Friday, September 16, 2011
French divorce settlement
I have a certain amount of sympathy for the Frenchman who had to pay his ex-wife 10,000 euros for not having sex with her during their marriage. A French court ruled that a wife is entitled to a regular rogering from her husband, and must be financially compensated if the said rogering is not delivered with reasonable frequency. Speaking as a gorilla who has been ruthlessly pressed into service by females in season, I would never dispute a woman’s right to have her natural yearnings satisfied. Rather like a postage stamp, the female of the species must be moistened and mounted to fulfil her destiny.
What I don’t think is fair is putting all the blame on the man for the absence of conjugal deeds. To my way of thinking, a resourceful wife should always be capable of goading her husband into giving her a good seeing to. Did this particular lady just lie on the bed like a sack of potatoes, waiting to be ravished like a sacrificial virgin? If so, she must accept her share of the blame for the lack of bedroom action. Sometimes a woman must take the bull by the horns rather than waiting for the beast to gore her.
I am reminded of the scene in Midnight Cowboy where young Joe Buck is inexplicably unable to oblige a funky femme fatale who has hired him for that purpose. She then challenges him to a game of Scrabble and puts a suggestive word on the board, provoking him to pounce on her like a tomcat.
The other puzzling aspect of this case is that the wife supposedly endured 21 years of a sexless marriage before deciding to call it a day. That’s a hell of a long time to realise that something is amiss in your relationship. It makes me wonder whether she was really celibate for all those years. Most wives in her situation would invite their tennis instructor home to practice his serve-and-volley, soon to be followed by the postman, the plumber and the hard-hatted workman with a tool belt.
Having said all that, the past is past, and there’s point crying over skimmed milk. The woman is 47 years old with money in her purse and plenty of lost time to make up for. Some would say that she should settle down with an honest fellow who will shag her twice a week and go down on her on their wedding anniversary. I would advise her to get sowed with a few wild oats before committing herself to another matrimonial project.
I don’t know whether you can look up gigolos in the Yellow Pages, but one assumes they have ways of advertising their services. If she doesn’t trust the dandies of her native land to deliver value for money, she could always visit Africa and hire the young bucks who hang out on our beaches. Most of them don’t speak French, but that shouldn’t matter – they are used to giving satisfaction on a pidgin vocabulary.
Labels: celibacy, Divorce, France, gigolo, Midnight Cowboy
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
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
A vet seeks sanctuary
Have you ever helped a fugitive from justice? Smacker Ramrod’s old chum from veterinary school, Barry Bullman, flew in from New York last week. As well as having a lucrative private practice in the Big Apple, a local radio station had hired him to present a show called “Your pets and their sex lives”. It was this foray into the field of broadcasting that led to his downfall.
Before you get the wrong idea, there was nothing remotely amiss in the advice he gave over the airwaves. Middle-aged ladies would phone in to ask whether they should worry about little Poochy trying to hump the coffee table, and Barry would reassure them that it was perfectly normal for small dogs to hump coffee tables. The pet-owning burghers of New York City loved his British accent, and he quickly attracted a sizeable audience who sent him plenty of fan mail. Then he received the following letter from a female admirer:
Dear Dr Bullman
I love your radio show even though we don’t presently share our home with an animal. I know you’re a vet but could you advise me about my own sex life? I have never had an orgasm in five years of marriage. My husband has tried everything but nothing seems to work. You sound very knowledgeable so is there anything you could suggest? I have enclosed a photograph of us on our wedding day.
Yours sincerely
Mrs Irma V Schwartz
Now strictly speaking this query was beyond Barry’s competence, but like most vets he was not shy of tackling any problem with an anatomical aspect. Furthermore, he had recently acquired a Puerto Rican girlfriend whom he was able to consult on the matter, and she had made a very practical suggestion, or so it seemed to him. Thus he mailed the following reply to the frustrated Irma S:
Dear Mrs Schwartz
Frankly I’m not surprised you can’t have an orgasm with your husband. Whatever possessed you to marry that bow-legged chipmunk? I enclose the business card of my girlfriend’s younger brother, Umberto, who is a male escort. He normally works with women quite a bit older than yourself, so he’ll probably give you a 20% discount. (If you’ve lost a couple of stone since your wedding day he might go as high as 50%). Discretion is assured and I can vouch for his good character.
Kind Regards
Barry Bullman
This well-intentioned advice resulted in a letter from a legal firm representing Schwartz and Schwartz, threatening to sue Barry for inflicting emotional distress by means of a malicious communication. As if that wasn’t enough, the police arrested him for soliciting acts of prostitution. He fled the country when he was bailed and is now seeking to shelter within the protective embrace of my hairy tribe.
My inclination is to offer him refuge. We gorillas have a “sticks and stones” philosophy to personal insults and rarely make a legal issue of them. Rather than press for damages we would turn the other cheek, albeit that the cheek in question might be located on the rump. As for the soliciting charge, forwarding a gigolo’s business card is precisely the kind of activity that oils the wheels of commerce in an economic downturn. He must have been charged under some ancient Puritan law that the State of New York forgot to repeal.
I don’t want to leave you with the impression that I would offer sanctuary to any miscreant who darkened our door. Bottom pinchers, exhibitionists and peeping toms are certainly not welcome in our neck of the jungle. If you have any sins of that nature on your conscience, you should throw yourself on the mercy of your local religious pastor, and accept his penance through gritted teeth. Checking thy body may amend thy soul.
Labels: gigolo, pet sex, radio show, vet
