, and that longing for the perfect object of our desire just brings suffering. Sounds a bit wanky, but might actually help to change the way you feel.

‘Mr Sex’ says: Never mind Sam - I’ll give you a slap, mate. You bleddy well need one. You’ve basically crippled every relationship you’ve had right from the beginning, because you known all along that if this bird offered to drop both her current bloke and her knickers, you’d be up there like a rat up a drainpipe.

Obviously, you’ve been knocked bandy by that bag-of-wank idea that has polluted our minds for far too long, and your's in particular; the theory that, somewhere out there, is that one person who is our – holding back a little bit of sick in my mouth here – ‘soulmate’. And isn’t it funny that, out of the six billion plus people rattling about on this planet, this one person always happens to share the same workplace/school/college/bus queue as you?

Naturally, this person is not interested or is knocking about with someone else, which only makes you want them more. When you actually do become friends with them (mainly because you fancy the arse off them), it gets even worse. In the meantime, you treat every other potential partner as a make-do compromise, with an eye on the main chance. Congratulations: not only are you fucking yourself over, you’re shitting on someone else who's trying to make a go of it with you (as well as every other partner they run into when they’ve had enough of your half-arsed commitment).

Look, mate – surely now, after ten years, you must realise it’s not going to happen. Your choice is either to carry on mournging over this woman (whilst repelling every other potential partner you come into contact with), or take several steps away from her, take several deep breaths, and go and get what you need from someone else. And if I’m being overtly harsh, it’s only because I was you about ten years ago, and I'm hoping someone invents a time machine soon so I can go back there and give myself a severe kicking for being such a gorm. Don't make the mistake I did, young fella m'lad - end this bollocks now.

Readers of TT: Comment!

Sam: Glastonbury with a Twist . . .

Well, I have to say that when I found out that TT was nominated as a finalist for the Blog of the Year for the Erotic Awards I was pretty chuffed, but what really caught my attention was the invitation to the Night of the Senses afterwards – otherwise known as the ‘Glastonbury of sex’.

For every other big awards ceremony people surreptitiously sneak off to go and have drug fuelled orgies in hotel rooms. At this one, it was all upfront and you could do it in between buying a beer at the bar. You’d think as a sexperty type I’d have been along to all sorts of stuff like that; well, actually, no. So for research purposes, I decided to get myself a chaperone, get permission from my fiancée (with strict rules attached) and give it a go.

Let’s face it; every red-blooded male has secretly fantasised about going to a sex party and tupping off with loads of women. But the fly in the ointment is you’ve got to have a woman to accompany you. Have you ever tried (when you are single) to convince a girl to go along to something like that? Then of course for most people in a relationship it’s strictly off limits too. Catch 22 for 99% of men.

Now not only did I have an invitation, but I was being accompanied by a highly attractive female friend and had the status of being a finalist (then winner), both of which made my chances of becoming the secret envy of every red blooded man the highest they have ever been, (or will be) in my life. But for me it would be pure window shopping. A bit like a diabetic taking a tour through a lolly shop with assistants constantly offering free candy.

We started our tour of what was on offer, politely declining to ‘Fuck for Forest’

“Ya vell, you just lie down here, ve have ze cameras and zen once you are done ve vill put it on ze webzite. People pay to vatch, and ze profits are going to buying ze rainforest in guatamala. You should use your zexuality to make ze vorld a better place.”

Typical of Scandinavians to come up with the idea of shagging outdoors, filming it and then turning it into a charitable cause. They are naturists at heart.

After several more 'no's' my chaperone decided to get into the spirit of things, getting a good spanking, walking in her high heels all over a man’s back, getting a lap dance (with a super hot lap dancer) and then suitably warmed up left me standing outside the ‘women’s womb’ (read bi-curious love fest) for so long eventually I just gave up and wandered off.

So much for keeping an eye on me. Well, at least she enjoyed herself.

Now I have to say I’m not really turned on by a Shemale rolling around in Heinz Spaghetti, or putting live fish in your fanny and showing it on a video screen while on stage, but I have to put my hand up and say that I really admire the British approach of do whatever turns you on behind closed doors.

The whole atmosphere was incredibly polite, respectful and egalitarian. Women approached men, men approached women and both were very polite if knocked back. Everyone wants sex, and here people were just getting down to what turned them on. And to be frank, some of it was really hot.

The night was summed up for me when I was buying a drink at the bar. A woman in a wheelchair rolled up beside and made a confident attempt to pull me within a stones throw of the boudoir where a dozen or so couples were at it like rabbits. Where else could that happen? In a bar she’d get laughed at, at a nightclub she wouldn’t have a hope. Here, she grabbed the drink I bought her and set off enthusiastically for someone who wasn’t just window shopping. Roxy the Rabbit and Millie the Mouse would be cheering!

This was a place with people dressing up, having fun, and getting down what we all love to do, have sex. Hurrah for the Glastonbury with a twist, I say!

Todger Talk: Sex Blog of the Year, 2008

Todger Talk is quite taken aback (and also rubbing itself against a bus shelter with undisguised glee) at the announcement that it has been voted Blog of the Year at the Erotic Awards. Not too shabby, seeing as Sam and me were only really there for a look at the orgy afterwards.

"We're not gonna win, y'know" said Sam, as I nipped out for a fag beforehand, brushing past Sebastian Horsley, who was doing his usual impersonation of Lord Snooty after seven hours on a torture rack.

"Oh yeah, no fucking way" I said. "We're not erotic enough."

When the announcement was made, Sam and I pissed ourselves laughing. And I bagsied the award before he could, claiming that me Mam wanted it on her telly. Then I walked up my street next morning waving it at people's windows. So, yeah...dunno what to say, really. There's loads of sex blogs knocking about, and just to be picked out and nominated is a really big deal. To actually win and be judged by people who know what they're going on about...crikey. Thanks to Tuppy Owens, everyone involved in the night, and all our readers who have been down with TT from day one. And Baby Jesus.

(And yeah, we'll talk about the do after the awards later)

Sex Toy Review: the Miho Maeshima Realistic Japanese Masturbator

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Sam: Whose fault is it?

Affairs. Whose fault is it? The man? The woman? Both? A new book from a States side psychotherapist squarely lays the blame on women. While it’s tempting to quickly howl him down, some of his findings are actually quite interesting. The author interviewed men who had affairs and found that contrary to popular belief, they weren’t running after younger prettier things, or more sex. Actually significantly more men said emotional dissatisfaction was the main reason for them straying.

Its a small sample of men he interviewed – 100 unfaithful and 100 faithful men, but I think it does shed some light on an interesting subject. Certainly my male clients who have been tempted into infidelity said that really it was the lack of emotional satisfaction that drove them away. I really get the sense that the reasons men stray are much more complex than the cliche of wanting to shag the sexy blonde.

There is a real temptation to think that your relationship is like a perpetual motion machine – once you get together and fall in love it will just keep working by itself. What I think is that you have to make sure that you are constantly and attentively feeding the emotional needs of the other person – otherwise they will get hungry and start looking for food somewhere else. But this cuts both ways – men have to be paying just as much attention to meeting the needs of their partners. Love is like food, something that needs to be constantly attended too. Neglect it at your peril.

What would have been really interesting is the female version of this book looking at why women stray, and what men can do to keep them faithful. I think that women stray just as much as men – they are just better at not getting caught.

What have your experiences been with affairs? Was it lack of sex? Or lack of emotional food that drove you in another person’s arms? Or just the thrill and kick of it?

Manbits #9

*** 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 ***

Anonymous writes: Hi Sam and Mr. Sex, Been reading Todger Talk for a while as it's nice to find some men who can talk about sex in a vaguely grown-up manner!

Here is my dilemma: I've just moved in with my girlfriend of 2ish years. Last year we were in a long-distance relationship as I was still studying but she was working elsewhere. The sex was always intense and we were both really up for it when we saw each other. Now we have moved in together it seems like she is much less interested in the sexual side of our relationship, which took me by surprise given how we were in the first year of the relationship and when we were apart.

When we do have sex, it very much feels like I have to do all the work as she just lies there during foreplay, which as you can imagine doesn't make for the greatest sex. While the intercourse itself is still good, it's a bit unfulfilling and leaves me resenting that I have once again done most of the work. Every time I try to bring it up she jokes it off that we are having a fair bit of sex, and that I'm just always desperate. The trouble is that while 2/3 times a week might be a lot to some, for me it doesn't seem very much, and when it is, it isn't completely satisfying.

How can I change this rut we have got into, either by bringing it up in a better way, or maybe by changing something in the bedroom?

Sam says: Man, this really sucks. Essentially you have a lazy girlfriend and perhaps a case of mismatched libidos.

First, sort out satisfying yourself - the more pressure you put on her to have sex the less she is going to want it. Take off the pressure, and she will mysteriously start wanting more. Order yourself a Tenga Fliphole, show it to her when it arrives, and joke with her that you’ve had to take on a new Japanese mistress. Firstly this will lessen your desire, and it will hopefully make her a bit jealous and spur her into action.

You’ve taken the responsible course and talked about it, but that hasn’t worked, so you are going to have to make her feel the way you are feeling. Give her a dose of her own medicine. Basically next time you go to bed, mirror what she does. If she is just lying there, then you just lie there. Match exactly what she does. If she starts to snog you, do the same. If she starts some foreplay, do the same. Let her take the lead.

Be warned, at first this is going to really piss her off and sex might decline to zero times a week. But remember – you are just making her feel the way that you feel. Fair’s fair. Stand your ground. If she complains, just make a joke out of it and mirror back what she says, that you are having a fair bit of sex and she’s desperate. You are doing two things, taking the pressure off and giving her a dose of her own medicine.

Believe me, if you stand your ground, things will start to change. Actions speak many times louder than words – I think you’ll find in a couple of weeks she will start making much more effort, or at the very least understand how you are feeling and take you seriously rather than taking the piss.

‘Mr Sex’ says: Hm. This is a bastard of a problem, and one that isn’t just confined to women. Let’s go back to the first time you and your missus were at it like knives; not only were you having sex with someone new, you were also having to put yourself right out to get it and clearing every other concern off the table. Work? Bollocks to it! Mates? Fuck ‘em! Everything you did in your spare time that made you the person you are today? Arseholes to it all – I WANT FUCK, WOMAN! When you know that the other person feels exactly the same way as you, the sex is amazing.

And then, when you move in together, all that goes out of the window. It’s easy to see why – she’s there. All the time. It’s on tap. You can lean over and cop a feel any time you like. So, after a while, you stop wanting to and fall into a regimented system where you have sex a set amount of times, usually at the end of the night, and it becomes another thing to stick on a rota. Don’t think I’m saying that living together is a stone cold 100% passion-killer, but it can be if you let it.

How do you break out of it? You both start clawing back your individuality (and the personality that attracted you to each other in the first place) and stop being glommed to each other for 16 hours a day. Attend to your currently-neglected mates. Go back to the things you used to do. Basically, stop being a two-headed relationship monster for at least some of your spare time, go back to being the people you both wanted to ride like a seaside donkey in the first place, and see what happens.

People of TT: Comment!

Mr Sex: Cor!

Todger Talk is, to use the vernacular of my dear home town, WELL JOLLEH to be nominated for Blog of the Year at the Erotic Awards 2008, which is kicking off in Brixton on Friday September 12, which then mutates into Night Of The Senses, which by all accounts gets a bit fruity, missus. We've been nominated with the very proper Arthritic Young Thing and the don't-know-what-it's-like-to-be-honest-because-it's-invitation-only The Fuckhouse. I've already told me Mam not to clear a space on top of her telly for a carved nob with wings, but the woman won't be told, seeing as the only thing I've ever won was a cake-making prize at junior school when she did me a coconut cake.

Tickets are still available for Night Of The Senses, so if you want in, you'd better get a shift on. Not only is it a right big sex-jambouree, it also raises a shitload for this charity here. And if you want to know more, have a look at this.

Sam: Copy Cat

We’ve talked about the downsides of frienditis, but can there actually be any advantages to having loads of attractive females around you? Well it turns out there can.

Our reptilian brains constantly have to make high speed choices whether we should trust new people we meet, and it’s particularly important for women who generally have to look after the consequences should attraction go wrong. We are superficial lizard brains at heart, and people like people that others find attractive. A team of German and Austrian researchers have found that having attractive women around you is an effective mate-finding shortcut.

As we all know, finding a good partner takes time, energy and sometimes even money. When one woman finds a man attractive, others will engage in ‘mate choice copying’ and flock to him too. Apparently birds and fish do the same thing too.

Maybe this goes someway to explain that infuriating phenomena so many people have been through. Suddenly when with a girlfriend, there are no shortage of offers and opportunities, but, when you are single the only constantly available ladies are mother fist and her five daughters. No, it wasn’t some cruel joke, turns out all those women were just programmed to play copy cat.