An irksome problem between the sheets can actually be a right laugh between the pages!
I love a good ambiguous title, me – one that can be taken in at least two ways!
I think they are closer than we might imagine, since the latter is very much dependent upon at least a working knowledge of the former!
My thinking this cold and damp November evening is more along the climactic than the social unity lines. So, how common is it for a man and a woman (or any other combination of genders) to achieve the Little Death (petit mort) at exactly the same time?
Given the differences in body, approach and wedding tackle, is it even possible? See, men are said to be more your kind of sexual sprinters: Short distance, fast and noisy finish, if you catch my drift; whereas, women are more akin to long-distance runners, trotting round the scenic miles of the neighbouring countryside, possibly stopping to gawp at a flower or admire the view, before fetching up at the finish – only to find the male contingent tapping their feet, tutting audibly and gazing at their watches in frustration.
We also have the pre-run warm-up differences to contend with, as it were – but I won’t go into that, otherwise this post’s chances of being read at all will disappear pronto! Then there is the fact that, er, some women walk the second half of the run and do not, therefore, achieve the hot and sweaty tingle of a racing finish, so to speak.
So, we are left with three, or possibly four, scenarios/answers to my question.
- The Oscar Winning Performance, allied with a natty stopwatch: In this one, the female of the species, from long experience, knows exactly, almost to the second, how long it will take her partner to breast the finishing tape (with his usual exultant whoop/noise like a seal being sick/ringing silence) and, at that precise moment, she segues, without apparent effort, into a thoroughly realistic rendition of a woman entering erotic Valhalla (without the Valkyries, obviously: Who wants competition at such a time, after all?)…
- The Mismatch: The male explodes into carnal ecstasy at the drop of a garter – and the woman, who is still miles away from mine-field territory, is forced to go it embarrassingly alone for what feels like a couple of decades. Not unlike going on stage only to find that you have forgotten your lines – and the prompt has lost her voice. Actually, it’s nothing like it; I am just indulging myself in some wholly unnecessary metaphorical fun!
- Mating to Death: NOT RECOMMENDED! This tends to afflict those couples who see the end part of sex as a highly-competitive game, and who probably bet money on who is going to come first. This kind of coupling can grind on and on for years, as neither one is willing to give way (and the bloke has a handy supply of mother-in-law images to keep his powder dry indefinitely). It usually ends in Sudden Death, either from huge Myocardial Infarction – or a frustrated pick driven through the offending party’s temple.
- The Real Deal: Occasionally, the gods and goddesses of sexuality are in giving mood, or the phase of the Moon is conducive, or Tantric foreplay has prolonged the act beyond the merely human and up into a very different territory. Or, to be more earthy and blunt, the bonkers on the bed are so well-attuned that they can both predict imminent genital earthquake accurately, and so well-suited sexually that they fly together with seeming effortlessness.
Does it matter? A very good question! Does a staggered orgasm make any real difference to the overall scheme of things? Does pretending spoil the pleasure?
I think it does. For me, acting is great fun – and I love a good leading role – but there are moments, and the Big O is one of them, when sincerity is far more important. As for the waiting around option – rather defeats the a deux nature of horizontal pleasures, to my way of thinking!
The ultimate end-game – once experienced, never forgotten! – is coming together! After all, it is rather infra dig to scream, moan, groan, gyrate and break light bulbs alone, isn’t it? Much more fun to have a partner in committing Noise Pollution than to face Mrs Trellis Next Door as a Lone Howler!
If you enjoyed this post, why not read another sixty-nine in similar vein (Humorous and sexual, basically!)- all contained within my book ‘Come Laughing!’ Just nip to Amazon and Bob’s your Uncle…