Last month I took part in a charity gig raising money
for the Brook charity, which provides free sexual advice to the under 25s.
I’ve done it a couple of times in the past (the gig I mean- I’ve done sex a
dozen times), but it was good to support this worthy cause again. As a thank
you, the comedians are given a bag of sex toys from the event’s sponsors Love
Honey. I have now received three bags of sex toys and lube in the last five
years and I am not happy about it.
For all my jokey bravado on stage and in these
columns, I find sex embarrassing and strange and believe it is something that
should be carried out in the dark, as quickly as possible and enjoyed
retrospectively via pie charts and spreadsheets and a score out of 100. I am
not a prude and am willing to try all the three different sexual positions that
have so far been discovered (there may be more, but sex scientists say that it
is unlikely), though I prefer the one where I can lie down and let the other
person do the work. I certainly do not approve of introducing other items (a
sex robot is obviously an exception) or artificial moisture into the scenario,
as I consider that cheating. Just as no professional athlete would take
performance-enhancing drugs, I want to know that any slight dampness that is
present has been created solely by my sexual magnetism/me fiddling around with
stuff for a bit until it is ready. Also there is no point in dressing up in
costumes because a) that is dishonest - I am not a sexy fireman and it is
disrespectful to all real sexy fireman to pretend that I am and b ) the lights
are off anyway so what’s the point? If my wife/robot partner/Gemma Chan
pretending to be a robot (delete as applicable) can’t get off on just looking
at my actual body and receiving 30 seconds of expertly administered intercourse
from up to three distinct angles (10 seconds of each, not including shifting,
de-cramping and flipping time), then the problem is theirs not
mine. I am excellent at doing sex and don’t need any assistance,
thank you.
But
it would be rude to not accept this kind present or to throw all the gadgets
away or regift them to my grandma at Christmas. So I have kept them all, almost
entirely unused in my bottom bedside drawer. But this means that I now have a
ludicrous amount of sexual paraphernalia in there, an amount that would make
any right-thinking person who saw it all conclude that I was some kind of inadequate
sex fiend who needed all the help he could get to satisfy my wife/robot
partner/Gemma Chan pretending to be a robot (delete as applicable).
This
year added to my sex-cache were Kama Sutra playing cards (good luck in managing
to make those three positions fill up 52 cards), some After Dinner Mint
Willies, a lickable massage candle (that just sounds dangerous), some passion
fruit lube (my own body-produced lube tastes of passion fruit anyways), and a
“male vibrator” (which I think works with you as the postman not the letterbox
- it’s quite hefty, so I hope so).
These
will stay safely in sex toy drawer until the police arrest me for a crime I
didn’t commit and use the actually innocent collection as proof of my
depravity.
So
I’ve written this article to establish my total sex innocence. My lawyer thinks
this might work.
