Wednesday, March 01, 2017
Hitting the sweet note
Can the right musical note, played in the right way, give a woman an orgasm? It’s not a question I’ve spent much time pondering of late. Indeed, I never knew it was a question that anyone pondered until recently, when an American tourist told me it was an urban legend among the hard-rocking fraternity. I later found a website which purports to look at the scientific evidence for this phenomenon.
Long-standing readers of this blog will know that no one has greater respect for human science than Gorilla Bananas. Einstein, Freud and Dr Ruth are gurus and idols to me. If scientists put their heads together they will solve the mysteries of the Universe. If rock musicians put their heads together they will give each other lice.
As every physics student knows, sound is a compression wave that propagates through matter. If the wavelength of a note is perfectly synchronised to the dimensions of a lady’s coochie, it is entirely feasible that a resonance effect may occur, causing the coochie to vibrate like a Hamilton Beach blender on full-speed setting. I was sorely disappointed to find that such theories and conjectures were not discussed in the above-mentioned website. The only “evidence” cited was an unverified statement from someone who claimed his girlfriend starting gasping when he played a note on his Blaster Beam:
“I had the odd experience of watching her eyes glaze over as she half fell into a chair breathing hard. ‘I like that sound,’ she managed to get out in a whisper.”
I suspect this fellow wouldn’t know the difference between a woman having an orgasm and a woman suffering from indigestion. Another comment on the website injected some much needed common sense into the debate:
“Try using your penis, dude!”
The glaring omission in all this chatter was a statement from a woman saying she had climaxed in this way. For why would those who have enjoyed such an experience want to keep it a secret? There are certainly more embarrassing ways for a woman to have an orgasm. I’ve read confessions from ladies who were jerking up and down on a horse or having their big toe sucked. Listening to a musical note would be a quick, clean kill by comparison. All the women’s magazines would constantly be discussing it, giving precise and detailed instructions to their readers.
The sad conclusion we must draw is that there are men who fantasize about getting women off without putting in the hard work. Maybe they lack the patience or technique. Or maybe they find the whole idea of stimulating a lady’s cha-cha unappetising. Human culture must accept some of the blame for this. We live in a world where phallic symbols are all over the place, while pussy symbols are practically taboo. This must change. If you don’t teach boys how to venerate the vulva, they’re not going to give it the attention it deserves when they come face-to-face with a real one.
Labels: musical note, orgasm, pussyphobia, vulva
Friday, April 15, 2011
Facial cues
Have you noticed that a lot of internet sites are displaying the faces of women supposedly having orgasms? A totally pointless exercise, in my view. You’d find similar expressions on the faces of women suffering from muscle cramps or trapped wind. Some of the more extreme portraits remind me of a slave girl having her toe amputated in the tent of a Mongol warlord. These faces provide no reliable data about a woman’s drives and juices.
A picture gallery showing the faces of ovulating women would be far more useful. Biologists have recently discovered that female rhesus monkeys have special “ovum faces” which only their steady boyfriends can discern. The same is true of gorillas. The eyes of my females flash like police sirens when they’re ovulating – if I gave them the chance they would handcuff me to a tree and read me my rights. Fortunately, it’s the ape who’s packing the biggest pistol that lays down the law in the jungle, so I generally manage to keep on top of the situation.
The manager of the safari camp once told me that he knew when his wife was fertile.
“The point of her nose changes colour and her eyes moisten,” he explained. “We’ve never needed to use contraception since I learned how to read her cycle.”
“But doesn’t she want you to service her when she’s fertile?” I asked. “I’ve heard that women can be very horny at that time of the month.”
“Of course she does,” he said. “I get some lube from the drawer and tell her I’m using the tradesman’s entrance this time.”
“And is she happy to receive you through the back door?” I inquired.
“Beggars can’t be choosers,” he replied.
A man who would currently benefit from such perspicacity is David “The Hoff” Hasselhoff, who has been energetically squiring a 31-year-old Welsh nymphette by the name of Hayley Roberts. Rumour has it that The Hoff is considering making an honest floozy of the blond part-time factory worker and aspiring model. Further rumour has it that she is eager to produce a brood of Hofflings for the great man, which might be more than he can handle at the age of 58. If he knew when she was ovulating he could thwart her cunning reproductive schemes.
Yet there are more important things in life than helping The Hoff with his family planning. Take road safety, for example. It’s an issue we take very seriously in the safari business, even though there are no actual roads to travel on. Our bus drivers always give animals the right of way and never break the speed limit unless being chased by an elephant. I was therefore shocked to hear of a Polish truck-driving instructor who gave his pupils the following advice:
“If a car gets in your way, fucking hit it!”
If the Polish authorities want to send Mr Krzystof Bojemski to the Congo for retraining, there’s a herd of elephants I’d like to introduce him to. If a truck drives into them, they fucking squash it.
Labels: elephants, orgasm, ovulation, sodomy, The Hoff, truck drivers
Wednesday, September 08, 2010
Forced pleasure
A female charity executive who allowed her boss to hypnotise her is claiming that he fondled her bosom and repeatedly brought her to orgasm by means of hypnotic suggestion. Seeking redress for this gross abuse of trust, Ms Susan Patroski is suing her former employer for five million dollars.
When I told the manager of the safari camp about this case he was astonished. “She wants five million dollars for having an orgasm!” he exclaimed. “How much would she want for a trip to the moon and back? Ten million?”
“You are forgetting that he felt up her boobs before tricking her into climaxing,” I replied. “The ends do not justify the means, and the chest of a hypnotised woman is a forbidden zone in both law and common morality.”
“Fine!” barked the manager. “Let her do to him what he did to her. I bet he wouldn’t mind if she fondled his chest and gave him an orgasm.”
“That’s how Solomon and Sheba settled their lawsuit in 970 BC, isn’t it?” I remarked. “It’s a pity you’re not the man’s lawyer so you could dazzle the courtroom with your brilliant legal insights.”
Detecting a hint of sarcasm in my remarks, the manager blew a small raspberry and went off to play with his remote-controlled Barbie doll. Much as I abhor his crass opinions, I find myself agreeing with him that this dispute does not belong in a courtroom. Can any sum of money, no matter how large, ever compensate a woman for being forced to have an orgasm? Even five million bucks would never wipe away the shame of being made to moan ecstatically while waves of toe-curling rapture wash over her quivering body. Once again, it seems that a rapacious law firm has persuaded a woman to pursue litigation that will bring her no satisfaction in the long run.
The other problem, of course, is that Ms Patroski has now revealed to the world that she has no control over her climaxes. Although this is not the worst condition in the world, perhaps being the opposite of frigidity, it does make her a tempting target for fiends and perverts. Speaking as a former circus ape, I can assure you that the dwarves I knew would have been creaming their tights at the thought of getting into a confined space with Ms Patroski. Although small in stature, they preferred normal-sized women and had fingers that could poke holes in a watermelon.
Had I been Ms Patroski’s confidant, I would have advised her to seek justice by other means. For example, she could have hired one of those detective agencies that secretly film adulterous liaisons, and instructed them to make a video of her boss masturbating. Threatening to make the footage public would have surely persuaded him to apologise and perform appropriate acts of penance. I should imagine he would have shaved his head and pierced his nipples to avoid having his exertions displayed on the internet. Checking thy body may amend thy soul, as we say in the jungle
Labels: hypnosis, lawsuits, orgasm
