Sam: The curse of the drinking classes

Oscar Wilde once said that 'work was the curse of the drinking classes'. I would like to amend that to 'work is the curse of the blogging classes'. Some of you may have been wondering where Todger Talk's funny bone Mr Sex has been - well his talent has been snaffled up on a full time basis and he's been up to his ears getting settled in. So please do be patient, he will be returning on a more regularly once he has his inbox under more control.

PS anyone out there who would like to offer him a full time paid position on Todger Talk please do get in touch immediately. I'll buy you at least several pints, if not more.

Sam: Hurrah for a good cause

If you fancy a bit of fun, a trip to the beach side and feeling chuffed for helping a good cause, grab a ticket for the Burlesque against Breast Cancer. Run by the founder of Cliterati and sexpert extraordinaire Emily Dubberley, it looks like a night to remember. Here's the spiel:

What do Madonna, Mick Jagger, Fatboy Slim, Richard Branson, Snoop Dog and the Fun Lovin’ Criminals have in common? They’ve all been wowed by acts that are performing at the Burlesque Against Breast Cancer Ball. Taking place on 6^th November at The Old Market, Hove (an hour from London Victoria: nearest station Brighton) the ball offers one of the best burlesque, variety and cabaret line ups to hit the UK. The night includes:

· Glamorous drinks reception with burlesque hostesses and charming cads to put a twinkle in your eye

· Gourmet canapés to tantalise your tastebuds

· Table magic to enthrall your senses

· Burlesque makeovers to bring out your inner diva

· TV’s Mat Fraser introducing two hours of tassel twirling, fan-dancing, sultry singing, ariel acrobatics, sexy satire, and wondrous feats from Mantryx; Dolly Rocket; Eric Walton; Cherri Shakewell; Dolores Delight; Desmond O’ Connor; Patti Plinko and Her Boy; Lili Le Scala; and The Boy With Tape on His Face plus special surprises on the night.

· Luxury goodie bags to make you the envy of all your friends

Yes this is bit of a blatant plug, but hey, there's nothing wrong with a blatant plug for a good cause I reckon! If it tickles your fancy, you can get tickets here.

‘Mr Sex’ knows what Chewbacca wants

Right, a very simple question, this; what was the worst, most horrible, toe-curlingly wrong chat-up line you’ve ever delivered, or heard? And did it work? And no, I don’t mean any of that ‘Are you from Tennessee?’ shit that you hear in crappy American films - I mean proper, why-the-fuck-did-I-say-that? randomness.

Naturally, I’ve had a couple that were the kamikaze pilots of chat-up lines, so much so that I might as well have wrapped a hanky around my forehead and burned a couple of incense sticks before I said them. The first, and by far the worst, came from a prank call CD I had where a bloke pretended to be a woman and then conned assorted gullible horndogs into phone sex.

One of which - involving a bloke pretending to be the entire cast of Star Wars having an S&M orgy - was so pant-pissingly funny that I vowed to use the key line in front of my mates the next time the opportunity arose. Actually, now I think about it, it’s pretty grim; "Chewbacca wants some cunt" I can’t even remember who I said it to, or when, so it must mean I was clubbed into unconsciousness after I said it.

(Me and my mates still use it, but not as a chat-up line; it’s now a term for desperately needing something, right now, by all means necessary. I can ask a mate at work to hurry up a deadline, and he’ll stall for time, and I’ll say "no, there can be no excuses. You know what Chewbacca wants")

The second one is something I still mix into my repertoire every now and then. Like most of my chat-up lines, it comes from watching something stupid with mates over a takeaway curry and some cans, hearing a killer line, and shouting "Fucking hell! That’s mint! Next time I’m on the pull, I’m gonna use that - and I will get some". It was taken from the classic Kung Fu movie The One-Armed Boxer, and involves pretending to be the bad guy of the film, leaning in on the lady in question, and saying "Neearrrgggghh….you’re pretty!" in a lecherous manner.

Amazingly, the first time I used it, the girl in question said "Oh my God! Am I really? You’re lovely!" (I could have sealed the deal quite easily, but didn’t because she was the sister of the girlfriend my flatmate had just dumped and it would have been nightmarishly complicated. Not least because she might have had a thing about Kung Fu baddies and I would have had to kept up the accent all night.

So anyway; what’s yours? Let’s get a bank of really horrific chat-up lines going, and them set them in concrete and tip them into the nearest river so they can never be used again.

(Oh, and I did say "I’m going to fuck you like Marvin Gaye" to one girl I know, but that was in a dream I had the other week, and therefore doesn’t really count. Not until the next time I get pissed up and say it, anyway)

Sam: Bedroom Shocks part 2

The other night I was out watching New Zealand comedian in Hammersmith. He was telling various tales about his life in London – and one of them was about talking dirty. Apparently a lovely English lass had a requested a bit of dirty talk in the bedroom. ‘Whoa, I’m not really into that’ he thought, but ended up delivering some great subliminal messaging -  ‘Yeah, you love that don’t ya, (whispered) we need sky plus’. Fast forward a couple of weeks later and I was chatting to another expat Aussie again about the things that had shocked him in the bedroom. Now what struck me again was how sexually conservative antipodean men are compared to British women. Most Aussies are just happy to get their end away and thrilled if they get a blow job. Anything more than that, well, it’s a bit kinky.

It led me to reflect on things that have shocked me in the bedroom in my single bachelor days when I first came to the UK.

1)     She wanted to talk dirty – yes I am ashamed to admit I had the same reaction as my downunder compatriots

2)     She pulled me that night in a bar, wanted anal (well OK, a bit different but I was in a new country, so should try new things) and then to be peed on (Whoa Nelly!)

3)     Another girl from a night club went straight for asphyxiation, starting with a bit of strangulation, then just to make things a bit different some smothering with a pillow

4)     Perhaps most strangely unsettling of all, the girl I met from a pub who wanted to be ‘fucked really god damn hard’ doggy style. And by lord did she mean hard. All those years of being told to treat women nicely and with respect made this one particularly challenging.

All of these things, I have to say dear readers did really shock me at the time. Though in the grand spirit of international relations and the adventure of travel, I gave them a go as requested. After all of this I read the chapter in Kate’s Fox’s brilliant book Watching the English about how in the English bedroom there are no rules and essentially anything goes. Which made me feel much better that I just hadn’t clearly been hanging out in really kinky clubs and bars (that was the surprising thing, the places I met these girls were in no way kinky, they were usually a bit posh, or homey type pubs). And it has to be said, after getting over the shock, it was all actually rather fun.

I’m intrigued, are you as squeamish as us antipodeans? What has shocked you in the bedroom?

 

Something for the ladies # 24

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Sam: Putting on the Pork

Our last ‘Something for the Ladies’ got me thinking – about a particular danger of being in a long term relationship – getting porky.

Let’s face it when single we generally make our best effort to look good. There is extra incentive to go the gym, make sure you are wearing the right sort of clothes, get a nice up to date hair cut and have got a good dose of the under arm charm on. Otherwise it all counts against you possibly getting your leg over when you are out on the prowl on Saturday night. But when you are in a relationship you can let yourself go. You know that even if you are looking a little chubbier, your partner still loves you and will still be up for a little action once you’ve both finished watching the latest episode of which ever TV series you happen to be addicted to.

There are a bunch of factors working against you and working to increase your waistline. You are less active. Much easier to have a comfy night in than go out dancing and much more tempting to have a lie in and a snuggle than haul yourself out of bed to go to the gym. You eat more, spending more time at home. Much more temptation to snack to your hearts content all weekend and have those extra servings to help you feel even more cosy. Also you have a partner in crime – if you are both getting a little more porky it is both your best interests to probably keep mum. Add to this the fact that couples actually have more sex than single people and you are getting the strong message that all these indulgences are helping your pulling power.

Personally, I put on 10kg (22 pounds) before I even really noticed and started forcing myself back to the gym and to pass up that extra serving of yummy dessert. When I asked my fiancée why she hasn’t said anything she replied it was because it made her feel better about putting on a little weight herself.  The cynical part of me wonders if helping your partner put on a few pounds also adds a bit of security in the relationship, after all there is nothing less attractive than a paunchy middle aged man. Far less of a flight risk than a toned fit gym addict.

It’s happened to pretty much all my friends who have shacked up on a long term basis – even one of my mates who is a professional acrobat, and uses his body every day for his profession has not been immune to the porkifying properties of a long term relationship. The only couple I know it hasn’t happened to are certifiable exercise junkies, who on group holidays are up at the crack of dawn going jogging and then can be seen in the pool doing laps later in the afternoon. Exception that proves the rule I think. Oh dear, perhaps we just have to resign ourselves to the porkifying effects of long term love.

Something for the Ladies #23

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 @ 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: Within the last year my boyfriend has gained a lot of weight and it has made our relationship increasingly difficult. He's gone from being an average sized bloke to obese. I still absolutely adore and love him, but I'm finding I'm less sexually attracted to him in his current state. I've hidden this as much as possible from him, but I'm pretty sure he suspects this and he's understandably hurt, and I feel like a total wench for feeling this way.

 

More importantly I'm extremely worried for his health. The last time he went to the doctor his cholesterol was really high and he has progressed from being an athletic guy to obese and on the road to an early grave. He was never an obsessively healthy eater, (growing up his family was never overtly into healthy eating) but he has definitely has developed an eating problem. He gets up at night to eat (I pretend to be asleep so as not to hurt his feelings), eats huge portions at meals and snacks on rubbish food throughout the day. I have also found secret stashes of food around the house. He has stopped exercising because I suspect he feels self conscious about his weight in the gym.

 

I have tried to gently talk to him about all this, but every time I try he becomes angry, defensive and withdrawn, and says things like "well if you are so worried, why don't you cook all my meals for me?" or starts to point out my physical flaws in an effort to hurt me. I know that there must be some psychological reason behind this eating problem, but nothing major (that I'm aware of) has happened within the last year that could trigger turning to food as a psychological comfort. Obviously I feel like the world's most inept girlfriend as he seems to be unable to confide in me and is turning to food for solace.

 

So, short of padlocking the fridge, monitoring every bite he ingests, and giving up my job to become his personal chef, how can I diplomatically help him towards a healthier lifestyle? And more importantly, how can I discover what the reason for his overeating is, and help him deal with it?

 

Sam says: I personally reckon that radical intervention is probably the only way forward. Eating this way is like an addiction – and breaking the habit is hard and painful and you need help with it. Trying to sort it out on your own would be a bit like trying to help your boyfriend sort out a drug problem without any help. Junk food is actually a like an addictive drug – the processed sugars give you a rush, making you feel great, then you quickly crash and crave more. It’s a vicious cycle that get’s worse and worse. In 1957 Dr William Coda Martin went as far to define sugar as a slow acting poison. He subsequently got the shit kicked out of him and his career wrecked by sugar-backed lobby groups, but with the current obesity and diabetes epidemic we are facing it looks like he might have been right after all.

 

It’s a big jump, but I’d suggest taking your boyfriend on a 7-day detox retreat. Sure, there is a lot of namby-pamby new age rot that goes along with it, but essentially what it will do is break his junk food and sugar addiction, lose some weight and give you chance to start again with his eating habits from scratch. It’s a bit pricey, but I reckon it’s cheap compared to the cost a) to his health b) to your relationship.

 

Unfortunately I don’t think talking is going to do a lot here. Radical action is what’s really needed.

PS this is my opinionated point of view without any particularly expertise in the area of weight or nutrition. Just the bunk I have read for interest.

 

‘Mr Sex’ says: Hm. From a distance, and looking at this from a strictly relationship angle (as I’m ‘Mr Sex’, not ‘Dr Sex’, after all), it seems to me like your chap is displaying extreme symptoms of Won-The-Battleness. All men go through it at some point; after exerting supreme amounts of will, effort and cash to land their partner (orany partner), it’s natural to think; ‘Cor, thank Christ I don’t have to go through all that shit any more’ and make another crisp and fish-finger sandwich whilst wearing that faded-out Undertaker t-shirt that somehow went missing during the courtship period. It’s a perfectly logical anti-honeymoon period, and it usually goes after a while. But sometimes, it doesn’t. And you discover you’ve shacked up with Stan Ogden. And that’s no fun at all.

 

There’s a good chance that something is really doing his head in at the moment, so I’m loath to advise you to tell him you can’t stand having it off with someone who is slowly turning into an indoor whale, for obvious reasons. What I do suggest you do is the next time he creeps downstairs for a midnight feast, you give it two minutes, go downstairs, and talk with him. About anything. Because at the moment, you lying in bed pretending to be asleep is part of the problem, I reckon. He knows he’s out of order, and he knows you know it, too; by both pretending that nothing’s wrong, you’re both leading up to a massive fall-out.

 

Eventually, when you do bring the subject of his weight up, definitely play up the health side and don’t mention the I-don’t-fancy-you-that-much bit at all. This is one of the few problems we’ve been asked about that really doesn’t have that much to do with sex, and loads more to do with self-confidence and other rubbishness, I fear.

 

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Sam: Classy Love

Now we’ve had a bit of a rant about class and sex before, but what about class and love?

It turns out that despite all the talk about class mobility and ever increasing opportunities men and women are marrying much more within their social class than ever before. With huge amount of cheap high quality clothing and a more informal style to dressing you’d think that it would be harder to pick people’s class. Certainly your top hat and tails would have made it very clear in the past. But according to Dalton Conley, a sociologist at NYU we are just as deft as ever at passing style judgements that precisely pick a potential mate's class. Ed Byrne was having a good old rant about class the other day and summed up how sensitive we are to class perfectly: ‘How come a jumper over your shoulders shouts Sloan, while the same jumper around the waist means Chav?’. 

Apparently we are attracted to partners with the same class as us because they will have the same interests, share our opinions and validate our own choices. We all knew Pretty Women is a load of schmatlz, just deep down I certainly would like to think love wasn’t really at all about someone’s social status and background.

Turning the mirror back on my self, my fiancée is pretty much the same class as me – and uncomfortably, when I look back at my past relationships they are all embarrassingly of a similar class. Any posh totty or down in the mines working class on the way was something that passed by pretty quickly. I hate it when sociologists are uncomfortably correct.

So how does class fit into your love life?

'Mr Sex' wants to know about your Skanky Bedroom Experiences

Right, well...sorry I've been AWOL for a bit, but I've attending to some extremely important business; I've been making my bedroom one-night-stand-compliant again. Not that I'm on a promise or anything; it's the kind of thing one can't leave to chance. The overflowing wastebasket has been emptied. The 20 year-old copies of Viz have gone back on the shelves. The sex toys up for reviewing have been pushed as far back in the wardrobe as possible. The framed Su Pollard LP cover is still on the wall, though - some aspects of your personality can't be hidden, and nor should they be.

Now then; I have no wish to get all Kim and Aggie on any man's arse, but if you are intending on bringing lady-flies into your spiderly parlour, there are two areas of the house you must get sorted; the bedroom and the bog.

(And let's not talk about the latter for now, seeing as the seat on my toilet is so slidey at the moment that I'm terrified that, one morning, I'm going to suddenly toboggan all the way down the stairs and onto the street with me trousers round me ankles, still reading the paper. But anyway)

When it comes to the boudoir, so many men get it horribly, horribly wrong. Actually, that's a misnomer; they actually fail to get it right, and then keep it that way, letting their bedrooms fall into chronic disrepair. Let me give you some examples of the worst bedroom-related atrocities that I've come across, through my many years of house-sharing;

* A bedside table groaning with miniature jars of potted meat (some still open and crusted up), accompanied by a packet of mouldy finger rolls and a flask of tea, as if he was a bedridden Nana - a very sexy look, as you can imagine

* A floor pitted with crusty tissues and a three-quarter-full bottle of Coke with the top off that had congealed to the point where it didn't slop out when it was kicked over

* A room that had cables running from it from three laptops, all the way down the stairs, through the living room and into the kitchen

* A wardrobe containing a brewing vat that the occupant would piss into instead of walking twenty yards to the toilet (this was in halls of residence at Uni; when the heating went on in the winter, the pipe it was wedged against warmed up and melted the plastic, causing severe leakage and an entire floor of people having to sleep in the gym like survivors of a nuclear attack)

* A telly the size of God's face in the corner, a floor looking like a branch of Blockbusters after an earthquake, and a bedside table consisting of family packs of Mars bars, a paintballing gun, and assorted Playstation joypads

Now, one day soon, I'm going to teach you how to get your bedroom properly sorted for a night of tuppery. But until then, I'm calling upon the fair ladies of the Todger Talk community to answer the following question; what was the worst bedroom you've ever been lured into, and what turns you off quicker than seeing John McCain in his pants, giving his cobblers a right good scratching and doing that horrible smiley scowly thing he does? I don't need you to name, but I would like you to shame. Tell us, and spare no detail...

(NB - and yeah, I'm totally aware that women can be just as guilty of this, but it doesn't matter as much. A woman could have the rotting corpses of her entire family in her bed, and we still probably would, wouldn't we?)

Sam: Where do you draw the line?

Friends. When you are in a relationship, you’d think that they would be the last one’s that you’d have to keep an eye on. The last one’s that you’d think would do something a bit naughty and inappropriate around your girlfriend. But let’s face it, we’ve all got one. One of your friends who just dances around in that grey area between inappropriate and out right out of order with your woman.

I’ve got one mate like this. At first it’s really hard to put your finger on. For me it started as a strange feeling of discomfort. There was nothing really blatantly out of order and I ignored it because I really like this guy. But then the niggle got stronger and I really started paying attention to his body language, since after all actions speak so much louder than words.

Around my fiancée he was just a bit too attentive. Actually when I watched him, a lot too attentive. His attention would be totally absorbed in her when she talked and he would fix her with intense laser like eye contact. Then I noticed that he was spending a bit too much time inside her intimate zone (inside arms length away) – literally getting just too close for a friend. Then the real corker came when we were all watching a movie at home together. He sat in between me and my fiancée, with me in between him and his girlfriend. So were were seated like this:

His Girlfriend – ME – HIM – My fiancée

And then draped his arm out along the couch behind my fiancée’s shoulder. Basically his body language was way crossing over the line – he was sitting where her partner should sit, draping his arm in a way that only a partner should, and sitting as close as only a partner should.

Now you may think I’m banging the drum a bit here – but when my fiancée and I talked about it the level our how weird this all felt came out. It was a strange kind of feeling of being a bit soiled, like he had done something a kind dirty that we couldn’t put our finger on, and couldn’t really say anything out loud about, but just felt really wrong. And it was made worse by him doing all this right in front of me and his girlfriend, which was frankly just pretty disrespectful. The problem is that you can’t really turn around to someone like this and say – ‘hey mate, your body language is a bit weird, you are crossing the intimate line between friend and boyfriend, so back off buddy’.

After having a good chat about it, my fiancée worked out a plan, we wouldn’t say it, but we would take action that said it. In the last case we both got up to get drinks, then I came back and literally plonked myself down in between him and my fiancée. When he was chatting with her and getting too close I would do the same.

This got the whole thing more under control and made us both feel more comfortable. But how boring, having to constantly fend off a so called friend. Needless to say he doesn’t get as many invites around to ours any more.

What about you, got any line crossing friends? How do you deal with them?

Something for the Ladies # 22

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: Basically, in short, this guy I'm seeing is a Sex God. Every time we meet up is amazing, we have so much fun together... and he makes me come at the drop of a hat. So really, I don't have anything to complain about.

Except for one thing; he smells a bit weird down there. It's not totally funky or a proper stench that I feel like I should stuff my nostrils with scented candles, but, the smell is strong enough to make me not want to touch, lick, kiss, or even look at it.

Which is annoying, 'cause firstly, I so would love to give him head, and do all kinds of other fun stuff with it; as much as I love receiving, giving would be just as yummy - and secondly, I make a huge effort making sure I'm clean and stuff when I see him.

He has a foreskin, but he's generally a clean guy and actually has a slight OCD with cleanliness. So, really, I guess what I'm asking is, how should I go about this? Do I tell him? If so, what's the best way to say it without totally killing him? Do I just try and drag him into the shower and try all my potions and lotions on him?

It's a really silly thing, I'm sure, but I'm actually quite a bit bothered by it all...

Sam says: This seems like a delicate matter, but to be honest you should just hit it head on.

As a kid, I used to be known as ‘Stinky’ because my mom never taught me to change my shirts each day (and also used to leave my shirts out in the rain so they smelt worse than if they haven’t been washed). I wandered around for years completely oblivious, because you just really tend to get used to your own pong.

One of the many good things she did teach me, however, was to wash my willy very thoroughly. If a bloke with a foreskin doesn’t wash his penis thoroughly and regularly he quickly gets a build-up of smegma (urrghh, even the word sounds horrible). And the definition is even better:

a thick, cheeselike, sebaceous secretion that collects beneath the foreskin

Going back to the ‘Stinky’ days; I will be eternally grateful to the friend who pulled me aside and told me about how much I ponged. It was direct, but it worked. I’m getting the feeling that your chap probably hasn’t been taught that he has to clean his little guy thoroughly every day.

You just need to bite the bullet and talk to him straight. Tell him his willy is smelly and that he needs to wash it thoroughly every day. Ask him about his current cleaning routine. You might even want to make a joke out of it and insist that he goes for a willy wash before you have sex. Or you could do willy inspections. The possibilities are endless.

The thing is, if he is the clean type of guy you’re saying he is, he will initially be really embarrassed, but then rigorously clean it every single day for the rest of his life. Small upfront pain, big long-term gain.

‘Mr Sex’ says: I’m feeling your pain, sister. As Stin- er, Sam – has pointed out, nob cheese is probably the prime offender here. I don’t know how experienced you or he is, but a properly washed tassle shouldn’t smell much of anything but the faint tang of manliness. (In fact, and I don’t want to alarm you here, if it whiffs of anything other than cheesey, a trip to the docs might be a bit necessary; he could have an infection, and not necessarily a sexual one)

As we’ve mentioned before, having a foreskin isn’t a bad thing or a particularly advantageous one, and the idea that foreskin = unhygienic is a load o’ bollocks. I have a foreskin, and you could eat your tea off my nob (as long as it was nouvelle cuisine, or sushi).

So, what you gonna do? You could be direct, and tell him you want to suck his cock, not eat it off a cracker – but seeing as he already sounds a bit paranoid about his personal appearance (which is normal: show me a man who makes an excuse to use your bathroom before a session, and I’ll show you someone trying to get their nob under the tap of your sink), it’ll probably be counter-productive.

If you’re both oral novices to each other, innocently (yet deviously) suggest that you’re dying to give him a nosh, but – seeing as you’re not that experienced – you want to get him in the shower first. Not only do you show him how to do it properly (and trust me, every time he washes his nob, he’ll be thinking of you), but you also get a hefty bit of American Werewolf In London-style foreplay in. After you’ve gone your mouthy thing, allude to him that if he keeps it clean, you’ll be up for more of that sort of palaver. Seeing as most men would happily roll across a racetrack full of speeding cars, broken glass and fire for a proper nosh off a saucy madam like you, he’ll get the message.

People of TT: Comment!