Get your sexy back!

“I’ll let you whip me if I misbehave…” 

Why is it that the men who are great in bed are also the most screwed up individuals you will ever meet?  Conversely, the men who are the most sane and lovely gentlemen are as exciting in the sack as hot cocoa in the morning (delicious, but no caffeine, never quite hits the spot now does it?).  I know they say you can’t have everything, but come on man…  I’m starting to think that sexual skill and sanity are mutually exclusive, can’t be found in the same place.  Kind of like politician and honest, can’t happen!  So what’s a girl to do?  Now I know the men (if any) reading this have already started foaming at the mouth and composing hate mail, but don’t be so hasty gentlemen, turn my argument around and look at it from your own perspective.  Your best lay, she was ‘completely-off-her-rocker’ crazy, wasn’t she?  And the one you ‘love’, not exactly Priscilla Pornchick, is she?  But this is not about your ex girlfriend who could fold over like a chapati, its about me, let’s focus shall we…  Great sex and acceptable human behaviour, apparently, do not go together. 

You’d think with this knowledge I’d know to stay away from the illegally sexy men and stick to the somewhat less sexy but considerably more stable types, but what we know and what we do are not always the same, no?  That said, I think I’ve found the exception.  ‘What’s that?’ you ask.  Well, to every rule there’s an exception, right?  And if I remember my high school debates properly, the exception proves the rule (not really, but I’m trying to make a very flimsy argument, so bear with me, please).  I have managed to meet a man who is not only quite sexy, but also quite sane, a cross between Tyson Beckford and Shaka Ssali, kind of hot and kind of smart, what woman could resist?  He is an upright man who knows how to get down!  It’s brilliant!  Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying he’s perfect, not by any stretch of the imagination.  He has his issues, we all do, but apart from a fondness for ‘The Lion King’ and being a complete teetotaller, he is the exception.  A man who can shag you like a superstar, then make you curry, then argue about the merits of the death penalty…

Sounds like a match made in heaven and it was, for all of 3 months, and then he moved away, far far away.  Now I know what you’re thinking, ‘what did she do this time?’  Nothing.  Really.  He moved to Obama land.  And yes, I knew about the impending departure, but that’s what made it so bloody brilliant, I didn’t have to waste time worrying about where it was headed or why, I simply enjoyed it for what it was, a delightful pseudo fling.  And it was delightful.  And sexy.  I’m talking Barry White sexy!  But he left, many months ago, and now every other man I meet is instantly compared to him and of course they fall short, who could possibly match such unreasonably high expectations? 

But am I really asking for too much?  It’s not like I’m looking for tantric seven hour long sessions, with a massage that will make me cry (a la the movie with Val Kilmer and Mira Sorvino, the name has slipped my mind, but I’m sure you can all remember that scene) and a lively two hour discussion on the failure of Mugabe’s land policies.  All I want is a man who doesn’t look at me like I’ve just sprouted six oozing sores on my upper lip when I ask, ‘Can we try something different tonight?’  No offence, but lying on my back once a month (if I’m lucky), counting water stains while you grunt your way to heaven, isn’t exactly my idea of satisfaction.  I’m pretty sure the phrase ‘rock my world’ involves…well…rocking.  Why is it that the good guys (and girls) don’t seem to get that?  Yes, you are a lovely man sir, kind and intelligent and generous, you are quite attractive and your bum looks very nice in those jeans, but if you think sex in any position other than missionary is too risqué, then we will have a problem, my friend.  I cannot spend the rest of my life, or even the rest of the night, with you.  And I shouldn’t have to.

For some reason it appears that if you are a good boy/girl (I’m talking about serious people with real jobs and sound morals and savings accounts and chamas, not the bad boys/girls with motorcycles and drinking problems and tattoos and different ‘sleeping’ partners for every day of the week), then you must frown upon all indecent proclivities, like oral sex or, god forbid, the woman on top (the horror!).  And if as said good boy/girl, you are in an even remotely serious relationship, then you can be sure that hot, or freaky, or even frequent, sex is not and never shall be part of the equation.  Eh?  Ati because I’m looking to spend the rest of my life with someone, sex is not a concern?  How is that even possible, let alone acceptable? 

Why does it have to be either or?  Why cant a man, or woman for that matter, be a decent person AND a decent shag?  Is there some unwritten rule that states, ‘All good boys and girls shall not engage in any sexual acts that involve mirrors, feathers or lubricants, or all three, together.’?  Because the last time I checked, being a hard working, loving, gentle soul AND wanting to do it doggy style on the roof (flat roof I’m assuming, unless you have retractable claws you haven’t shown me), that doesn’t make you a pervert, a bit complicated perhaps, but definitely not a pervert in need of salvation, or incarceration.  Gentlemen, is there no way you can treat your woman like a lady, and then treat your lady like a whore?  Ladies, can you not cook him a nice steak, and then ride him like a bull?  I know, I know, you probably think it’s a dirty forbidden sin, but look at the up side, it’s probably a dirty forbidden sin. 

Look, all I’m asking is, why should the bad boys (and girls) have all the fun?  Now I’m not a bad girl, not even close, the most reckless thing I’ve done recently is leave unwashed dishes in the sink, overnight (the shame!).  But even a straight arrow like me wants to get bent every now and again, no?  My fellow good and (occasionally) sane people of this city, we have to do this, we must take our sex back from the sick twisted bastards who use and abuse it, and then make us feel ashamed for wanting just a little slice.  Gentlemen, does your woman sneer at you every time you suggest a blow job?  You need to look her dead in the eye and tell her, “I’m a good man, woman!  Now kneel down and say aaaahhh…”  Ladies, if your man thinks foreplay is what they call the run-around before the game starts, stand in front of the TV and get completely naked (ideally before the game starts…) and tell him, “Honey, how about we engage in a little pre match analysis of our own?”    

Dammit people, its time to bring sex back!  That drumming sound you hear in your head every time you have mind numbingly boring sex; or the rattling one you hear when your man/woman turns you down for the umpteenth time this week; that faint scraping noise you hear when you watch a steamy sex scene on TV and look across at your snoring partner, wistfully wondering why the hell he doesn’t shag you on the dining table; the tapping you hear when you walk past the lingerie shop in town and see the studded leather harness, with matching thigh-high patent leather boots; all those sounds you think are figments of your imagination, they’re not.  That’s the bloody sound of your inner freak trying desperately to break out of the bloody closet.  You don’t believe me?  Fine, don’t take my word for it, open the door and see for yourself.

My people, are you with me?  Okay then, this is what I’m proposing.  On the count of three, we shall all bend over, and pull the sticks out of our repressed and hypocritical asses, and just get on with it.  One, two… 

“I want a freaky girl, somebody just like me…”