Dan: Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned…

(...and especially an insecure woman who thinks she’s been scorned)

Forgive me for being silent for so long. I’ve been so busy I’ve barely had time for eating and sleeping. While thoughts of sex have never been far from my mind, they’ve not had a hugely thoughtful edge to them. I didn’t think six paragraphs of ‘I want some, I want some, I want some, I want some, I want some’, would be particularly interesting reading for you.

I was treated to an interesting display of ‘female scratch-cattery’ the other week during a meeting that turned into a bit of a night out. I’m doing some work with a friend – lets call him Pete – on a new charity comedy night. After the meeting finished, we met up with his girlfriend, a mutual female friend of ours and a few others who joined us later.

This mutual friend is lovely – good looking, husky voice and interesting with a brilliant sense of humour. She is also a natural flirt. Guys who first meet her usually think she fancies them because during conversations she will touch you on the wrist or shoulder, sometimes even your leg. She never seems bored of what you’re saying, always asking more questions to learn more – smiling as she does so.

(A pet peeve of mine is people who can’t hold conversations, and in my experience, a lot of people can’t. Ever had that situation where you ask somebody something; they answer for about five minutes while you nod looking interested; and then they just let the conversation die by not asking you something in return?)

In short, she is very engaging and so you want to engage with her in return. She buys drinks for people too - not standing on outdated etiquettes. All this – coupled with lovely eyes and a winning smile – mean sex appeal radiates from this girl like a shockwaves from an earthquake.
It also means that any girl who happens not to know her doesn’t realise she is happily in a relationship and sooooo not interested in that girl’s boyfriend, and therefore loathe her instantly and instinctively. I’ve seen it several times – it’s almost comic.

Ladies have a sixth sense for threat, I think, and evidently Pete’s girlfriend felt threatened because she did the ‘anti-vaginal magnet hug’. You’ve all seen this before – usually between two girls who know each other but don’t like each other – they hug, pretending to like each other for the benefit of everybody else in the group.

But if you look at the hug, it’s like their pelvises have strongly opposing magnets in them so the only parts that get remotely close are the head and arms, so they briefly resemble an inverted ‘v’. If you haven’t seen it, watch out for it – any time there is a power struggle in a group of women that hug is evident, as neither lady wants to be seen as the ‘bitch’ in the group.

Anyhow, so there we were, everybody laughing and joking. We all ended up back at my mate’s flat for a few drinks and then the mutual friend makes her excuses and leaves. So far, I’ve not really spotted any issues during the night - people have all been chatting, and conversations have been flowing like expenses cash into Hazel Blears’s bank account.

But almost as soon as the front door closed, my mate’s girlfriend kicked off worse than Drogba on a diving course, accusing my friend of carrying on and practically fucking this girl on the coffee table.

‘You’re such a dick… how dare you? – you know what you’ve done! blah blah, yadda yadda, call me a taxi now you pig, I’m going to sleep at mine tonight!’ (A really stupid tactic, it seems to me, if you are actually worried about losing your boyfriend to another woman).

Jealousy is a pretty ugly thing when rendered in such stark and obvious form (whichever sex is the one on the jealous spree – and guys defiantly do it too!). Pete was perplexed because he and I had spent most of the evening chatting about business (very dull of us) and the rest talking with the other people who had joined us later. At no time had Pete’s girlfriend taken him to one side and simply asked him about any perceived over familiarity. In the end, her reaction just made her look ridiculous and monstrously insecure.

All this after Pete has told me he and his lady had discussed marriage. God forbid the bridesmaids are even remotely attractive, because somebody might get injured. Can you stab somebody with a bouquet?

Danonymous Dan: Make-Up Sex

You have an argument. You make up. You have sex. Everything is okay.

Make up sex: an excellent concept.

I like it. It’s simple and makes sense; you draw a line under an issue or problem and ensure that is doesn’t bleed into other areas of your relationship. It signifies business as usual, no harm done, back on track.

But does it actually exist? Can’t say that it features in my relationship, or indeed my past relationships either - if I’ve just had a whacking great barney with the missus, the last thing she wants to do is bump uglies. After an argument, sex is the last thing on her mind - both in cases where I was in the wrong and apologise, and in cases where she was in the wrong. In fact, especially when I am correct and she is in the wrong – in that scenario, not only do I rarely get an apology, but certainly nothing resembling make-up sex.

I don’t know whether it is a conscious or unconscious decision, but I suspect this has something to do with not wanting to be seen to reward me for being wrong, or, in the scenario where I am the aggrieved party, not wanting to take too submissive a stance (no, not like that) and lose face.

(Somebody rather more cynical than I might suggest that withholding sex is a backdoor way of securing some small victory out of the jaws of defeat. Cock is a hard thing to swallow after a helping of humble pie, I guess.)

Frankly, its seems fairly obvious to me that if a guy irritates his girlfriend and makes her upset, then she isn’t going to want to have sex with him. I can’t open a womens magazine or read a problem page without being told sex is much more a mental thing for girls, more about ‘frame of mind’. So taking that as a starting point, it's not surprising that if a guy puts his partner in a bad frame of mind, she doesn’t want to have sex with him.

Perhaps it’s the act of being asked (or`pestered) by the guy for sex after a fight is what allows a girl to know her bloke is sorry for being a prick? The more he is made to beg, the more sorry he seems? Just a thought.

In the movies or on TV – a poor frame of reference, I admit – a pair will have a fight and then start snogging each other’s faces off as their angry passions ignite desires too strong to control. Make-up sex ensues. I’ve yet to experience this anger lighting the fuse of passion – does it exist?

I fear I may never get to have the ‘angry make up sex’ unless I dump my present girlfriend and start dating the writer of a daytime soap. Still, I guess I should keep trying for Todger talk readers - so in the spirit of investigative journalism:

“Honey, you smell! I don’t like that dress and you have a funny American accent.”

I’ll let you know how it goes…

Danonymous Dan: Dribble tongue syndrome

I am not very often lost for words. I am pretty good at talking – so good I can even do it while walking at the same time. I was always excellent during interviews because I was able to bullshit convincingly enough to get a job – a skill I put down to having three older brothers and not wanting to look like the ‘spazzy younger brother’ when their friends came over.

What’s more, I actively enjoy conversation, whether it’s on the phone or in person I like interaction, meeting new people. As a very young cherubic-faced blond child I would stand on the roadside outside our house talking to people as they walked past (I did actually get offered sweets once which I like to think shows I was an attractive child). My mother would always realise and pull me inside trying once more to instil in me the mantra ‘thou shalt not talk to strangers!’ I – with faultless logic – once replied, ‘but if I talk to them, they won’t be strangers anymore.’ Ah, sweet.

So why is it that if I am faced with a girl I really fancy my finely honed conversational skill deserts me like French infantrymen? I shouldn’t make quips about the French – I bet they don’t get this problem, smooth bastards. It doesn’t happen so much now because I am older than I used to be (what an obvious thing to say) and also I am in a relationship and intrinsically know I have nothing to lose and am not after anything. When I met Michelle for the first time, I babbled absolute shit though. I’d like to think I did it with aplomb but really that’s a fiction and I ended up talking about the kids instrument ‘Gazoos’ when I meant ‘Kazoos’. I can only assume she found the bumbling Englishman thing cute. More Hugh Grant than Hugh Hefner, I mean shambolic buffoon rather than slick operator not that I’d rather sleep with a prostitute than a playboy bunny.

I should also qualify this by saying its doesn’t happen just because a girl is physically attractive, it only happens if I fancy them – they have that ‘thing’ about them that makes them really stand out. Doesn’t really happen now as I am with Michelle, but I am sure that if, hypothetically, my relationship with Michelle was to end, my ‘dribble tongue syndrome’ would return.

Not being a girl, I can’t say whether there is a female version of this although it would seem there probably is. A fair while ago, when I was about 19, a previous girlfriend I met said she’d experienced this when we’d first met. I was part of the media team filming a version of Jesus Christ Super Star and was relaxing with the cast during a rehearsal break. We were sat in a group and one of the girls introduced herself to me, we chatted briefly, and I then turned in an attempt to include her friend in the conversation. The exchange when like this:

Me “…and who are you?”

Her: “Oh er…I’m just a leper in the crowd.”

Me: “Yes...but do you have a name?”

Both of my parts in that exchange had come out much harder than I’d meant them to, because I was nervous, fancied this girl, and wanted to seem relaxed and confident – but my brain turned them into gruff and blunt. She had apparently fancied me for a few days by that stage, and panicked when the object of her affections actually spoke to her. In that instance, all worked out fine, but it makes me wonder how many potentially great relationships never get a chance to exist because one person panics or gets flustered and says or does something they wouldn’t normally say or do and creates a bad impression of themselves?

Sam: It must be worth fighting for

I was chatting to one of my female clients the other day about one of the old conundrums of the male psyche. That annoying thing where if it’s not hard work, then they seem to think it’s not really worth it. These sort of men love to hunt, they love the challenge and trying to grab something out of their reach. It’s the victory that is the sweetest moment for them.

For these sort of men if it’s easy then it’s not really worth it. This sort of approach drives me a little bit nuts. Personally I like things to flow easily. I like the signals to be there, know where I stand and for other person to be pretty clear about it. I’ve run across women who play the hunted beautifully, one minute they are on, the next minute off. Baiting you to chase, then freezing you out when you do. Personally this drives me a little bit nuts. But for some men it’s manna from heaven.

I guess you could say something about have genetically men are hunters. How they like the chase. How this adds to the thrill. But what happens when the thrill is gone? In my experience pretty soon they are off on another hunting expedition for some more prey, unless their girl continues to play hard to get even once they’ve got them. Seems all a bit of a miserable way to have a relationship to me.

To be totally honest I used to be one of those men where if it wasn’t hard work I wasn’t interested. I saw an ice queen and no effort was spared to conquer her. Sure the thrill of the kill was pretty good, but it was pretty joyless from then on. I’ve learned my lesson, easy flow is so much more fun. Any thoughts on this? Are you for the flow, or someone who thinks it’s only worth something if you have to fight for it?

Danonymous Dan: Hair today, hair tomorrow . . .

Who remembers Teenwolf? It is an awesome movie, in the rubbish way that so many ’80s movies are. Luckily for Michael J Fox he was able to take the hair off when the director yelled ‘cut’, but for some of us that isn’t possible, we have to live with a visual eyesore sprouting from our chests like the devil’s own cress.

I have to be honest here, I feel bloody cheated! I had older brothers and grew up watching bastions of the chest toupee fighting and ‘tearing shit up’ in movies as a kid. Programmes like Magnum PI nurtured in me the belief that hair was good; it was the sign of a man. Grrrr. Rugged. Hair was a signal to all that a massive membrum swung pendulously between the legs of a manly man who took what he wanted and damn the consequences. All the ladies swooned at the sight of the white jacket (with rolled up sleeves) and gratuitously open Hawaiian shirt that said ‘I’m here, I’m hairy and there is enough of me to keep you all warm on a chilly night.’ But now? Hair is seen as a sign that you’ve got an extra gene, probably from incest.

Luckily, I don’t have a hairy back… but time is no friend of the hairy man – it’s going to happen. My current girlfriend was a little shocked by what she refers to as ‘my condition’, as being a Californian she was mainly used to waxed or naturally hairless Baywatch types. I don’t know if there is something in the water in California but a lot of guys are really hair-less over there.

In any conversation I’ve ever had on the topic of body hair (and I have had a few, usually initiated when somebody sees for the first time that I have hair) most people – especially the girls – conclude that hair is grim and should be removed at all costs. I’ve had various reactions to my chest-tinder; thankfully nobody has reacted with utter disgust despite my general chat above. However I have had shock and a few ‘OMG (laugh) you’re so hairy…ooh its soft like dog’s fur,’ which is great for the personal confidence. However, I have on the whole noticed a difference between the hair-hating rhetoric and my own experiences with the opposite sex. Perhaps they were just being nice and trying not to hurt my feelings, but nearly every girlfriend I’ve had comes to love it. After the visual shock of the devil cress has passed, it’s always head on my shoulder while a snaking arm starts rubbing the chest and stomach – I guess there is something tactile about it.

While I wouldn’t class myself as a metrosexual (I don’t fuck free newspapers – boom boom) I’m no stranger to trying to remove the hair. I’ve tried the cream stuff, but that just burns like napalm and gives me a nasty red skin colouring for days; by the time the redness has gone the hair is growing back. Totally useless!  I remember somebody once saying to me, “don’t worry about it, Ron Jeremy is covered in hair,” I am pretty sure that it wasn’t Ron’s hair that gave him a triple decade career in porn but more likely the fact he can suck his own nob.

When I was about 19, I fell asleep drunk and some friends decided it would be funny to wax a strip out of my chest. The shock of it (and the fact I had inhaled two bottles of Jack Daniels) made me throw up – ruining the coat of the person who’d waxed me. Payback’s a vomit-coloured bitch. So with summer dawning, I was left with a ridiculous looking strip running from my ribs up over my nipple. So I bought some Veet strips and then – pencil between the teeth – attempted to finish the job. Fucking hell. The stomach was the worst part, the process took me three days and the bruising I caused myself was epic. I looked like a jaundice sufferer who’d been attacked by an acupuncturist.

So there we go. I’m boyfriend and furry fire hazard all rolled into one. They say that fashion rolls around in a circle which means the time of the ware-man will come again – no doubt I will be 70 by then and in no safe state to wear a white suit. Crap.

Sam: You can't have everything

One of the most common things that I see in my clients is that their love lives have been destroyed by the myth that you can have everything. This is particularly true for women who are in their mid-thirties. They have been told they can have a fantastic career, they can be financially successful, they can get a great education, the house they want and of course, love, a man and a family.

Well it’s just not true. If you are going to spend your entire life focused on your career, then something has to give. And generally it’s relationships. Finding a relationship takes time, unless one drops in your lap through friends, work or university. Even then a relationship takes maintenance. I sometimes wonder if our modern working ethic and hours are leading to the death of love, but that’s another topic for another time.

This situation is really common with my female clients. Suddenly they are about to hit 35, their biological clock is about to pop and there is no man on the horizon to provide love and family. Even then it is often a real struggle to get them to actually put aside the time and effort that is required to really find a partner.

What is quite intriguing is that I don’t have many men who are in the same situation. Usually my male clients are either in their early twenties have missed out on some early lessons and need to get thing moving, or they are in 40s and have come out of long term relationships and are pretty much clueless as to what to do next. Or perhaps more telling, I don’t have many clients who come to me who are in the same situation.

So what is happening to all those single men in their mid-thirties? Are they just hanging out with their mates at the pub and watching sky sports? Or at home playing x-box? From what I’ve read from the National Bureau of Statistics there are pretty much as many single men in their thirties as single women. Maybe single men in their 30s aren’t so quite focused on their careers and are too busy hanging out and enjoying themselves to worry about sorting out the fact they don’t have a wife and kids? Or maybe they are enjoying the benefits of becoming a Silver Back and just having fun with women ten years their junior? Any thoughts? I certainly haven’t found the answer to this one.

Danonymous Dan: Parenthoodwinked

It’s been a few weeks since the Webb story broke now. Potted history for those of you who missed the woeful tale is as follows: Webb’s wife revealed in an argument the daughter he’d raised until she was 17 wasn’t actually his. After a paternity test confirmed it, Webb wigged out, cut the daughter out of his life and started legal action against the mother and her lover seeking damages for paternity fraud. I first clocked this when watching the ‘Wright Stuff’, a programme that is at least more interesting than other daytime offerings such as Cash in the Attic. (What is so great about watching stupid people rooting around their council flats desperately trying to find some shit to sell at auction so that Chesny can have his first sovereign ring?)

A panel of ‘experts’ including Anne ‘gastric band’ Diamond, Janet Street ‘face-like-a-railway’ Porter and some sanctimonious horse faced doctor called David, debated the case. They all thought Webb was despicable for disowning the girl and then dragging her into a long and arduous court case. But really how else could somebody react? JSP even went as far as to suggest that the woman’s actions were okay and quite justified especially if the lover didn’t want to raise the child. I think the point here is simply about choice, by making the decision to lie Webb’s wife stole Webb’s ability to make a choice at the beginning. Instead, 17 years of a man’s life are found to be a complete lie. Should he just sit there and take it?

Primarily this is a story about consequences and facing up to them. Whilst it doesn’t detract from this specific case I will say that when it comes to owning up to paternal responsibility men can be pretty shit.  But that is another blog piece.

Let’s look at what else has been potentially taken from Webb. Breeding is a strong biological imperative for most guys and he now finds himself in the position of not being a biological father, so unless he manages to have kids again age 47 (more likely 57 by the time he’s able to trust somebody again) then his genes end with him. Seventeen years of financially supporting a ‘loving’ wife and daughter, all the memories, the good times, are all based on a fiction that was deliberately engineered. If it was a mistake on her part, if she’d owned up to the cheating and then honestly believed the child was Webb’s, that would change things. But his wife knew and actively created the deception. I do not agree with the disowning of the daughter in the slightest – but it’s very easy for me to say that, as it isn’t happening to me.

The occurrence appears to be rather more prevalent than people might think. The statistic used on the ‘Wright Stuff’ suggested that one-in-ten children are in the same boat (including prince Harry?). To put that into context according to our beleaguered government’s office of national stats we have 12.2m children in the country, meaning that somebody else is raising 1,220,000 children.  That does seem very high and there is no way of knowing how many of those are actually cuckoo children as I assume this number would include adoptions and men who have married women with children.

Girls, I’m curious – if you found yourself in this situation what would you do? The women I’ve asked about it seem to think that while lying was regrettable if they found themselves pregnant by another man while in a relationship they might do the same thing with the main driver being survival and, not wanting to lose the security of a marriage with a baby on the way. Survival is an interesting point because I’d say that Webb’s actions fall loosely under the same umbrella. When faced with a crisis we often drop into fight or flight mode (the 3^rd option people forget is ‘freeze’ roll over and get a good kicking) and act oddly as a result. If I was faced with this situation, I’m pretty sure I’d flee first and then fight second and justifiably I’d be very angry. And Guys, what about you? Fight, freeze or flight?

Sam: Hunting for Fun

On the weekend I went out for a drink and a dance for a mate's 30^th. Now this friend has become thoroughly domesticated. Conversation included kids, renovation, the constant daze of sleeplessness caused by kids, more rennovation and buying a house 250m up the road from their old house to make sure the kids got into a decent school. The last time this friend had been out clubbing was five, yes count them, five years ago.

We were reminiscing about back in the day and this friend was giving me a ribbing about how in a club once we had been dancing and then ten seconds later I was snogging some girl. I’d spotted a signal and gone of the kill. I was a bit of a bad boy (read wanker) in those days. In those days going clubbing was all about the hunt. I remembered what a rush it was when some girl looks at you, gives you that look and then it was time to go for the kill. 

But now things have changed. Now I’m hunting for fun. All my 30 something friends are pretty much domesticated, don’t like the same sort of music as me, or have kids. My fiancée has finally admitted she hates the music I love, and was just pretending to like it all those years, just like I was pretending to like her hard core hip hop.

At the club, when we were all having a jive, I spotted this great dancer. She was fun, having a ball and I had no interest in shagging her. She was the type of person I would really just like to spend some evenings out with burning up the dance floor until closing time and looking for all the world like a Soho native. We had a bit of a boogey– it was the most fun I’ve had under disco balls in ages. But then I pulled out. I was feeling guilty. Did it look like I was trying to pull her? Wasn’t that wrong? Certainly my friends gave me a ‘you sly old devil’ look.

The problem is that there is general presumption is that if you have a dance with a female stranger in a nightclub, you just want to shag them. That was certainly true back in the day, but now, well, I just want to, well, dance. If you have a dance with a male stranger in soho, they presume that you are going to be meeting in the bathroom in the next 10 minutes.

So I was stuck with the conundrum, how do you hunt for fun? It is possible to get the rush of hunting for a dancing partner and that’s ok. Maybe there are girls and guys out there that are happy to burn up the dance floor with a 30 something ex-clubber and just want to dance and not shag. But I guess before I find out, I'm going to get over my own outdated habit that the dance floor is for hunting for a sex, not hunting for fun.

Danonymous Dan: Lo..ooooower

Ah… love is in the air. Love is in glances that you share. Love is all over the sheets and in a rubbery tissue ball in the bin by the bed. She catches your eye and smiles at you expectantly and you smile back. You lie back with your head upon a pillow in a comfortable silence letting your mind wonder – you think back to how you first met, the first time you fooled about, the early weeks of your fledgling relationship onward through time going over dates you went on, parties, your first shag. On and on till it dawns on you that you’ve been dating for eight months and recently she’s said the word ‘love’ a lot. ‘Isn’t this or that thing loveable…I love this toothpaste…aren’t Bill and Jane so in love, they are a lovely couple. Suddenly you realise what exactly that expectant smile was actually expecting. Three words.

No, not ‘Fancy a shag.’ But, I…L…L love you. Oh God. Now you realise the reason she’s been swallowing lately. Then you experience a moment of regret as you also realise she hasn’t actually accepted your argument that swallowing is ‘just good manners’ as you have to swallow enough liquid to rehydrate a cupa-soup when licking her out. 

I’ve always tended toward long-term relationships. For me general dating around and playing the field is what’s most difficult. But it appears to be the case, or at least a strong perception, that men shy away from the L-word like it’s a prostate exam. Why? There is the obvious idea that it’s linked to a new level of commitment and by not saying it a guy can delude himself that he’s not that committed, and is still somewhat of a free spirit still. But really what is so great about being a free spirit? Ok, you can fuck about without guilt or remorse – that is true. But then again, if you’re in a relationship where your partner is looking like they’re expecting you to say ‘I love you’, then you probably have sex on tap and assuming you work at it that sex is likely to get better. Plus, you have all the perks such as the ‘little things’ I mentioned in a previous blog. So why are they holding back from the brink of the love precipice? When is the right moment, if not now?

The obvious answer to the question is: ‘when it feels right’ so lets just dismiss such pleasant easy thinking for the nonsense that it is. I am sure that for some few martini drinking beautiful people, things are perfect in their lives, they’ve never been hurt by anybody, never over extended their feelings, never been harshly dumped and never been cheated on nor lost somebody they loved. For those few people ‘when it feels right’ is fine and I wish them well in Narnia or ‘Imagination Land’ or wherever the fuck they live. But things are more complicated in the real world and people’s feelings move at difference speeds.  Which leads to the next conundrum, you say it first, and then your partner holds out…

That’s a tough one as it puts a strain on things – suddenly it becomes crystalised that one member of the relationship is investing more emotionally than the other (or at least, that is the perception). That hurts the person doing the investing because – if I can continue the financial metaphor – the other potential investor appears not to view the risk as one that will yield a sufficient ROI to make it part of their portfolio over the long term.

I think the problematic idea of ‘Romance’ plays a key part in the overall problem. If love was not seen as intrinsically linked with ‘magic’ and ‘just knowing’ or as something fairy-like that is just ‘in the air’ I think we’d all be a lot better off. Romantic notions and magic moment mumbo jumbo is lovely in principal but encourages us to abrogate the responsibility for love to some ethereal level that we have no control over. Relationships are about compromise and so is love. But you can’t compromise with something that is so high up on a magic pedestal that its somehow a taboo to talk about it lest you tarnish its fragile nature and cause it to smash to the floor and explode into a thousand tear coloured pieces. I’m not drawing strong conclusions about this subject so I’m sticking it up for debate – when do you reckon its right? How do you get both people there at once?

When I was younger, a girlfriend of mine was doing me the honour of blowing me, and she was doing a particularly good job. As I lay back moaning, the three words started to slip out of my mouth in a rather salacious moan… my brain fired up half way through the word ‘love’ and I ended up saying “ooh… I Lo..ooooower…” Didn’t want to ruin the moment for myself after all.

Sam: Where do you get your rush?

Long term relationships – they can be tricky things. Security it all very well, but where do you get your excitement from when you are in for the long haul? Let’s face it, when you have been working hard all day, when the credit crunch is on and you are worried about your job, it’s hard enough to just keep a relationship ticking over, let alone keep it exciting.

The thing about first falling in love is that it is exciting. It is full of adrenalin, ups, downs, and you body and brain get pumped full of the love drug, PEA which makes your tummy flip, your palms sweat and gives you those lovely rose coloured glasses that only let you see the good part of your other half. Taling about excitement, interestingly, Psychology Today is calling 2009 the year of living dangerously. Apparently when women are exposed to higher stress levels they are more likely to engage in casual sex and risk taking. 2009 is apparently going to be the year of the affair.

This comes back to my original point – where do you get your excitement in a relationship? The fact is, that after a certain amount of time it just becomes really comfortable. You chat about your day, what your friends have been up to and sit and watch a DVD together and maybe get a bit of excitement by trying a new type of wine. Not exactly sizzling stuff. At this point, oxytocin, the snuggle drug has kicked in – the one that makes you feel warm, comfortable, secure and want to feather your nest. The trouble is that certain type of people, I think actually most people need some sort of excitement as well as security. They long for that rush, that adrenalin, that kick that makes you feel alive. I think the most obvious option for most people becomes and affair – it is exciting, gives the thrill of the hunt, the excitement of the catch and kill, the rush of skulduggery.

But what people are forgetting is what they are really looking for is the rush. I’ve certainly had to confront this in my own relationship – I’m snug as a bug, in a rug. But started to notice, well, for all that snugness, well it was . . . a bit boring. Instead of bowing to the temptation of an affair (and embarrassingly there are no shortage of offers), I’ve realised it’s the rush I need. Instead I get it rock climbing every week – nothing like your body thinking it’s going to die to get the adrenalin going. I get it in the gym almost every day – pushing myself so hard that the endorphins go mad to try take away the pain. I get it going out and having a boogey.

The thing is that all this takes planning, planning how you are going to get your rush. You’ve got to work at it and schedule it in. You’ve got work at find enough climbing partners, you’ve got work at pushing through the pain at the gym, you’ve got to work at convincing your 30 something friends that it really is worth going out dancing. To be frank it’s bloody hard work. No wonder so many people take the easy option – websites for married men and women wanting affairs are booming this year. So what about you, where do you get your rush? How do you deal with the security/excitement conundrum?

Something for the ladies # 27

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. We shall pick one out and answer it to the best of our capabilities.

This week's question...

SC writes: I've been with a chap for a couple of years and it's always felt a bit unequal in terms of effort and affection invested. A few months ago, after a particular exchange, I said I couldn't continue as it was too painful to care so much and receive such a poor level of return. After a couple of weeks, however, I swallowed my frustration and proposed trying to work things out.

While we were apart his ex-girlfriend got in touch out of the blue and they went for a drink. I was initially wholly unbothered – I'm not particularly jealous; I've always snared girls for group sex antics with those I've dated and never previously had a problem with exes etc. It transpires that she's keen on restarting things, though, and that they had 'a bit of a kiss'. As we were kind of split up at the time I was prepared to accept and move on, but I later accidentally see the start of a message saying something like 'I love having your cock in my mouth, God I missed you - thank you for my night of violation..'. I understandably want to check what the fuck's going on, so ask if he's considering reviving anything with her.

He unconvincingly dismisses what I saw as fantasy on her part, and replies: 'well, not at the moment, no'. So suddenly I'm bothered. This is surely an outrageous response - you don't leave open the possibility of resurrecting things with your ex if you're supposedly serious about who you're currently with, right? Rather than at least admitting it's objectionable he angrily calls my concern 'pathetically neurotic' and 'quite some feat of paranoia', which is actually the most galling part – I'm calmly rational and just want to know where I stand. If nothing happened he should go out of his way to categorically explain and reassure, however tedious, and if it did he should have the balls to be upfront. Amidst this uncertainty I'm supposed to be totally at ease with them hanging out. I would like to be, I just think it's an unreasonable expectation given the absence of clarity. The couple of friends I've run his line past have looked at me with confused pity for still being around, but I'm interested in an impartial opinion from you guys.

‘Mr Sex’ says: Fucking hell.

Alright, first things first; yes, he’s being a bell-end. Taking a reasonable accusation (“You’re carrying on with your ex”) and throwing it back in someone’s face (“You’re being paranoid”) is the mark of a twat and a Jeremy Kyle guest. Of course you’re going to be bothered about an ex appearing from nowhere, even if it didn’t involve text-filth, and if he can’t see that, he’s being a tosser. Taking into consideration your assertion that you’re giving a lot out and getting next to fuck-all in return, the only possible course of action is to realise things aren’t going to get any better, and get shot of him as soon as humanly possible.

What I want to address, however, is this nipping out and getting other women in for threesomes business, because – unless you’re careful as fuck, know what you’re on with, and have the right partner of similar temperament – it’s a recipe for disaster every time. Christ on a crisp packet, it’s hard enough to trust someone in a standard relationship these days – bringing other people into the mix requires monumental levels of trust, and intense boundary-drawing of Berlin-after-the-war-proportions. Otherwise, you’ll be onto a wrong ‘un from Day One: you might be thinking “Hey, I’m really open and understanding to my partner’s needs”, but the wrong partner will interpret that as “Wahey! My girlfriend doesn’t care who I give a portion to! Skill! Where the slags at?” (By the way, did you ever suggest that it might be a good idea if you could bring another man into the equation, and was he cool with that? Thought not.)

Of course, that’s not saying that an open relationship of the type you’re hankering after is impossible (and I’m hoping that one or two of our readers who dabble in that field might be able to put you straight here) – it just needs more work than the standard type. I suggest you move on, learn, and go after what you want with someone worthy of your openness.

Sam says: In this sort of situation, it’s all about watching what he's doing, and ignoring what he's saying.

1) While you're attempting to patch things up, he is getting together with an ex and clearly getting his end away.

2) He takes, takes, takes takes in the relationship and doesn’t give you what you want back – he’s a blood-sucking relationship vampire

3) He clearly doesn’t have much invested in the relationship, because he’s already warming up his Plan B.

He’s a lost cause. Forget it. Move on. The only question you should be really asking yourself is; why are you still with such a tosser? Why are you putting up with getting so much less than you give?

The problem is athough you don’t want to admit it, you’ve invested a lot in this guy. You’ve spent a couple of years in your life hoping that things will get better. They haven’t, but it takes guts to chuck away that investment. It’s a bit like having put a whole lot of money into your savings account, and then the bank is shafting you like crazy by not letting you take your money out and giving you an absolutely shitty interest rate. The smart thing is to cut your losses, get out and start up with a new bank that will actually treat you properly. The problem is when they suggest that things might get better, there is a little bit of you that wants to believe them, a little bit that hopes you really are going to get your hands on all that hard-earned cash again.

Try this little trick; every time you think about staying with him, pause, have a bit of a stretch (to shift you into neutral) and then think about the five worst, most horrible, awful things that he has done to you. Really remember them in detail, how they felt, looked, sounded, maybe even smelt. Really remember how horrible and shitty he made you feel. Then ask yourself; ‘Should I stay with him?’. Your brain is smart, and moves away from pain – I can pretty much guarantee the answer will be ‘Get the hell out, right now!’. Repeat as necessary every time you waver.

Also, if you are into the whole swinging thing, go out, get on some websites and have some fun with some other couples. As a woman you are in the position of power and get to pick and choose who you fancy most. That way you get to be the centre of attention, have people chase you, and get reminded that you are sexy and attractive and that there are people out there who are willing to give rather than just take. Hopefully it will give you some extra powder in your keg to blow this idiot off.

Readers of TT: Comment!

Danonymous Dan: Boffing the Nanny

Ok so some of you appear to want to know how my girlfriend and I met and how, against Atlantic-sized odds, we’ve managed three years. Well here’s the story of our meeting. At the time I was dating a girl in London, but things had been dying for a while, so when the possibility of a month away seeing my brothers, having weddings and going scuba diving came up I was all over it like tits on a top-shelf. My trip ended up in California visiting with my 3^rd brother and as it drew to a close, I was in no rush to head back, I extended my trip by a week. It was during this extended week that I met my current girlfriend…

I’ll just take a moment to explain my mind-set at the time. From a relationship perspective the trip was the perfect way to put a bit of physical distance between myself and my ex.  We were both bored of each other but neither had the inclination to end things. ‘Bad me’ had fully been intending to try and get his end away during the trip mainly for fun, but also make it morally impossible to stay in that relationship – screw ‘good me’ into a moral corner, if you will. Various things – including the knowledge that it was wrong to do so – conspired to thwart my attempts. I mean, if you’re staying in a hostel in the Cook Islands and you don’t manage to get your wick wet then your heart just isn’t in it.

The week extension meant my brother’s time off had ended and he was back at work, so he enlisted the help of the girl who used to Nanny for his children. The actual flow of events during our first meeting is totally jumbled for me, as I fancied her the moment I saw her. I’m not going to be as floptarded as to say ‘love at first sight’, but it was certainly ‘fuck me at first sight’. She’d just come from the gym and was wearing LuLu lemon workout trousers that looked like they’d been sprayed on in a latex factory. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her arse – which made conversation tricky as I had to stand behind her. However, I really don’t believe in love at first sight, but my nephew could have been licking the plug socket at the time and I’d not have noticed. She sounded confident, looked it and was pretty and seemed nice – I was smitten.

I still remember the thrill of talking to her for the fist time, doing my level best not to sound a twat, and pull off an air that suggested I was both sweet, but also Bond-like and able to kill a man with my sheer masculinity. I failed. She loves to tell people I was wearing ‘rafting sandals’ and looked a spod. In my defence, they were a pair of very comfortable and extremely practical Teva walking sandals, that I am sure bond would wear on is days off. At the time she was living with her long-term boyfriend of six years. He was a rather, er, limited individual who had a penchant for road rage and jealousy – one of those ‘fighty’ sorts. Not blowing my own trumpet (if only, eh?) but that wasn’t a hard act to follow and she and I spent two days seeing sites and enjoying each other’s company. I was enjoying myself so much I extend my trip again. There was, of course, still the nagging problem of my existing girlfriend. But that went away pretty sharply, because following the email announcing the second trip extension she phoned me up and said that she had been going to wait till I got back but decided it was best to do it now – then broke up with me.

I felt fucking great. I may have said thank you.

On day three we had we went to a Mexican restaurant in San Diego Old Town and drank till the small hours. We’d discussed the idea of getting a hotel room already, but under the rather transparent guise of it being too far get a taxi if Michelle got too drunk to drive back. Plus, and this is the important bit, Old Town is next to SeaWorld where my family (who had recently arrived from NZ on their way through back to the UK) were going for a day out as a treat for my two nephews. We got kicked out of the restaurant at about 11.30, said good-bye to her friends found ourselves in exactly the situation we had foreseen. Oh look, a Marriot hotel across the way and both of us with overnight bags… how convenient. We should get one room, right? They all have two queen-sized beds in anyway…

So we checked into the hotel room… then fucked each other’s brains out. Starting around midnight and finishing around 4.30 in the morning.  Yes, I boffed the nanny. The next day, it was a ‘fuck-knackered’ pair who did the walk of shame around SeaWorld. My parents tried to pretend they didn’t know of such things, my brother and his ex wife tried a divide and conquer method to get gossip and my nephews…well they just babbled about dolphins. That day was also the day that my girlfriend dumped her ex and moved out…

Lee: Is it wrong if it's dead?

Many years ago, me and another comedian were both bemoaning the fact that we had both been having a lean spell. He had been having a particularly lean spell – he had three women who had knocked him back in three days, all using the B word. We were doing a gig in Leister Square and crying on each others shoulders. One of our rules was that we would never go out with someone that is in a relationship. That is just not happening.

A couple of weeks later that went out the window. For a single guy, that was an entirely new seam that you didn’t realise was out there. There were loads of women in relationships that are dead, and they are just looking for something else, more so with women. I feel that when women are in relationships, they are looking for something to jump ship to. They need a confidence boost to move on. This happened to me a lot of times, and you think, well this is the role I’m playing, I’m having fun anyway. Occasionally you would find they were looking to jump ship to another relationship, or they just use you as a bridge to jump to another relationship. There was one girl, who was in a really bad long term relationship, it was dead. Rock hard dead. We were having some fun, and then she met another guy and I started to keep my distance, I knew she was looking for a lot more than I was prepared to give. I held her at arms length eventually we drifted apart, she met a guy, she had a child and they are all happy happy. I’m not saying I was responsible for that, but I was involved. Because otherwise she would have been stuck in this other dead, abusive relationship for god knows how long. Because people do that, because people are frightened of being alone. So they won’t leave that relationship until something else is on the table. It gives them the confidence to believe that there is someone else out there.

Is it right or wrong? Well I remember when I was having conversation in a pub when and we were talking about what you would do if you came home and your bird was shagging some other bloke. My mates were saying they would beat him up, do this, do that and it got around to me and I just said ‘I’d just walk away’. All my mates piped up saying ‘but there’s some bloke shagging your girl’. I just said, well it’s over. What’s it going to do? And for him, he didn’t wake up some day and think, ‘I’m going to shag Lee’s Girlfriend’. He’s just met her. Chatted her up, she’s responded. It’s nothing to do with him. It’s all to do with her. What I am going to gain from picking a fight? I should just walk away. I’ve stayed the same since that. When I’ve been the outsider, I haven’t set out to ruin a guys life, it’s already over. If anything its ended it quicker for him than he would have ended it himself. The quicker it’s over, the quicker you move on and maybe find something better.

I don’t feel bad about any of that, because I’ve never set out to hurt anybody. And if someone has shown attraction to me, whether they are in a relationship or not, is irrelevant. We are now attracted to each other and that’s it. Likewise, I wouldn’t cry if it happened to me. If they stray, then the relationship is dead.

You can see Lee Saturday night at the Fym Fyg Bar.

Sam: Ugly Girls, Hot Guys

Over a glass of wine this weekend one of my friends asked me an interesting question – why is it that you see a bunch ugly men with gorgeous women in the public eye, but you pretty much never see gorgeous men with ugly women? And then she made a quick followup – which ugly woman in the public eye would you do?

On the first point I must admit I was a bit stumped. There is the old evolutionary argument – women look for intelligence, resources and status within the tribe, so are happy to go out with a smart, rich important ugly bloke. On the other hand, men go for genetic quality –good skin, and a symetrical face all tend to point to good genes and a healthy immune system. The second thing we speculated about is, well lets face it, there really aren’t every many ugly women in the public eye. The media just pretty much filters them all out. But really, you would think that in the 21^st Century things might be a bit different. The two of us men at the table then thought long and hard about unattractive women in the public eye who we wouldn’t mind getting a leg over and our list was pretty poor. We couldn’t get much further than Dawn French (who as pointed out is just fat, and actually quite pretty).

There are times that I have met unattractive women who just had something, they were sexy, they had energy and I definitely would have (and on occasions did) sleep with them. What about you, got any crushes on ugly girls? Or do we all really just fancy Lucy Pinder?

Danonymous Dan: The Little Things

Not feeling so hot right now. This morning saw me driving my girlfriend to Heathrow airport so she could fly off home. It is so shit. I came home afterwards, did some work but my heart wasn’t really in it. I found it hard to concentrate and had a listless sense that I’d rather do something else but didn’t know what or have the will to actually think of anything. Yes, I moped. In fact I’m still doing it.

She flew over here to spend Christmas with me and also for my Birthday/New Years’ – which was cracking by the way thanks for asking. It was an important trip for us as things haven’t been as good as they could have been and this trip was a sort of concentrated healing/reflection/rejuvenation/ having fun period. The worst thing about a long distance relationship is not the lack of sex. While that is irritating, it’s relatively easy to bare. Really the saddest part of a long distance relationship are, to quote a band that can’t play their instruments, ‘all the small things.’ Things that I am sure are easily taken for granted in a regular relationship, but which are so important.

I can’t stay in on the couch with her, I can’t go out for a meal with her, we can’t argue properly, we can’t make up properly either. Kissing, flirting, pinching, stroking, rubbing, or simply being silent in each other’s company are all beyond us. The tiny social interactions that you do every day, which cement your relationship in so many unnoticeable ways, aren’t there. I’ve never been as aware of the value of these things as I have been while in my current relationship.

Skype is helpful, but it is a plaster on the stump of a severed arm. I can see her as we chat, and I am very thankful for that, but its rather like listening to a crap mobile phone rendition of a classical score and pretending it sounds as good as an Orchestra.

You will all be pleased to know that my girlfriend has just texted me to let me know her plane landed ok. I feel the trip accomplished a lot for us, forward steps that are very difficult to take when you are so far apart and the nature of your time together is patchy and sporadic. Not only did we have fun, but killed a few demons that were in our way also. So whilst I hate having to miss her again, I am really pleased that I do because it reminds me just how good we are together and just how much I love her.

Sam: Culture of Two

I was talking to one of my clients the other day about an embarrassing moment when he was out with friends and let slip one of those silly things that you normally only say when your partner is around. His friends were aghast and taunted him mercilessly for the next hour or so. This led us to having a conversation about some of those words that only seem to get created when you are in a relationship, that make sense to the both of you, but are hideously embarrassing if discovered by the outside world. Some snuggle related examples that came up were:

• Snoozle – having a snooze and a snuggle
  
• Ruggle – having a read and snuggle
  
• Tuggle – watching TV while having a snuggle
  

And then of course there is the topic of the pet names people give each others parts. Clive James once mentioned in one of his books how in a relationship you develop a society of two – with it’s own special language that only the two of you share. A wonderful thing to be shared with you, but rather embarrassing when it slip out into the big bad world.

Lee: We Need to Talk

When I’ve been dumped it’s always been pretty clinical, it’s just over. Ultimately at the time, when you are involved it sounds a bit blunt, but it’s the best way. Doesn’t leave any room for error. It’s black and white, bang it’s done. I think myself I’ve probably done it myself that way. I think it depends on the circumstances. I met one girl I met a few years ago and I got a text about meeting up. I wrote back saying, I’m out with my friends, down to my parents tonight, then down the hospital tomorrow to see my Dad. Should be back tomorrow night, failing that definitely around on Tuesday. In other words, we can definitely meet Tuesday, possibly Monday. I just get text straight back from her saying ‘I think we need to talk’.

I never saw her again. ‘We need to talk’, that is never going to be a good thing, that either means you are going to have to back down, or they are going to bin you. ‘We need to talk’ is effectively giving your four weeks notice. Anything else is just sugaring the pill. If anyone thinks it is anything other than that they should stop doing the lottery as well – they’re living in a dream world. 99.9999% certain you are going to get axed. 'We need to talk' and you just think right, I’ll leave it at that then.

There was one occasion where a woman just went off the radar. That is a crap one. It was literally everything was alright, then everything was off. Nothing. Silence.  Just on a purely, shit, what’s going on terms, it’s like, was she alive? Some inkling that you are still present on earth would still suffice. I am the sort of person who thinks, is she OK?

Talking about going off the radar, I met another girl, just got her a drink and was going to the loo. I came out and she was gone. My mate told me she’d gone down to the petrol station to get some fags. Well she never came back. And there was her drink. I thought shit. In the end I took a drive by to the Petrol Station  just to be on the safe side. She wasn’t there. She’d told me where she worked, so on the Monday I phoned her work and they told me ‘No, she’s not in’. This was not making me feel any more secure. I called them the next day again, and they said, no, still not in. So at this point I was really shitting myself, thinking, this is a crimewatch job. Something was said, and the woman said ‘oh, we’ve heard from her’. I went oh, that’s all I needed to know.

As it transpired, she went for a pack of fags and as she was crossing the road she broke her toe on the pavement. She ended up down at Whitechapel Hospital in the A&E and her parents came up to get her. Only me. 

You can see Lee this Saturday at the Fym Fyg Bar in Bethnal Green.

Danonymous Dan: Sick of Scolding

Sorry for my lack of words recently but I have been sick, and I don’t mean that in a Fritzel kind of way. I’m talking man-cold first class, with a medal in chesty cough, and a citation for blurred vision in the face of severe migraines. Honestly, when I sneeze I spray paint the bedroom.

Illness never seemed much of problem in life before – I’d just call in sick and turn the Xbox on. But I work for myself now: calling in sick means nothing gets done. If you couple starting a live music/comedy/arts production company with my stand-up comedy gigging, it becomes clear that my overworked self was due an illness. It’s a particularly virulent bastard too – all the people I live with have it, loads of the stand-up comics I know have it, and it lasts about two weeks, “Mum! Mum! I’m Dying!”

I don’t often wish I still lived at home, but when I am sick, like any man, I want the brow-rubbing, soup-ladling, hot-water bottle love that only a mother can give me. I want the ‘poor little bunny’ type stuff from the Man Stroke Woman sketch show.

‘But you have a girlfriend – surely she’s nice to you?’

My girlfriend lives in the US (major long distance, I know) but when I am ill I am sort of glad she’s so far away because her scorn at my sickness is somehow less cutting when delivered via a webcam.

During the periods of time we have lived together for months at a time the exact chain of events is this: I tell her I am ill; for the next five hours she is quite nice to me; and then that’s it. If I’m not better after that, she switches into scorn mode and I have to go and cower in an airing cupboard so she can’t find me.

Imagine my upset when I read a Telegraph article, which appeared to suggest this is commonplace – apparently many women do this? 

Now I know the research is just cynical PR nonsense dreamt up in the Monday morning meeting of whichever PR agency handles Reckitt Benckiser. However, we all know the scorn men receive for having ‘man-colds’.

The flipside to this one is that when she is ill, I do tend to try and offer lots of sympathy. In a slightly strange and thankfully-not-physical way, I turn into my mother. Why is this? If she’s ill, I jump to her every whim and wish, but if I am sick, I get beaten like a ginger stepchild. Also why is it that a mother will give this care, but a girlfriend won’t, despite that girlfriend receiving that level of loving caring attention from me?

I know what you are thinking… and no, I am not only nice to her just so she gets better quicker so I can knob her again. Of course, that is a gratifying side effect.