Why Get Married?

Sticking with the subjects of sex and what motivates a couple to be a couple, I recall an incident from long ago when I had a part time job in a factory, as a student.  At break time, we were sitting at a table next to the production line when one of the guys sat down and said, “Well boys, the Mrs. gave me a blow job last night.”

I was stunned.  First of all, why would it even be worth mentioning?  Was his sex life with his own wife so bad that a blow job was a rare enough event to be noteworthy?  This was not an old guy.  He wasn’t in his sixties.  He looked about thirty or so.  I would have thought that he and his wife would still be able to enjoy a healthy sex life.  So much for the old argument that commitment gives you access to sex on a regular basis.  I didn’t really feel any added incentive to settle down.

Secondly, and I’m sure any female readers are thinking “more importantly”, what kind of way was that to talk about his wife?  What kind of guy would talk like that about his wife?  Presumably, he married her for a reason.  He decided to spend his life with her.  He married her.  That counts for something, doesn’t it?  Or does it?  Maybe it was just another of those “had to get married” marriages.  I knew that story well.

He gave me more to think about and stuck in my head.  Another example I didn’t want to turn out like.  I didn’t want to ‘have to’ do anything, least of all get married.  I didn’t want to regret or resent it, when the time came.  I didn’t want to talk about my wife like that.  And I certainly didn’t want to be married if it meant that getting a blow job was going to be one of the highlights of my year.  I wanted to do it because I wanted to do it.  I was in no great rush.

Weird Search Terms

OK, who searched for “creatures that invade us for sex at night”?

‘Fess up.

You’d Better Like Oral Sex

Let’s talk more about sex, baby.  As I discussed the other day, The Georgia Straight published results of its sex survey last week.  In addition to the usual dull questions about which celebrities people would like to have sex with, there were some interesting stats.

One of the more interesting things was people’s attitudes towards giving and receiving oral sex.  First of all, my sympathies go out to the 4.1% of women and 1.9% of men who don’t know if they like receiving oral sex, presumably because they’ve never experienced it.  The same goes for the 3.2% of women and 2.6% of men who don’t know if they like giving it.

The most surprising thing is that there are actually people who don’t like receiving oral sex.  What?  How can you not like receiving it?  2.6% of men and 6.9% of women don’t like it.  Slightly more than double those numbers don’t like giving it.

Another surprising thing is that more men than women like giving in addition to receiving, which may be less surprising.  91.5% of men like going down as opposed to 81.6% of women.  Somebody tell the Sopranos.

That’s good news, actually.  If it does represent a shift in attitudes, it may just help reverse, or at least slow, the rising divorce trend.  A common complaint among couples with children is that sex suffers after kids come into the picture.  This is often awkwardly alluded to in TV shows and movies by having the kids burst into the bedroom just as mum and dad are starting to get it on.  That may happen occasionally, but really how difficult is it to teach your kids to knock before entering?  There is another way they affect the quality of their parents’ sex lives, however.

Some people won’t like this, but one of my talents is my ability and willingness to say or do what others won’t.  Think about how big a baby is.  Now think about how big a vag is.  Now force that baby through that vag.  Do you really think it’s ever going to be the same again?  The poor thing’s going to be traumatized.  I mean, have you seen pictures of women’s faces and heard their screams during labour?  The fact that they want to have children at all proves conclusively that they’re crazy.

But, while the woman’s vagina doesn’t return to normal, her man’s dick doesn’t get larger to compensate.  I know some of you guys may swear it’s getting bigger by the day but, sadly, it’s not.  That nice comfy fit you both used to enjoy just isn’t quite as comfy anymore.

How do I know so much about it?  Am I one of those vag doctors women go to?  No.  I’m a motherfucker.  Well, I have been.  I’ve had sex with two mothers.  One had had a caesarean and the other hadn’t.  Which one do you think the sex was better with?  That probably accounts for the rise in the number of women having caesareans.  Word must have got around.

So, take it from a motherfucker like me, if you want to continue to enjoy sex after children, you both better like to get down.  Sex doesn’t solve everything, but it’s probably the best stress buster there is.  Nothing like a good tumble to make you forget the problems of the day.

One Little Lie

I took a look at the results of The Georgia Straight’s sex survey on the recommendation of a reader.  There were a few interesting results, although they emphasize it was not a scientific poll.  One thing that stood out is the few percent of people who have sex more than thirty times a month, or more than once a day.  Even more interesting was the fact that 5.3% of married women did, while only 0.7% of married men did.  Hmmm…

What else is there?  Have you ever blatantly told a lie to persuade a person to go to bed with you?  No, not me.  Oh, wait a minute.  There was that one time…

Shortly after arriving in London, I realized the English had a serious attitude problem when it came to Canada and Canadians.  Sure enough, I came across a book that listed things that were ‘naff’, or unfashionable.  It included things you shouldn’t say, do, wear, or be.  It declared that Canada and Belgium were ‘naff’.  By contrast, in those waning years of the Thatcher era, they had America on the brain.  Maggie had been promising them for years that it was “going to be just like in America”.

One night, I was in a pub on Seven Sisters Road, I believe, just across the street from a theatre that had been a popular concert venue in the 60s and 70s, where Bowie and others had played.  There was a sort of early club in the pub, with live music, DJ, fun decor, oilwheels, and lighting.

I spotted a pretty girl who really appealed to me.  She wasn’t very receptive when I approached her, at first.  Then I decided to try an experiment.  I told her I was American.  A big smile came across her face.  You know all those enemies of America who call Britain “America’s whore”?  They’re right.  It’s a Bangkok hooker with “FUCK ME USA” painted on her back.

We went back to my place and had a great time.  We discovered, among other things, that she couldn’t pee and give oral sex at the same time.  We spoon slept, waking up perfectly positioned for more.  It was great.  The chemistry was great.  I felt great.  I really liked her and, when she told me about some carnival or fair she was going to that day and asked if I’d like to come along, I wanted to say yes.  But, I couldn’t, because it was all a lie.  I quietly said that, no, I wouldn’t really be into it.

The truth was, I didn’t care where she was going.  I wanted to accept her invitation and spend the day with her.  I walked her to the door and watched her walk out of my life.

Oh No, I’ve Just Penetrated Lizzie Borden

I met her in a place called The Slimelight.  No, it’s not a typo.  It was a deliberate slur on the better known club in London’s West End, which attracted the ‘beautiful’, meaning rich, people.  But this was an anti-club, an all night unlicensed warehouse gig where you bought your beer from an enterprising customer with a case or two under his seat.

She was impossibly hot.  This was a body that could cause traffic accidents.  It was wrapped in a tight top and hot pants.  The whole package was topped by a beautiful face framed by blonde hair.  I invited her back to my place.  She accepted.

If the words “too good to be true” are going through your mind, this obviously isn’t the first story you’ve ever read.

After having dream-like sex with the voluptuous chick of every guy’s fantasies, I lay next to her.  Then she spoke.  “Baby, this room scares me.”  “Why?”, I said.  “It reminds me of my room when I was a little girl”, she replied.  I asked why that scared her.  She said it was because of her father.  “He chased me around with an axe.”

“Oh no, I’ve just penetrated Lizzie Borden”, I thought.  Is it possible to sleep with one eye open?  Horses can sleep standing up, can’t they?  I’m scared.  Well, worried.  I’m worried.  What if, triggered by the similarity of my room to the scene of her trauma, she has an episode in the middle of the night and, unable to distinguish between past, present, and men, seeks revenge on me?  I don’t want this to be my last night.  There isn’t an axe in the house, is there?

I tried to soothe her at some point.  I complimented her on her beautiful hair.  “It’s a wig”, she replied.  She had lost all her hair.  Oh, boy.  Not going well.

We eventually went to sleep.  I’m happy to report that I did wake up the next morning, in one piece and with everything attached.  The only thing I may have lost was a chance to have a girlfriend other guys would die for.  Sure, she had problems, but who doesn’t?

Am I sometimes too much of a perfectionist?

Something to think about when you go out tonight.