Perhaps the great secret about sex is that no one really likes it that much. I don’t like it that much, and I’m utterly convinced that a great many – if not the majority of – people feel the same. Yes, the urge is there, the promise is great – but in the merry moment the act resembles little more than some great fleshy catastrophe. For a long time, I could think of nothing less appetising than watching two mammals rolling over and around each other and, finally, alas (and always to my great
horror) try to enter each other. Yes, the feeling was for a long time a mere nausea. That is until I discovered the humour of sex – it’s peculiar brand of comedy. Laughter, it is true, is a great turn-off. There is no medium as industrially unfunny as pornography, where irony and nuance are undiscovered countries. But, if one thinks about coitus objectively, there really is nothing funnier than watching two (or more) desperately sweaty animals go at it. Sex is slapstick and fellatio is farce. Though, as I say, nothing is a greater turn-off than laughter. I discovered this on one of those rare nights that I decided to take a guy home. I don’t have the balls
to talk to people unless I’m apocalyptically intoxicated and, thankfully, people will rarely proposition someone who’s incapable of standing. And so, consequently, casual, stranger-sloppy sex is a rarity. Not this night. I had actually met someone; we had hit it off, and then had commenced the usual mating ritual: first dancing, then eyeing, then getting closer, then exchanging saliva. He was pretty and charming (antonyms of my physique and character) and he aroused me. I was extremely aroused. I even left the club early and forfeited another drink, knowing that I rarely performed well even without alcohol and hours of mental and physical preparation. Well, reader, he came back to mine, and we got naked (this is usually when the dread kicks in – all those fluids!) and – good lord! – I had maintained my erection! This was unusual, but there it was: mighty and defiant. Buoyed, I felt the dread and disgust dissipating. Could this be it? Could I actually begin to have enjoyable sex? Well we climbed into bed, the condom was fitted, and I was ready to dock. And then the laughter. I began to giggle and guffaw. Without the fog of dread and nausea, my mind was free to think of sex from a purely objective perspective. What had once been tragedy, was now utter farce. To think of two nude frames snaking
around each other, squirting a pustulant white fluid into or onto each other and then sucking perhaps the most hideous object in the known universe – well, I can’t think of any higher comedy. And so it was with cackling that this little adventure ended. My amour departed, my pilaster softened, and normality returned. Thank heavens…
