Why 'urine infection' symptoms should always be taken seriously in men....
It's one of those things that women get commonly but men should really never get - urine infections. Why? Well, if you think about the urethra which is the tube that leads from your bladder to the outside world, in men it is usually relatively long compared to a woman. This makes it hard for bacteria to travel up it into the male bladder, whereas in a woman, bugs from the back passage have only a small way to travel to get into the bladder. Of course activities like having unprotected anal sex will increase the chance of developing a urine infection.
So what do you do if you get burning on passing urine? What are the possible causes?
Rarely some men are born with abnormalities of the structure of their renal tract, but this is rare.
If you are over 50, think about your prostate - it could be infected and enlarged...
It could be a stricture (narrowing of the urethra) which can happen as a result of a sexually transmitted infection, sometimes many years down the line
It could be a sign that you've caught a sexually transmitted infection
You could have a bladder or kidney stone
So what should you do? Well, either go down to your local sexual health clinic or see your doctor, but do not ignore it. The bottom line is that urine infections in men almost always need checking out... they don't 'just happen' like they do in women.
You can also check any symptoms on NHS Direct, either online, on digital TV, or talking directly on the phone to a nurse 24 hours a day (0845 46 47). They can also give you the address and details of your closest sexual health clinic.
Right, here's the deal; every Friday, we're going to allow the nice ladies who read Todger Talk the opportunity to not only pick our massive sexperty brains, but also give our male readers the chance to impart their knowledge. Think of us as a 21st century Cathy and Claire, but with penises. The rules are as follows...
Ladies: If there's ever been anything about men you've wanted to know but were afraid to ask, or wanted a male viewpoint on a certain relationship niggle you're going through, drop an email to us at todger dot talk at googlemail dot com. Every week, we shall pick one out and answer it to the best of our capabilities.
Gentlemen: We would very much appreciate your input on a weekly basis, so the comments section of each Something For The Ladies post will be yours and yours alone. In other words, all female comments will be deleted. Sorry ladies, but in this case we'd be very grateful if you'd hush those sweet keystrokes and let the chaps have their say. Just for today though, we love hearing from you the rest of the week.
Are we all clear on that? Good. Here's the first question... Paula Yates’ Wine Lodge writes:"So, Valentine's Day's come and gone, bringing no roses, chocolates or even a pissy cheap Asda card. Instead, it brought a lot of genuine requests as to whether a fantastic girl like me was inundated with the things. I'm in my thirties, successful, great company and attractive in a womanly way. Men fancy a go, thanks to what has been described as me having 'earthy sexualilty'. So why does no bugger ever ask me out? Does being confident and independent still put men off women; do they think we're going to give them orders in bed and laugh at the size of their dicks? Do they think we're so busy having a good time that we don't need them? Are they afraid that we'll laugh at them for daring to ask us out? Would they feel better if they knew that a girl like me likes to be tied up in the bedroom, although she can be a riot in the bar-room? I'd be really keen to find out what you guys on the blog think about this one, as I'm actually a bit nervous to ask my r/l male mates in case they tell me that my theories are actually right, and that I'm doing it ALL wrong."
‘Mr Sex’ says: Right then, so many questions;
a) Does being confident and independent put men off? No. But what it can mean is that these chaps (who I’m assuming you know quite well) are seeing you as someone who is dead happy with the way things are and isn’t interested in Thingy Whatsit with them. Men can be really cack like that sometimes. Maybe a bit of a hint might help them along (and when I say ‘hint’, I don’t mean screaming ‘FUCK ME! FUCK MEEE!’ and then spinning your head 360 degrees and doing yourself with a crucifix, like Linda Blair in The Exorcist – something a bit subtler, obviously)
b) Do we think that ‘successful career’ equates ‘performance-hungry size-queen’? No. But we do tend to fall into the trap of assuming that successful women want to couple up with equally successful men, presumably so they can have, I dunno, power-breakfasts, or power-trips to the local Asda, and power-sex. We basically like women who earn loads of money and have interesting lives, but we tend to assume that they wouldn’t be massively interested in us. Rubbish, I know, but there it is.
c) Yes, we do tend to think you’re so busy having a good time that we’d get in the way. Fish, bicycle, bicycle, fish. It’s all percolated through to us after so many years, and we feel that we need you more than you need us.
d) Would we be interested in knowing you like to be tied up in the bedroom? Hell yeah. But make sure you say that only those whose fingers you'd like on the knot, if you will, because there's nothing worse than having a woman tell you things like that when it's obvious they don't want to do it with you. It's the sexual equivalent of Jim Bowen saying "Here's what you could have won" on Bullseye.
Basically, it sounds like your life is pretty much sorted out, which makes you a very decent catch indeed. The trick is to relay your availability, but in a Quiet Storm-like manner, and see what happens.
Sam says:
Ok this is pretty simple. You have on what I call 'successitis'. Essentially you have such a successful confident exterior that men presume if you want them, you will make the first move. Or they are too intimidated to make the first move themselves, probably unless they are wanker players who just want a shag. Also they probably assume you are such a strong successful feminist you are over all that girly flowersy, cardy stuff. Oh how wrong they are. Many men have yet to embrace the concept that women can be feminists and still like girly stuff. (I struggled with it myself for some time)
Probably lots of really great men find you really hot and attractive, but just don't have the courage to make a move. (Think back to Dave's piece last week!)
Also what most men fail to realise is that powerful women like you do love to lose control, or more importantly have other people take control: hence being tied up in the bedroom.
The solution?
a) Turn up the flirting volume - When you are around men you fancy, double your flirting volume. Check to see if the blokes responds. If not double it again. And again. Because of your successful exterior you practically will have to wear a sign around your neck saying 'yes, I find you hot, make the first move. Now.' What feels like a rock concert of flirting to you, will look like a slight glimmer of hope to us.
Another way of looking at it is to treat us like Donkeys. You need to hold the carrot right in front of our noses so close it's easy for us to bite. As blokes we are quite dopey at picking up signals, unless they are dangled right in front of us, hopefully accompanied by 'here donkey donkey, try the nice carrot', just so we can be really sure. This is especially so if it is an attractive, earthily sexy and successful carrot.
b) Make the first move yourself - at least half the men that I speak to would be massively relieved if women made the first move. If you think he fancies you, then get drunk with him and you start the snogging. That way if it goes wrong you can blame it on the booze and laugh it off. Or if you fancy a date, ask him out, he will probably be massively relieved and pleasantly surprised.
The downside? - welcome to the horrible man's world of constant possible rejection.
Gentlemen of Todger Talk, what is your advice to this lovely lady?
...and personally, the world can piss off. It's great to be single on February 14th. Here's why...
It’s not a crime to be over 21 and single anymore. The time when being on the wrong side of 30 and still independent brought to mind the words ‘suspected paedophile’ are long over, and thank God for that. Back in the day, we’d look at sitcoms like Dear Johnand be invited to laugh at the misfortune of a collection of social misfits. If anyone tried to make a programme like that these days, it would have to be on after the 9pm watershed in order to get as much shagging in as possible. You’d like to feel sorry for your recently-divorced mates, but they’re too busy doing things and meeting new people to care.
You’ve avoided all the bollocks and mither associated with the morbid carousel of corporate phoneyness that is Valentines Day. Well done. No handing over fistfuls of money you can’t afford to Interflora for you. No wedging yourself into that overpriced Italian restaurant and having the same set meal with all the other sheep.
You can sit back and take a cheap holiday in other people’s misery. See this wonderful post here for further details.
You can wallow in your own glorious selfishness. Want to spend Valentines night watching Japanese chaps getting tortured in a gym by people in leather cat-suits, whist eating a sandwich made from wrapping a pizza round a bag of chips? Tonight, while everyone else is out and getting ripped off, you can. Hell, you should.
You can luxuriate in the knowledge that one of your mates is having an absolutely horrific time. Because there’s always one. The pressure to perform is so astronomically stifling that someone is bound to buckle under the weight. Last year, a friend of mine got so stressed out before dinner with her new partner that she proceeded to get absolutely battered. Halfway through the meal, she went to the bog to curl one off, and then shouted “HEY! DON’T GO IN TRAP THREE, IT FUCKING STINKS IN THERE” across the restaurant at her paramour. When they were finally poured out of the taxi back to hers, she ended the night by collapsing on her bed and pissing herself. I think they’re still together, which proves that Love does indeed conquer all.
Tonight is the best pulling night of the year. Without question. Even more so than New Years Eve. For one night a year, all the proper pubs in town who aren’t ramming Valentines Day down anyone’s throats will be full of people who are absolutely, 100%, no-two-ways-about-it single. The amount of women I’ve met this week who are vowing to go out on a mission tonight with all their other single mates is astounding.
So, whatever you're doing, and whoever you're doing it with - if at all - have a lovely VD from all at Todger Talk.
We’re often upset when we discover the woman we’ve just boned chose to have sex with us purely to alleviate the intense emotional void she’d been cultivating since her cat died, or ‘cos she’d accidentally overheard a friend commenting on her natural big-bones.
It’s not so much the pondering of whether it meant anything to her, though it can hit your pride, albeit as a distant after thought once you’ve finished strutting your stuff around town for a week – I got lucky, oh yeah, baby. The frustration lies in the considerable ease in which women are able to accomplish their task; plenty of guys ready and waiting without having to engage them in witty banter – a quick glance and deliberate brush of the hand across his genitals will do it.
Not so easy for us (you can get in quite a bit of trouble brushing a hand across the genitalia of a complete stranger).
Especially when your self-esteem isn’t at its peak. The lower you feel the tougher it is to sustain the necessary act required to secure the pull. This becomes a vicious circle of repeated rejection, further dejection, greater need for companionship and thus less ability to provide the appropriate cheery persona, etc.
Having been out of the ‘game’ for such a long time, confidence (never my strongest attribute, if indeed, it exists within me at all) has been at an all time low. I was sincerely wondering if I’d ever have sex again.
So I decided, following weeks of deflated deliberation, to visit a hooker. And one within my budget – not the best idea – weighing up the socially and emotionally ingrained indignity of the concept of paying for one of the most natural of human pleasures.
Needless to say, the entire process was incredibly unsexy and demeaning (for both of us no doubt). In a nutshell, my mind refused to allow my cock to get on with what it’s designed for – and it had nothing to do with the several drinks I’d consumed for Dutch Courage as my penis never seems to get as pissed as I do.
She forced a condom on to my flaccid member and sat back holding one leg in the air. Thoughts of shame, despondency and self-ridicule whirred around my head at volume until I sorrowfully mumbled an apology, dressed myself and fled, red-faced and £20 out of pocket.
Where is this going? Well, the last girl I was with, assumed, from my appearance, rather than my attitude or anything I’d said, that I was some kind of ‘player’ (I wish). Once we’d screwed a couple of times over the following weeks, it transpired that we got on well, better than well, we became best friends – so a relationship blossomed. A relationship which lasted longer than most marriages I’ve known.
That’s what hurt so much, once I’d dedicated myself to this person (as was my way) she, through personal insecurities and expectations based upon her father’s infidelities, decided I wasn’t cavalier enough (well, I am circumcised).
It wasn’t until I’d deigned to drunkenly visit a whore that her ‘passion’ returned. I neglected to tell her that I failed to perform because of feelings of self-loathing. Had I cheated on her with a non-working girl, I later discovered, it would have set me up in blowjobs for life.
However, she failed to understand that had I been sleeping with anyone else, I wouldn’t have stayed with her (possibly a greater attraction) but more to the point, it wouldn’t have made me more ‘manly’ but less so.
It may sound a little unsympathetic but then again, she left me. Hooked up with some geeky older family man and now lives alone. I guess it says a lot for my judgment. Though, until that disturbing turn around she’d always claimed to abhor such philandering.
Yet another example of that old adage ‘nice guys finish last’, as made homage to by numerous 80s teen flicks.
And so, the relentless death-march towards Valentines Day nears its end, and you still haven’t sorted anything out. Practically everything with red petals has been stripped from the land and reserved under someone else’s name. Every restaurant up to and including that Little Chef on the nearby motorway has been booked up. You’re starting to panic. You’re casting around wildly for ideas. And then, out of nowhere, the idea hits you. It’s so logical – so painfully obvious – that you’re practically kicking your legs up with glee.
And then I step in, and say the following; No, Mate. Do not – repeat, DO NOT, under any circumstances whatsoever – even think about getting some fancy knickers in as a surprise for your partner this Valentine’s Day. That way lies danger.
Before I go any further, I need to get the following absolutely clear; no, there is absolutely nothing wrong with taking an healthy interest in your girlfriend’s knicker drawer, or anyone else’s for that matter. Speaking as someone who has known the misery of clothes-shopping with a girlfriend, I know only too well what an oasis of wonderment the kecks department can be when you’re properly supervised. If you play your cards right, it’s guilt-free staring at massive blow-ups of models in their pants (as long as you make enough glances at your partner) and endless fiddling with gussets and lacy bits (as long as you remember to say “this would go really nice with your favourite outfit” every now and then) all the way.
The problem is, you’ve left it much too late in the day, and you’re going to have to go it alone. Let’s just pause for a moment and remind ourselves of the following;
Hm. A lesson for us all there, regardless of religious denomination.
But anyway, even if you’re strong enough to wander into Knickerbox on your Jack Jones, the fatal flaw in knickers-as-gift presents itself very early on. The male thought process almost always seems to go something like this;
1) Chocolates and flowers are impersonal sops unthinkingly thrown at women by unoriginal types.
2) She’s always moaning about not having enough underwear.
3) If I bought her some, it would demonstrate how well I knew her, and how thoughtful I am.
4) I could get her a suspender belt as well, and KWOOOOORRRRRRR (five minutes of drooling, Sid James impersonations, involuntary groin-thrusting, etc).
So, in about two seconds, your thought patterns have veered from “I must buy something for her” to “I’ve got to get something for me”. And women rather tend to see through things like that in an instant. In some extreme cases, she’ll even misinterpret “I bought these for you, because you’re lovely, and you’d look even lovelier in these” as “Oi, you’re not turning me on anymore – get these on and I might be interested”.
The second flaw, as you may be dimly aware, is that women are not like us when it comes to pants. Whereas we’ll quite happily wear anything way that’s been wrapped in a bit of paper with the words “Merry Xmas, Son – Love Mam xxx” scrawled across the top, women are extremely particular about what they wrap around their arses. Here’s a test; do you know your partner’s bra size? Without putting your hands in front of your chest and shaking them about a bit? Thought not. One of the biggest mistakes I made was dashing into a shop and throwing £30 over the counter for the first thing that looked nice but not slutty, and seeing my girlfriend’s face crumple into a mask of hate when she looked at them, turned them round, and screamed “I never wear thongs!” I hadn’t even looked at the back of them. She soon saw the back of me.
The best thing to do, of course (which is too late now for the likes of you), is to hand over a chunk of money and go to the keck emporium together. And even that can be a disaster. I once did that very thing with my first girlfriend, and ended up blowing nearly £200 on a basque with all the trimmings (seeing as I was working as a bingo caller at the time, it was a huge layout). When the time came for her to wear it, she looked like a frightened animal caught in a trap of lace and underwire, and she never wore it again.
And if you’ve read all that, and you still insist on going that way this VD, I shake my head and offer the following advice;
Get the sizes right. Go through her knicker drawer right now and look for labels. As many as you can. Although this might not work, as bra sizes of different manufacturers seem to fluctuate like a bastard, according to my lady friends.
Different is not necessarily better. You can’t force something she doesn’t already wear upon her, no matter how experimental she may be. If she doesn’t wear thongs now, she’s not going to on your say-so.
Go for a variation on what she already likes. If you know what she wears for ‘best’, go down the same route, but a different colour.
Go for a variation on what she already likes, but more expensive. If she has brand loyalty, pick out the kind of thing she’d wear, but is out of her price range.
Don’t show off whatever you’ve bought her at work. They’ll get ripped out of your hand, be fingered to buggery, and will invariably end up over the face of that IT bloke who does nothing but eat Scotch eggs all day.
Keep the receipt.
Don't blame me if it goes tits-up.
(oh, and if any women out there suffer from wrong-pantage this VD, here’s a tip to get rid of ‘em without mashing his ego into a pulp; before you put them on, make a few crafty snips here and there with a pair of scissors, and rip them off during foreplay. He’ll get his jollies, and you’ll never have to wear them again. Suggest that the two of you can go together and buy some more – whilst subtly dropping what you’d really like – and everyone’s a winner)
Looking through the forums last week one poster brought up something that I have been thinking for a while. She complained that there were six women talking, and then one man talking and one other person talking who she didn’t really know if he was a man or a woman.
Todger Talk was originally set up as a place for men to talk comfortably about sex. Usually this happens without women looking over our shoulder and commenting on everything we say.
Men can be quite shy creatures when it comes to talking about sex and relationships, especially if we are going to get a good thumping from articulate and opinionated women.
So it turns out that what men are thinking about relationships and sex has proven to be rather popular with the ladies – as is evidenced by all the great discussion that has been happening on the forums. And of course there is a great benefit to male readers, we get lots of advice and perspective from the fairer sex.
But I have to say I am a little worried that the blokes are being a bit scared off.
So lads, let me suggest as solution, become invisible men. Protect yourself. Make use of the great thing on blogging ANONYMOUS POSTINGS. You can say what you want and they won’t know who you are. We want to hear from you, so stick on the magical cloak of invisibility and get talking.
All that said, I was really pleased to see that Dave’s piece last week really flushed the blokes out of the woodwork, hopefully a trend that will continue.
But dear readers I’d be interested to hear what you think.
Are the forums here so dominated by women that it looks intimidating? Are you a male reader but just can’t bring yourself to join the discussion? Do you feel you are just going to get a bollocking if you speak your mind? Is it ace to get all that free female advice?
Todger Talk isn't exactly sure what it's going to do this weekend, but it knows for a fact it's not going to have anything to do with football as a protest against the general greedy-bastardness of the Premier League. Until Monday, feel free to gorge yourselves upon the following links...
Dave Dee (ask your Nana) publishes a seminal diatribe against the horrors of the female fashion industry, from that vital feminist textbook the 1970 Fab 208 annual
How big is this sex toy? Why, it's a foot! (ba-dum-TISH!) Hear the dulcet tones of Mr Sex talking to the wonderful Tania Glyde and the one and only Tim Fountain about his aversion to anal sex on the much-missed Midnight Sex Talk (he's, erm, changed his mind a bit since then - and get well soon, Tania)
