Wednesday, October 12, 2016
Numbers game
Warren Beatty’s biographer estimates that Mr Beatty has slept with 13,000 women. 13,000 looks like a suspiciously round figure, so he’s probably rounding to the nearest 500. The allegation, nevertheless, is highly defamatory. In this day and age, the man-ho and the hoochie are equally despised. Hef, in his dotage, is a grim reminder of where a life of reckless debauchery leads. A ridiculous old ghoul in a dressing grown is not a fate to aspire to.
Mr Beatty, of course, denies having slept with anything like that number. Commenting on the claim, he said:
“That would mean not just that there were multiple people a day, but that there was no repetition.”
He makes an excellent point. If you don’t have any repeats, you won’t even remember what you did to whom. It will all be a blur of sweaty bodies and writhing flesh.
You have to admire the man for using arithmetic to refute a tall story. Much better than getting a po-faced lawyer to make a statement and threaten legal action. In any case, it’s very difficult for anyone to prove he hasn’t slept with an improbably large number of women. However many women back you up, there’ll be countless others who won’t bother to testify. And a few will make false confessions for the fun of it.
The fact that Warren Beatty hasn’t bedded thousands of women doesn’t mean he wasn’t a prolific stud in his heyday. One of his “repeats” was the saintly Joan Collins, still looking attractive at the age of 83. According to Joan, she was a very frequent repeat:
“I once shocked my friend Joanne Woodward – who was married to Paul Newman – by saying I needed a break because the endless bonking was exhausting me.”
I don’t see why Joanne Woodward was shocked by that remark. Don’t women enjoy girlie talk? Maybe she was surprised that Joan found it exhausting. For most women, sex is an invigorating tonic that charges up their batteries. It’s been scientifically proven that female athletes perform better after a quick bonk. Perhaps Joan isn’t the athletic type.
For the sake of argument, let’s assume that Beatty has slept with 500 women in show business. He still has to explain why he chose to settle down with Annette Bening. When asked this question, he gave the following cryptic reply:
“To answer that would be reductive, and she means too much to be reductive.”
I don’t see what point he’s trying to make. All knowledge is “reductive” in some sense. If you don’t reduce a phenomenon to something simpler, it remains a mystery. Maybe he just doesn’t want to embarrass his wife by listing all her good points. My own theory is that he found her pretty face irresistible. I’ve looked at Annette Bening’s face on many occasions, and I can’t find fault with it in any way. Having an exceptionally pretty wife must be a great consolation for a man whose incessant bonking has drained him of his virile juices.
Labels: Anette Bening, bonking spree, Joan Collins, Warren Beatty
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Sex tourism
A pharmaceutical company has published a report indicating that women are far more likely to indulge in reckless fornication when on holiday. I could have told them that for free. In this part of Africa, the unaccompanied female tourist is colloquially referred to as “a chicken in need of stuffing”. Not by me, of course – we gorillas shun coarse metaphors in our descriptions of the human female. The expression is common parlance among gigolos who frequent the beaches in search of clients.
I recently observed one of these young bucks, flexing his limbs and girding his loins before approaching a mature-looking fowl with plenty of white meat on her.
“Hello, lady, can you help me unpack my lunchbox?” he asked with a smirk.
I didn’t catch her reply, but judging from the expression on her face it wasn’t entirely dismissive.
We uphold a very strong safe-sex ethos at the safari camp. We simply can’t take the risk that a human will infect the wildlife, threatening the survival of a species already teetering on the brink. The rooms at the guesthouse are stocked with condoms, ointments, rubber gloves and stimulators. A party of nuns from Ireland, who stayed with us last year, were perplexed by this cornucopia of sex wares. Too embarrassed to mention it to the manager, they tapped me discreetly on the shoulder.
“Could I trouble you remove those items, Mr Bananas?” asked Sister Bridget. “I’m sure we won’t be needing them.”
“I would be most surprised if you did, Sister,” I replied. “Yet rules are rules and the ways of the Lord are mysterious, even for those who have taken the holy vows. Is it not written in the gospels that the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak?”
So the sex goods stayed put, and after the nuns had vacated their rooms we noticed that a few of them were missing. The pious sisters must have appropriated them as more interesting souvenirs than soap or towels. Good thinking on their part.
But let’s get back to the topic of women who visit Africa for carnal gratification. Why do they come over here to do something they could do at home? Consider the case of Ms Carol Bone, a 62-year-old English grandmother, who suffers from arthritis and back pain. After her 21-year marriage ended two years ago, she embarked on a frenetic bonking spree in which 200 gallants were ridden relentlessly to exhaustion.
“My age means nothing,” declared Ms Bone. “I have a really high sex drive. Why shouldn’t I enjoy myself?”
Why not indeed, although one has to wonder how her ex-husband managed to stay the course for 21 years. I’d like to hear his side of the story, assuming he’s not in an intensive care unit with his scrotum attached to a life support machine.
In truth, I am insulted that women should visit Africa, with its stunning scenery and gorgeous wildlife, merely to behave like cows in search of a bull. The next time I see a European woman consorting with a gigolo, I’m going to give her a piece of my mind.
Labels: bonking spree, gigolo, Nuns, Sex toys
