Wednesday, April 29, 2015
Nuns on the up
The number of women becoming nuns in England and Wales has trebled over the past five years. Before you get too excited about this news, the numerical increase was from 15 to 45. Of course, these figures don’t include women who secretly become nuns without telling the church. There must be many thousands who wear the wimple at private events in hotels and taverns.
Ignorant people who think that women become nuns because they are too unattractive to have sex should study the case of Theodora Hawksley (pictured above). This 29-year-old postdoctoral researcher mystified her friends by giving up her academic career to join a nunnery in North London.
“In one sense it is a bit like trying to explain to somebody why you are marrying the person you are,” explained Theodora. “You can list their qualities, but in the end it is a relationship of love.”
When I showed her picture to the manager of the safari camp, his breathing quickened.
“What would I have to do to kiss this woman on the lips?” he asked.
“You could start by changing your name to Jesus Christ,” I replied. “Then perform a few miracles, rise from the dead, and her tongue will be wrestling with your tonsils in no time.”
“Bah!” grunted the manager. “I was hoping taking her up The Shard might do the trick.”
Theodora is joining an order of nuns called ‘The Congregation of Jesus’, which encourages its daughters to discard the traditional habit in favour of a t-shirt and jeans. This makes it easier for them to mingle with the ungodly, but harder for the men they meet in discotheques and bars to know they are unavailable. The only solution I can think of is printing “Girlfriend of God” or “Wholly Virgin” on their t-shirts. Being upfront about your situation is better than planting booby-traps on your body, like Catherine de Medici.
Now Theodora, at the age of 29, might not be wholly or even partially a virgin. This possibility we must bravely face. But I don’t agree it would make her less effective in the business of nunning. There is much to be said for tasting the forbidden fruit before giving yourself to Jesus, rather than going through life having masochistic fantasies like Teresa of Avila. The modern nun should be knowledgeable about sex so she can give advice to teenage girls like Maisie Williams, who is currently finding it difficult to understand her own sexual feelings.
Maisie doesn’t tell us what her problem is, but at the age of eighteen I would guess she has apprehensions about the male sexual organ. This would be perfectly normal. As a girl blossoms into womanhood, a man’s todger goes from being an evil snake to a useful (if rather comical) sex aid. There can’t be a woman on Earth who hasn’t, at some moments in her life, had mixed feelings about the beast. There’s no need for Maisie to worry if thinking about it gives her the shudders.
Labels: Maisie Williams, Nuns, The Shard, todger, virginity, virgins
Wednesday, May 04, 2011
Secrets of women
I’m back in the Congo after an unusually pleasant flight. For once, the stewardess didn’t give me a funny look when I used the hot towel to dampen the soles of my feet. The other passengers in first class, who were diplomats and ministers, knew better than to complain about my creative use of the toiletries. An aluminium tube 30,000 feet above sea level is the wrong place for an argument with a gorilla.
What really made the time fly was the book I was reading, a translation of De Secretis Mulierum, an ancient guidebook on the human female. It was written by Albertus “Catweazle” Magnus, a medieval theologian with unusually progressive views about women for his time, only advocating their torture in extreme cases of witchcraft or hen-pecking. The main thrust of his argument was that women should be shunned, especially when menstruating, when they emitted “evil humours” capable of killing a goat at ten paces.
The chapter of the book I found most fascinating describes a foolproof test for female virginity, no doubt perfected after months of clinical trials. According to Doctor Magnus, a woman whose purity is in doubt should be forced to sniff a lettuce. If her flesh has been corrupted by man (or some other agent of defilement), she will then pass water. It was state-of-the-art science in its day, although one has to pity the innocent maids who gave false positives because they’d drunk a flagon of prune juice before inhaling the salad fumes.
The only modern equivalent of this virginity test I’ve heard of is the one proposed by Vladimir Rakovsky, a Russian psychologist who runs a charm school in Moscow. According to Rakovsky, you can find out everything you need to know about a woman by watching her eat a carrot. If she blushes and nibbles, she’s a virgin; if she chews like a horse, she’s a fishwife; if she sucks before biting, she’s slept with every member of the village council. He didn’t say what kind of woman would refuse to eat the carrot. A lesbian or a prick-teaser, perhaps? In all honesty, the test sounds as if was devised by someone who spent his youth peeping at hefty farm girls during their lunch break.
Fortunately, we now live in an enlightened age when no man of substance cares whether the woman he courts is a virgin. Take Charlie Sheen, for example. I bet he never even bothered to ask Bree Olson whether she was a virgin before inviting her to join the harem in his kingsize bed. Miss Olson, for her part, has not given any indication of feeling ashamed that Charlie was not her first lover. Indeed, her self-esteem was so undiminished that she callously dumped him by text message.
Good for both of them, is what I say. Charlie deserves credit for believing that a woman with a past is still worthy of his cocaine-snorting lechery. And Bree deserves credit for not clinging to Charlie out of fear that no other man could afford her. I like it when famous humans set a good example for their fans.
Labels: Albertus Magnus, Bree Olson, carrot, Charlie Sheen, virginity, virgins
Friday, May 30, 2008
The net neutrality nymph
Have you ever heard of something called “net neutrality”? It’s supposed to be the great moral principle of a free internet. Miss Tania Derveaux feels very strongly about it, possibly because she fears that surfers might be deprived of the right to ogle pictures of her naked body. Such is her commitment to the cause that she has offered to have sex with any man who:
(i) can prove he upholds net neutrality;
(ii) is a virgin.
The casual reader might wonder what virginity has to do with it. Nothing at all, it seems. It’s just Miss Derveaux’s way of limiting those queuing up to bonk her to a manageable number. Be that as it may, thousands of eager teenagers have already signed up for the Tania experience, while countless others are no doubt asking their doctors whether male virginity can be surgically restored. The latter group are certainly barking up the wrong trouser-leg. The manager of the safari camp assures me that a man regains 90% of his virginity if he goes without sex for a year. Presumably the remaining 10% can be recovered by washing the genitals in strawberry milkshake.
Miss Derveaux will have to watch out for crafty rogues who profess to be virgins just to get into her pants. Is it possible for a man to fake virginity? My sources tell me it’s as easy as fried green tomatoes. You just walk up to a woman with a sheepish expression on your face and follow her instructions when she takes you to bed. To reinforce the deception, you might annotate the sexual frolics with remarks such as “This isn’t in the manual!” and “So that’s where it is!”. But it’s important not to overplay your hand by saying unbelievable things like “Mmm, it tastes much better than I thought it would!”.
The bogus-virgin problem hints at a deeper dilemma with Tania’s offer. Call me a pious ape, but the whole idea of providing sexual favours to promote a worthy cause looks suspect to me. The man who must be bribed to do good deeds is a fair-weather convert of the shallowest sort - the calibre of fellow, I would say, who will renege on his commitments as soon as a woman with a nicer pair of boobs comes along. Speaking as a male gorilla, I never accept sexual favours from my females in return for bringing them food or protecting them from marauders. “Virtue is its own reward,” I tell them, “come back in an hour when your hearts are filled with benevolence rather than gratitude.” (An hour is usually long enough for a refreshing snooze to recharge the batteries).
I’m not suggesting that any virgin should actually say ‘No’ to Miss Derveaux. That would be a scandalous waste of an attractive woman. The important thing is to insist that no amount of hanky panky can dictate one’s position on internet freedom. Before unbuckling his trouser belt, the honourable male virgin would make the following statement:
“I hear what you say about net neutrality, Tania. It sounds like a sensible policy and I’ll certainly look into it after you’ve had your way with me. But a quid pro quo is out of the question. Take me for my own sake and I will reflect on your persuasive arguments. Now let’s get naked.”
The world would be a much happier place if men made clear-headed declarations before jumping into bed with the first available woman.
(i) can prove he upholds net neutrality;
(ii) is a virgin.
The casual reader might wonder what virginity has to do with it. Nothing at all, it seems. It’s just Miss Derveaux’s way of limiting those queuing up to bonk her to a manageable number. Be that as it may, thousands of eager teenagers have already signed up for the Tania experience, while countless others are no doubt asking their doctors whether male virginity can be surgically restored. The latter group are certainly barking up the wrong trouser-leg. The manager of the safari camp assures me that a man regains 90% of his virginity if he goes without sex for a year. Presumably the remaining 10% can be recovered by washing the genitals in strawberry milkshake.
Miss Derveaux will have to watch out for crafty rogues who profess to be virgins just to get into her pants. Is it possible for a man to fake virginity? My sources tell me it’s as easy as fried green tomatoes. You just walk up to a woman with a sheepish expression on your face and follow her instructions when she takes you to bed. To reinforce the deception, you might annotate the sexual frolics with remarks such as “This isn’t in the manual!” and “So that’s where it is!”. But it’s important not to overplay your hand by saying unbelievable things like “Mmm, it tastes much better than I thought it would!”.
The bogus-virgin problem hints at a deeper dilemma with Tania’s offer. Call me a pious ape, but the whole idea of providing sexual favours to promote a worthy cause looks suspect to me. The man who must be bribed to do good deeds is a fair-weather convert of the shallowest sort - the calibre of fellow, I would say, who will renege on his commitments as soon as a woman with a nicer pair of boobs comes along. Speaking as a male gorilla, I never accept sexual favours from my females in return for bringing them food or protecting them from marauders. “Virtue is its own reward,” I tell them, “come back in an hour when your hearts are filled with benevolence rather than gratitude.” (An hour is usually long enough for a refreshing snooze to recharge the batteries).
I’m not suggesting that any virgin should actually say ‘No’ to Miss Derveaux. That would be a scandalous waste of an attractive woman. The important thing is to insist that no amount of hanky panky can dictate one’s position on internet freedom. Before unbuckling his trouser belt, the honourable male virgin would make the following statement:
“I hear what you say about net neutrality, Tania. It sounds like a sensible policy and I’ll certainly look into it after you’ve had your way with me. But a quid pro quo is out of the question. Take me for my own sake and I will reflect on your persuasive arguments. Now let’s get naked.”
The world would be a much happier place if men made clear-headed declarations before jumping into bed with the first available woman.
Labels: Net neutrality, Tania Derveaux, virginity
