Sex(ist) Therapy

“Just let me love you, lay right here, I’ll be your fantasy…”

In case the title of the song, and post, isn’t clear enough for you, here’s a hint, Mr Thicke is not talking about love in the hearts and flowers sense…  You can see where this is going cant you?  I have to put in a disclaimer here.  Ladies and gentlemen, please take off your shoes, hike up your skirts and roll up your trousers, we are taking a walk into the sewer.  Really.  If you’re feeling fragile today, leave, now. 

Still here?  Fine, you’ve been warned.

The next man who tells me his woman is a crap lay is going to get slapped.  I’m serious, I will beat you.  I’m fed up with all you whiny bastards going on and on about how your woman isn’t interested in sex, how she locks you out of the bedroom when you get home drunk, how she never initiates shit, how she keeps turning down your requests for a threesome… enough! 

Long ago when the fellas first started coming to cry on my shoulder, moaning about their respective women’s sexual shortcomings, I’d be all ‘Aaawww, poor baby, maybe you just need to talk to her and tell her how you feel…’  Yes, I’d actually say that, thinking, in my (foolish) female brain, that this was exactly what the poor idiots needed to hear.  Not my most brilliant plan I know.  When I realised that they kept coming back with the same griping rubbish, it occurred to me that perhaps I needed to change tack, so then it became, ‘Woiyee pole, maybe you should show her what you like, she probably has no clue.  Why don’t you try Priscilla Pornchick 10?  It’s tastefully done and very educational…’  That even more brilliant approach got me into more discussions about porn than I care to remember.  Fast forward to now, the feelings approach has been well written off, and the sex aunt approach (a la Gertrude whatsherface, who just for the record strikes me as a bit of a nutter) has proven to be a dark road that’s no longer safe to wander alone at night.  What next?  The fellas are still whining and I’m at the limit of my patience.  It doesn’t help that their crises are inevitably discussed over a drink, or 10, at this rate my liver can’t hold out much longer.  

A couple of weeks ago I had the (mis)fortune of having an excellent drink with a truly lovely lady, she’s stunning and smart and very funny, goofy funny, she knows how to laugh at herself, when she's not laughing at me that is.  So why (mis)fortune?  Well, while she was waxing lyrical about how happy she is and how great things are with her man, I was recalling a conversation had with that same man, only two days prior.  You guessed it, he's not waxing quite as lyrical, I believe his exact phrase was ‘I’m just bored’.  Bored how?  He says he doesn’t get as excited by Ms Lovely as he used to, ‘there’s no va va voom anymore’ he said.  I’m not sure what I said in reply, but I’m pretty sure it was a snide remark related to his crappy French accent, but I digress.  Back to the excellent drink, I didn’t say anything regarding her man’s ambivalence to Ms Lovely, partly because I had no idea how to even bring it up, but mainly because Mr Man is one of the fellas so I’m bound by the (and I say this with great shame) code.  Can you say conundrum?   

Slight detour, so this code, where exactly is it written?  Because every time one of these idiots does something foolish its thrown in my face, ’You cant say anything to anyone, it’s the code!’ he says.  Eh?  If anyone reading this has a copy of this fictional tome, please send it to me, I'll pay good-ish money.  If you have a copy of the girl’s code, send me that as well, we’ll work out a BOGOF deal no?  Moving on swiftly...

Now Ms Lovely and I are friends, but we’re not so close that we share tips on where to buy lube and such like, so its entirely possible that her waxing lyrical about all things man related had nothing to do with their allegedly boring sex life, perhaps she’s also bored, who knows right?  Only I don’t think that’s very likely.  In my experience, women unhappy with their sex lives are only too eager to discuss it, this in an attempt to fix it, because we know that if the sex is not good, odds are the man wont be in much better condition no?  When a woman doesn’t feel the need to say anything, even after a bottle of wine (or three), there’s nothing to be said, trust me, hence my assumption that Ms Lovely is not experiencing the same level of dissatisfaction as her man, at least not yet.  But this means that she isn’t feeling her man’s pain, so to speak, doesn’t it?  Is she is genuinely oblivious to her man’s sex starved-ness, or general kinkiness, or serious perversions?  How can that possibly be?  How can one half of a couple bemoan the lack of excitement while the other half is dancing through the proverbial flowers with glee? 

Call me naïve, but I’ve always thought that by the time you’re settling down with someone, possibly for the rest of your life, that there’s some sort of basic connection, an understanding.  I assume the (possibly never in the) future Mr Alex will know me well enough to know, for example, that I like to be tied up and gagged (its just an example, I have no urge to be tied up.  Really.), basic fundamentals like that surely must be agreed upon well before any aisle walking is done no?  For two people who’ve been together for more than six years to not be speaking the same language, especially about sex, what the fuck (pun partly intended) is going on?  

You know what?  I blame Mr Man, my friend the deviant.  From what his woman says, and doesn’t say, it would appear that with her he has changed his ways from the kinky whore he used to be in campus (he always tells the story of a girl who liked to lick his ass, literally, and he liked it…) and is now the hot chocolate type, which Ms Lovely seems to like, very much.  But has he really changed?  If the couple of hours spent crying into his beer are anything to go by, perhaps not.  And why doesn’t he just tell Ms Lovely that he’s not satisfied?  It would appear that in a successful attempt to get himself the future mother of his children, he has also successfully managed to screw himself (pun completely intended), he spent so much time convincing her and her clan that he’s a good little boy, good enough for such a good little girl, that now he can’t get so much as a light spanking.  He’s miserable.  And it’s only a matter of time before she is as well.

My point?  Gentlemen, if you’re a nasty freaky bastard who likes to do it on the kitchen floor and then you go out and get yourself a nice girl, well bred and suitably mannered, a good church-going woman who only drinks one cider a month and wears a bra to bed because she’s worried about igniting too much ‘passions’, if this is the woman you choose, you cant come running back to me complaining that she doesn’t light your fire.  What did you think was going to happen?  That’s like going to a showroom and buying a flashy 2-door coupé and then coming back one week later complaining that it doesn’t have enough boot space for carrying thaara (Napier grass).  You think? 

If you are a dyed-in-the-wool nasty freaky bastard, you need to make that disclosure before you say ‘I do’, because once you’re hitched, all you’ll keep hearing from then on is ‘I don’t!’  Besides, for all you know your bra-wearing-to-bed girl might be as bored as you are, and even if she isn’t, I’m willing to bet all my (un)considerable resources that she’s willing to try something new, if only to make you happy, but you’ll never know if you don’t ask.  See what you idiots don’t realise is that us women want to make you happy, especially in bed, because we know that a satisfied man is half our problems solved, and once you figure out what foreplay means that’s the other half sorted as well.  I’m just saying…  Of course there’s a possibility that your woman will slap you when you ask her for something freaky, but if you encounter rejection it’s only because you’re not selling it right.  Research my friends, that’s the key.

Playing happy families seems to demand some sort of stability, and because of this we select partners based less on chemistry and more on biology (reproduction instead of electricity).  Although, given that the sexy ones are always crazy, perhaps its for the best, at least until the sane ones get less repressed (I’m still banging my ‘Better sex for all’ drum).  Thing is, if you picked her, or him for that matter ladies (last time I checked some of you are just as unhappy as my idiot fellas), if you pick someone for qualities other than their bedroom skills, then you made that bed.  Shut the fuck up and lie in it.  If you can’t, then fix it, go see crazy Gertrude if need be.  And if that doesn’t work?  Then perhaps you’ll be needing to make another bed.  Take that as you may.  
On the off chance you’re one of the token few who actually plays the soundtrack, you’ve been listening to the sexiest white man in R&B today.  Worse still, he has one of the sexiest (almost) black women.  Check out the video to ‘Love and War’ if you don’t believe me.  The reason I put this particular song up, apart from the obvious?  This bugger writes to and about his Mrs; when he says ‘it’s your body…’ he’s talking to her.  A song this bloody sexy?  About his Mrs?  Fuck me!  That we should all have it this good no?

This is my new approach for the whiny bastards.  The next time one of you geniuses comes to me with ‘the cow has refused’ tales of frustration, I will slap you, twice, in quick succession.  If it’s as bad as you say it is, then that should be the most excitement you’ve had in a while.  How’s that for therapy?