Monday, May 23, 2011
Electronic seduction
A men’s magazine has published data proving that women are agreeing to sex sooner. Apparently, bombarding a woman with text messages and emails can reduce the number of dates required to get her into bed. I feel sorry for all the ugly girls who used to attract men by being an easy lay, and have now lost their competitive advantage. There are always losers when new technology arrives.
The winners appear to be men, but I’m not convinced they have gained all that much. Whether they chat to women in person or on-line, they still have to put in the hours. Virtual communication is effectively overtime, which they wouldn’t bother doing unless it shortened the journey to Humpsville.
The main drawback, from the woman’s point of view, is the risk of fraudulent seduction. One often hears of literate prison inmates acquiring the goodwill of their cellmates by drafting letters for girlfriends and wives. How long before some nerdy poet starts offering to write tender love messages for paying customers? Women imagining themselves to be the muse of an artist would end up as the game bird in a poacher’s sack.
Male gorillas are lucky in not having to jump through the hoops required of the human male. Women are fickle, and the wrong word at the wrong time can ruin hours of painstaking wooing. Female gorillas, by contrast, don't care what text messages you send them as long as you thump your chest and uproot a few saplings. Smells and deeds are what turn them on.
And yet there are still men who can seduce women without any form of electronic communication. In some cases, indeed, they barely need to say anything intelligible at all. Let us never forget the words that Christiano Ronaldo used to persuade a waitress to mate with him on a visit to Los Angeles:
“Me, you, fuck, fuck?” asked Ronnie with a look of boyish sincerity on his face.
The second “fuck” was probably unnecessary, but there’s no harm in repetition if making your meaning clear is of paramount importance. The encounter was a fruitful one, with the waitress bearing Ronaldo a son and letting his family have custody of the baby. Her reward for this selfless act of breeding was $15.1 million. Apparently, Ronaldo’s mother insisted he pay the waitress this extravagant sum so the boy wouldn't be greeted by a toothless hooker if he ever decided to visit her. Never again will I doubt the farsightedness of the mother of a Portuguese footballer.
Seduction works both ways, of course, although women generally have an easier job of coaxing men into servicing them. The human male is like the female peacock in being aroused by visual displays. We saw a good example of this at the royal wedding, when the bride’s younger sister wore a dress that covered her rump like plastic wrap on a peach. I don’t know who she was trying to excite, but I hope he had the effrontery to goose her at the party that evening.
Labels: Pippa Middleton, Ronaldo, seduction, sexting
Monday, November 08, 2010
The ringtone revolution
My afternoon nap is disturbed by the noise of ululating women. They are celebrating the news that Mrs Cherry-Blair and Hilldog are planning to give them cheap mobile phones. This noble act of philanthropy will transform the lives of millions of African women. Instead of walking to the bazaar to gossip about the president’s latest mistress, they will soon be able to do so while feeding the hens or stroking the rooster. (But not while milking the goat, which requires two hands.)
It may surprise you to learn that I do not, myself, own one of these devices. I do have a mobile number, but anyone who dials it is directed to the phone of a chimpanzee. This chimp screens my calls to save me the bother of telling salesmen and other hucksters to piss off. If I get a legitimate caller, the chimp arranges a time for a return call and lends me his phone for this purpose.
Before you accuse me of exploiting the chimp, please be informed that he receives a generous stipend for his pains. He is ungrateful in spite of it, continually whining about the inconvenience of being my receptionist and so forth. His latest complaint is that women have been sending revealing photos of themselves to my number.
“I didn’t realise I had to be your pimp as well as your secretary!” he bleated. “I want extra money for dealing with those messages. All that naked flesh is ruining my appetite. It looks unnaturally bare, even for humans!”
He was obviously exaggerating his distaste to better his bargaining position. The chimpanzee who can hustle Gorilla Bananas has not been born.
“You accursed fool!” I barked. “Do you think I have any idea who those women are? Some practical joker must have given my number to a swingers’ chat room. You have my permission to delete such messages immediately. And I’m not paying you extra because you can’t stop yourself from ogling!”
“All right,” he agreed meekly. “But don’t you want to look at the pictures yourself? They are still on my phone and there might be someone you know there.”
He had a point. This business of “sexting” has become such a craze that there’s no telling who might be dabbling in it. The practice is highly disreputable, of course, and videos have been made warning against it. But for some women, this might simply increase the thrill.
“Very well,” I said. “Bring me your phone and I will scrutinise the photos before deleting them myself. Most of the women will certainly be strangers to me, but I cannot rule out the possibility that someone I know has suffered a lapse in standards. If so, I will punish her accordingly and instruct her to desist.”
I am currently waiting for the chimp to give me his phone. I sincerely hope that no woman in my acquaintance has sent me an indecent photo of herself. Because if she has, Doctor Spank will be paying a visit to Bottomland.
Labels: Hilldog, Mrs Blair, sexting, spanking
