Jonny’ll fix it … or he’ll fix you is Sloucher’s own “Agony Aunt” section. These are true cases, but the identities of those involved were changed to protect them. Feel free to send your troubles our way.
This week, we keep talking about reproductive problems and vintage 70s sci-fi…
Dear Simian Solver,
I have a highly embarrassing secret that I have held from being 17 to my current age of 27. My quandary is so delicate that I fear ostracism if any of my peers were to hear of it. Then I came across your no-nonsense, and above-all, anonymous advice column and I believe you may be my only saviour Mr Sock. Let me explain my awful predicament:
I was raised in a highly religious household, and had an extremely puritanical upbringing. However, as soon as I reached my manhood, I left my family and their austere ways behind and set out into the world to broaden my horizons, loosening my moral ties somewhat.
I soon had a steady job, and a girl who was very fond of me and things couldn’t have been grander. Then we hit a stumbling block. After having a few too many liberating beverages, we found ourselves heading towards the bedroom, and most-probably, intercourse.
Now, this was marvellous, exactly the kind of experience I had left home to discover. On entering the room in a frenetic tangle of limbs and clothes, a thought struck me: I had no idea what to do. I ransacked my memories for any clues from my childhood and only hit upon one brief glimpse of a clue: Westworld.
When I was a boy of about ten years old, my mother had relented to weeks of nagging and allowed me to rent a video from Blockbuster for my birthday. I chose the sci-fi western film Westworld with Yul Brynner. The family gathered round and watched the film, amazed, as we’d never seen anything akin to it. Then halfway through, there was a sex scene. My mother vaulted from the chair, dived towards the video player and pressed the fast-forward button. Then she looked up horrified to see the carnal images still on the screen, as she had not pressed stop and fast-forward. She stopped the film and did not let us see the end.
So in the bedroom, I remembered everything I had learnt from Yul. I did it exactly as I remembered from the screen, as fast as I possibly could, and in perfect silence. With my mother stopping the tape, I have no idea how long the act should take, but I’ve managed to get it down to about 12 seconds.
The thing is, my learned friend, my intercourse partner is still not impressed. All she says is: “That didn’t take long,” in a sarcastic manner. So, I fear I am taking too long and boring the dear girl. So Mr. Monkey, have you got any tips as to how I can speed up at this sex malarky? I fear my relationship is doomed without your help.
Dear Mr Bosch,
I do feel for you, as most of our sexual awakenings are guided by glimpses of sexual activity on television. I myself garnered most of my sexual education from the Police Academy movies, and therefore believed all sex was held behind podiums in front of a captive audience (this led to an uncomfortable assembly during my formative years). Unfortunately you have not seen enough filth to guide you on your sexy endeavours. Let me give you the skinny.
You have two options:
1) The Marathon.
This should last for 26 hours, be mentally and physically draining, take place in lots of different locations, and can possibly be done in a humorous costume. It takes lots of practice and training, and generally men finish in quicker times.
2) The Sprint.
This should be a top speed, in a straight line, and less than 10 seconds is regarded as a good time. It’s a short and frenetic affair that’s very exciting but won’t take up too much time.
So my little chum, what you need to do is vary your events. By all means, have yourself the occasional sprint, but start your training today and go a little further everyday (obviously if your partner allows).
Oh, and by the way, Yul Brynner, the robot cowboy in Westworld, goes mental and starts going on a kill-crazy* rampage. So I doubt you’d have made it much further past the sex scene anyway.
*Crichton did love to spoil people’s vacations.