Not been getting any lately

Lately, I have been going without – without food, without sex, without much alcohol. “Is there a point to life at all, then?” I hear you ask, and: “Shouldn’t you just be boring old ‘mum’ instead of Drunken Slut Mum, in that case?”

Don’t worry, readers, I haven’t joined some kind of a strict religious sect where all the above are forbidden. I am having a go at ‘that diet’ which requires one to fast two days a week and simply going through a shagging dry spell.

And it’s pretty tough – maybe food without sex would be bearable or even sex without food – if I get to lie down for some of it – but neither is not a good place to be. How does one cope with enforced chastity? Not in the sense of becoming a nun and making a lifelong commitment, just if things aren’t happening in that area at the moment?

And masturbation is off the table too – either because one’s batteries have died and one cannot be bothered going ‘manual’ or because one is testing willpower. Is it possible to divert attention away, entirely, from genital pleasure?

I thought I had found the answer in going for a run – using up pent-up energy, getting sweaty and out of breath and reaping the benefits of a good cardio workout. But no, I have discovered that after a run, despite feeling tired, I get a raging horn and would ideally jump on The Man or perhaps pleasure myself. Apparently this is because exercise increases testosterone levels, which in turn raises our libido.

So how about eating vast quantities of chocolate and drinking wine while lying on a sofa watching a film? Good on the surface, but each cancels the other out – chocolate is good, as it releases the happy drug serotonin and apparently gives similar levels of pleasure as sex (but I would probably need a ginormous bar of the stuff), but wine makes one relax and feel a bit randy if not enough is consumed and, depending on the film, one may feel a little bereft if it ends with a loved-up couple.

Another alternative could be a frantic spring clean of the house. Surely all that scrubbing, dusting and vacuuming is enough to stay busy and keep levels of desire right down. Well, it certainly takes the mind off anything fun, but motivation to actually do it tends to wane. It may be just me, but if I have spent an hour or so cleaning the bathroom, I really can’t be bothered moving on to another room and cleaning it from top to bottom. Maybe I’m a filthy slut, but cleaning the house when no one is coming round to help me mess it up again seems pretty pointless. I also live with two small people who soon return it to a dishevelled mess.

So how to cope with a neglected lady hole? Lie down and stare at the ceiling? Cross one’s legs and grit one’s teeth? Rock back and forth in foetal position, humming quietly? Bake some cupcakes? Get real! Thank God for the invention of vibrators and dildos!

I’m talking pants

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a man in possession of his vital parts must be in want of a good pair of undercrackers…

And that’s about as close to Jane Austin as I like to get. So, David Beckham is popping up in commercial breaks showing off his perfectly formed physique in a pair of snug-fitting pants and leaving many men feeling a little inadequate.

And pants are merely the outer casing of the centre of their universe, so why should it matter if they are greying, loose at the seams and the elastic is coming away? Yes, the contents are more important, but good pants mean a man can dress himself without his mum still buying his stuff, he has some pride and dignity and he is clean.

It may be that in the heat of passion clothes are thrown off at the speed of lightning, but there will be a point when you are both getting dressed again – whether it is after a couple of hours or the next morning. So the undergarments will get a ‘tah-dah’ moment, even if you have forgotten what you were wearing or have to search under the bed, down the side of the sofa or reach up to the light fitting to retrieve them.

While we ladies tend to choose carefully what we are wearing on such occasions, men can be a little more lax. I can recall at least a couple of chaps who have encased their bits in what can only be described as hideous rags – boxer shorts which have been so full of holes that they are merely a gusset dangling from a thick piece of elastic. I don’t know whether it was poverty, laziness or general not-giving-an-arse that led to this.

I have also seen one or two hideous pairs of off-white y-fronts which, however clean they are, always give an air of manky sweatiness.

I think my most joyful recollection of panted male butt was on a guy I actually never had sex with – maybe why I had chance to take lingering glances at his kecks. We dated briefly (excuse the pun), but something was lacking. Luckily, though, he stayed over at least once and I got to see his small, perfectly pert Italian posterior framed in blue Calvin Kleins. Other brands of similar shape and style are available – and should not be a reason why men can’t wear decent pants. Of course this style of pant doesn’t suit everyone anyway.

As for The Man – he manages to avoid this debate, as he chooses to never wear underwear. I didn’t even notice this for a couple of years, which shows just how long we stay in clothes when we get together…

But, men, if you choose to go commando, bear in mind that you should probably change your trousers more often. Even if you shower twice a day, it can get a little musty down there. And if you get a hole in them, there is nothing between you and the wind.

Ode to Valentines Day alone

So your Valentines Day is poor.
You don’t have a lover no more
Everyone else gets a card
For you it seems very hard

All you hear is giggles and sighs
It may bring a tear to your eyes
They all have love but not you
So what is a sad girl to do?

You are gorgeous, I bet
The man just hasn’t noticed yet.
Most men are rarely aware
Of what’s sitting right there.

So just for today
You should find a way
To treat yourself well
And make your heart swell.

Buy wine, chocs and flowers
Bathe and relax for hours
Switch on your buzzing device
And tingle your bits once or twice!

*Rubbing him up the wrong way

Even though I am a self-confessed slapper, there are many things I still haven’t mastered (e.g. see my 7th December 2012 post on anal sex) and perhaps never will.

Hand jobs are another of sex’s great mysteries, not helped by the fact that all men want it done differently. How someone wants their penis rubbed can vary as much as how they take their tea, do their hair or cook their eggs.

This is not to mention the interminable wrist ache one has to suffer, no matter how many times left and right hands are swapped. Maybe a wank wrist-strengthener needs to be invented.

I have had men who want it ‘faster, faster, faster’, others who have asked me to ‘slow down a little please’, occasionally ‘just do the top bit like this’ or ‘keep it down at the bottom, just there.’ How is a girl ever going to get it right?

One man in a very brief relationship had the added problem of an over-tight foreskin (medical term is para-phimosis) so I could barely touch it without him wincing in pain and any sex had to be very slow and careful – subsequently it wasn’t much fun, but that wasn’t the only reason the relationship ended…

My early experiences of jacking people off have usually taken similar routes –
1.Start stroking his inner thighs on the outside of his jeans (I never got posh blokes who wore anything other than denims), working up to his crotch and gradually heading for the fly and the thing itself.
2. Go for the kill – the best wrist action I can muster and try not to show when it starts to ache.
3. He gets impatient and moves my hand up and down, because as usual, I am not going fast/slow/high/low enough.
4. Defeat, which inevitably sees one of two conclusions: a) He nudges me away and ‘finishes’ the wank himself (leaving me wondering whether I should stay or get my coat), b) He brushes my hand away and roughly pushes my head down on his cock (virtually giving me whiplash) – the words ‘suck it, bitch’ may as well be said at this point, as this is how it feels.

I do stress these are early experiences in my teens – when I actually got as far as this on many occasions without having any actual penetrative sex.

Later sex suggests that most men realise that oral sex is the better way for partners to help them get into a lather and we still have the wrist strength to make a cup of tea or open a bottle of wine before, during or after.

They can save the monkey-spanking for those nights in alone, when they have to entertain themselves.

*I once had a boyfriend who was a masseur. He rubbed me up the wrong way.