Friday, January 19, 2007

Bedroom noises

I got an e-mail the other day from someone I have never heard of:

Dear Mr Bananas

I read with interest your post of 10th January where you described how a queen behaves. Given your knowledge of these matters, I wonder if you could answer a question which has always intrigued me.

Do posh women make posh noises when they are having sex?

I have never been able to find out for myself because I have only ever slept with prostitutes and cannot afford the high class ones.


Roger Hockey-Stick

You can check for yourself that there was absolutely nothing in that post to suggest I knew the answer to his question. Evidently, he was making unwarranted assumptions about the places I had visited and the events I had witnessed. I am sorry to say that this sort of impertinence from strangers is becoming all too common in internet communications. I sent him the following curt reply:

Dear Mr Hockey-Stick

Frankly, I resent the implication of your message that I have nothing better to do than infiltrate the bedrooms of upper class women and listen to them making love. I am a busy gorilla with affairs to manage and have no time for such frivolous activities. I suggest that you further your enquiries with the Mistress of Girton College, Cambridge.

Yours etc.

Gorilla Bananas

I thought that would be the end of him, but much to my annoyance he persisted in his correspondence with the following message:

Dear Mr Bananas

You misunderstand me. I wasn’t accusing you of being a Peeping Tom. I just assumed you must have humped a few hoity-toity ladies who are into that kind of thing. You know the sort – the ones who like it rough and hairy and will pay for the privilege.

Just between us boys, couldn’t we compare notes? I have done a few things with Brazilian tarts that might interest you.

Respectfully Yours

Roger Hockey-Stick

This was clearly offensive. I have never once been tempted to work as a gigolo, nor have I ever needed to. Thanks to the skills of my manager, Dr Whipsnade, my financial position has always been sound. Nor was I the least bit interested in his experiences with Brazilian tarts. The time had come to take off the gloves and give this degenerate upstart a solid smack of invective:


Damn you, Sir, I don’t know what noises they make. And if I did know, I would pickle myself in gooseberry juice before telling you.

Up Yours

Gorilla Bananas

He hasn’t bothered me anymore with his nuisance e-mails, but I am ashamed to admit that the question he raised has been pecking away at the back of my brain. You know how it is – you start the day with a pure heart and a clean conscience: then you see something that corrupts your mind. I believe that pornography works on a similar principle. Anyway, I’ve decided to put my thoughts on the issue of bedroom noises in the public domain in the hope it will act as a purgative.

In general, I imagine that posh ladies make similar – if not identical – noises to women of more humble birth. The only likely exception I can think of is Lady Penelope of Thunderbirds, who is the kind of woman who would keep her vowels under control if she were being ravished by a troupe of drunken sailors. Let us imagine that she calls Parker into her bedchamber after getting the urge of nature. Obviously, they would do it with their clothes on, Her Ladyship wearing a silk negligee to minimise the friction, and Parker wearing his chauffeur’s uniform. She would lie on her back, looking at the ceiling without blinking, while Parker would bury his face in a pillow to avoid ogling his mistress while alleviating her lust. The dialogue might go something like this:

Lady Penelope (slightly breathlessly): That’s enough rubbing, Parker, you may now proceed.

Parker: Very good, milady.

Lady Penelope: A little faster now, Parker.

Parker: Ooof! Ooof! Ooof!

Lady Penelope: Keep going Parker, we’re almost there.

Parker: Oomph! Oomph! Aaaaargh!

Lady Penelope: Ohww! Paaaaarker!

Parker (chewing on pillow): Chomp! Chomp! Charump!

Lady Penelope: Get off now Parker and hand me that box of tissues on the dresser.

Parker: Very good, milady. (Gets off Her Ladyship and mops sweaty face with chauffeur’s hat before attending to her request).

I think the key characteristic of the über-posh lady would be her ability to carry on speaking in coherent phrases for as much of the coupling as possible; and then, when her desires have been sated, to attend to her daily programme with the same grace and diligence as before.

Glad to have got that off my chest.

Roger Hockey-Stick?

Well I think we've established he's Canadian.
Dear Gorilla

You made my day - this chicken needed a good laugh. I thank you, sir.
Just one thing... I really don't see Lady P having it off with Chaffeur P - one of those Thunderbird lads I could imagine but Parker's just so, well, he's just so...grey.
In the interests of research, should you ascertain any answers to Roger's questions, do let Granny know, she's still (rather worryingly) pursuing her own investigations.

Yours respectfully
A Hen
I was a bit suprised at your close minded attitude to this poor philosopher. I thought you were suppose to be an anthropologist. Don't just theorize, get your hands dirty! It is of scientific interest whether there is a corrleation between class and sex noises. Get a copy of who's who a get out into the field!
As your little Queenie (albeit of the self appointed variety) I can assure you that Queens 'do it' exactly the same as everyone else. The turn on comes in the fact that we look like we don't and won't. . .
How disgraceful!!
A gentleman would never reveal bedroom secrets .
Mind you I bet The Lovely Camilla snorts like a truffling pig.
My dear fellow,

Although I would never disclose the goings on of my own bed chamber I would go as to far as to say that the most noticeable differences between the procreative noises of the 'lady of breeding' compared with those of the 'lesser classes' is more closely related to the volume and frequency of confabulation rather than the particular tone. The vocal exuberance of the nobility may be comparable with the tone used for a spirited horse. The relative muteness of other classes I put down to years of repression.

I hope this may help to put this Hockey Stick fellow's and your own minds at rest.

Yours sincerely,
Baron Hashbrown
Was he one of the Jolly Hockey Sticks I wonder. Liked him, couldn't stand her!
I'm not sure who Lady Penelope is bur one of my son's bosses, when I spoke to him on the phone, said I sounded like her. As for the rest I couldn't possibly comment.
MS: Well he's certainly not from the Congo.

Dear Ms Hen: glad to have been of service. You're right about her preferring the lads, but they're on a Pacific island, and you can't call International Rescue just because you need a bonk.

Frau von Porno: my hands are dirty enough already. Anyway, I don't believe in kiss-and-tell. If any posh ladies want to reveal what sounds they make, we're all ears. Any takers?

Tarzan: I'll take your word for it, me old mate, but I'd have remembered if you'd said it before.

Drama Queen: Are you a posh lady then?

Beast: I'm looking into English case law to determine whether you're technically guilty of treason.

Baron: I believe you about the ladies of breeding, but do you have enough experience of the rest to be in a position to make valid comparisons?

Pi: Didn't your children ever watch Thunderbirds? I doubt you sound quite as posh as Lady Penelope, so I expect your son's boss was pulling your leg.
Due to the considerable distance from my own chamber to the nearest guest room (or even to the door) in Hashbrown Manor it is often more convenient to call for a servent girl. With the servants sleeping twelve to a bed I suppose that they have learnt to perform in silence.
I love your sense of humor - I laughed like mad when reading this entry! You've brought me so much joy :D
Possibly not posh but very much a lady :-)
Posh enough to push?
Curse you, GB - now I'll never again be able to lose myself in the innocent pleasures of a Thunderbirds episode without being tortured by the metronymic clonk of two plastic groins beating out their shamefully morganatic tattoo.

At least leave me Joe 90. We all need one island of purity in this sad, sullied world...
I guess I'm trying to find the will to care about what posh women say during sex. I'm more concerned about what I say during sex. And when I'm next going to have it. And who it will be with. And how big his biceps are. And what he can do with them. And whether or not I enjoy it. Mmmmmmmm.
I guess Ivan really means it.

Am I the only one who was left strangely moved by the Parker/Penelope "exchange", as it were?

hey, hey! I said strangely moved. I did! Puppet sex doesn't usually do much for me but, when an 800lb gorilla describes puppet sex, somehow another layer of intrigue is added.

"the metronymic clonk of two plastic groins beating out their shamefully morganatic tattoo."

There's something about that too. Or is it Mary, there's something about?


I appear to be in some sort of trouble.
Posh ladies do make noises and they never never apologize for them.

Snorting is common, I'm told.
I hope you don't mind me tidying up your repeated comments, Ivan. Are you implying that you never once had wicked thoughts about Lady Penelope?

Baron: you remind us all why England was spared a proletarian revolution.

Miao: I am delighted to have made you laugh. Would you now give me your secret URL address?

Kara: no one could ever accuse you of not knowing what you want. I hope you'll give us the details in your blog.

Posh ladies snort, Sam? If I didn't respect and admire you so much, I would ask the question: How do you know?
It's on account of the long, horse-like, one might say equiline noses common among the aristocracy. A cruel thing to remark upon, but not totally without truth. My granny knew people who checked someone's teeth if they wanted to know how old he or she was.

Perhaps what posh ladies really mean to say is "Oooooooh!" or "Mooooooan" but their sinuses just aren't having it and it comes out as "Snooort!" or even "Whinny!"
Making love to actual horses is a problem as well! they dig their hooves in your back! Also they whinney - thats what horses do!
Hooves in your back! What the devil are you talking about, Mutley? No creature in its right mind would try to mate with a horse in the missionary position. Horses don't expect to be kissed on the lips, you know.
Horses don't expect it- that's true. But they still get some kind of satisfaction from a sloppy kiss. Or at least that's what my Uncle Rufus told me.

I can only assume that the noises posh folk* make would depend on the position they were in. For instance if they were bound and gagged they would make the same vowely sounds that anyone would, be they commoners, girl scouts or even horses. While in other positions (the reverse missionary, a.k.a. the jackhammer) they may reveal their upperclass breeding by sipping on mouthfuls of Early Grey while straddling the man like one would a wild animal.

* Not to be confused with this Posh, the skeletal bride of some doofus footballer, who would make the noise of someone who is getting their spine shattered with every thrust.
Dear Gorilla

Why ever not?

Yours etc
A Hen
Why thank you, But you know these days with the working classes making their living from reality television we generally have to bring in slaves, I, I mean staff from abroad. We did acquire a Ms Goodie this morning, however I'm thinking today I would prefer the walk to Lady Horseface's room.
G.B. you know my views on taking a rise out of Thunderbirds.
I'm not cross, just a little sad that's all.
Just how posh is posh?

I mean does one have to be titled, to have been to public school have a trust fund???

What criteria are we applying here?
Fatman, you're too funny for one person. (Guess the next sentence that puts you down.)

Atyllah, are you asking: Why not call International Rescue if you need a bonk? That's a topic for a new post, in which humans vote for the brother whose equipment most impresses them. The hens get Brains and the gorillas get Tintin.

Baron, I link the blog of your kindred spirit. He deserves a few more readers.

Dr, I had a feeling we'd discussed Thunderbirds before, but can't remember what everyone said. Apologies.

Ms Lippy, I suppose the main thing is the ability to talk in a posh voice, as we are discussing bedroom noises here. Are you posh, BTW?
Jez! Is he for real? I thought I was being ridiculously far-fetched
Not at all, GB - some sort of issue with haloscan, it seems. Apologies if my contribution came in a sixpack...
Living here in the forest, and being pure sweet and innocent, I wouldnt know such things (coughs)

I ask if Mutley has been harrassing the horses here in the forest? (wink)
Surely a truly posh lady would have a panting-maid who's job was to stand in the corner of the room and ooh and aah at the appropriate time? (I'm fairly sure it's a pre-requisite of panting that this is done in a Dorset accent). Plus an older maid to 'instruct' the other party with a whip, should the confopulating not be to her lady's pleasure, or according to Debrett's Guide to Making Whoopee While Not On Camera.

The only outward sign of pleasure would be one or both pinkies sticking up in the air, as if drinking tea, when chauffered to the gates of Orgasm Manor.

And any fule no Lady P was a tuppence-licker.
Bloody Hell. I thought the idea of Parker knobbing Lady Penelope was kinky enough but the comments here are something else. From horses in the missionary position, to horses bound and gagged, to getting a maid to moan for her ladyship in the corner of the bedroom.

And what the hell is a tuppence-licker?
I found my way here by way of Ms. Von Porno. There's clearly some marionettentendre that I'm missing, but I giggled nonetheless.
GB, Lady Penelope was a close friend of mine and I can assure you she would never stoop to bonking the lower orders. Jeff Tracey was her paramour, as was perfectly obvious to any Thunderbirds fan, am I right, Doc Maroon? By the way, has anyone got the phone number of International Rescue?
I wouldn't say but you have it exact, Lady Daphne.
Thunderbirds are GO!
I'm sorry but like all the best rescue organisations they are ex directory. All emergency calls are monitored from space by the geeky one in orbit in Thunderbird 5.
Spectrum is green!
So are Thunderbirds using the Echelon system to monitor all our calls, emails & texts?
I was at school with Kim Ayres and Helga von porno - obviosly both now work on Thunderbird 5. By the way Newforestandy wears a lot of green and is not wholly human - slightly elvish - if you know what I mean..
I think the answer you are looking for is "Yah, yah, yah, take me now, my good, well endowed fellow".
I understand that farting is big among the posh birds.
Ha-Ha Gorilla!
What a truly funny post!
Your correspondent must have seen you at Atyllah's.
Now, wouldn't you have liked to have met Lady Penelope. oops!
Ari and Susan: welcome to both of you. I'm very pleased that you enjoyed the post. Lady P is not really my type, Susan.

NewForestAndy: You know him better than I do. I think he just has a vivid imagination.

Ivan Not: That's quite a picture you paint, but I think His Lordship would drag the maid onto the bed.

Daphne and Dr Maroon: Her voice did soften when speaking to Jeff Tracy, but would Tracey go all the way to London when Tahiti was so close by?

Kim: Thunderbirds aren't interested unless you're desperately talking into a failing radio transmitter

Muttley: Check out one of my links called "She mates with Elves".

Minx: Unless you're talking from experience, you may be guilty of an unfair stereotype.

Bock: Do they fart or want to be farted on?
Am I posh? Meaning do I talk posh - not *OK yah* posh, but I don't have the regional accent for the area that I live in.

I did go to boarding school (but then so did Tickers)

And I do have a real weakness for a bit of quite probably posh then.
What jeff tracey asked?
Oooookie dokie. I'll just add this info to the things-I-was-better-of-not-knowing...

You just robbed me of my innocense... no wait, that didn't sound right...
Post a new post - Im fed up with this one!
Wait 'til Wednesday morning. I post as regularly as I shit and I'm not going to be rushed by you snapping at my heels.
I also gave you that Dick Dastardly post to read. And have you checked out the Elf-shagger yet?

Why doesn't that arse Paul Newman thank us for all the support we've been giving him?
I wonder if Jade Goody could tell us?
Lady Penelope, alas, was not the smouldering hottie that we like to imagine. Yes, she once had a fling with Jeff Tracy but that was many years before when he was a handsome astronaut and she was a stunning young debutante. By the mid-sixties, Jeff was spending his evenings hunched over a frayed copy of 'Hooter's Weekly' whilst enjoying the pleasures of Madam Palm and her five daughters. Lady Penelope simply buried her lustful leanings beneath an avalanche of cream teas and village fetes. OK so she occasionally got Parker to obtain hairy-arsed lorry drivers to shag her over the bonnet of FAB1 in a car park, but that can be excused on the grounds of hormone imbalances.

PS I can tell you that posh birds do not make much noise at all during naughties, apart from apologising quite loudly at the moment of orgasm.
You tell 'em GB!
As Asym42 claims to remember the very first episode of Joe 90, I shall have to accept his comment as the most authoritative one.

Thanks to everyone for joining this debate.
I like to think that Miss Penelope would use language so blue that a Brooklyn Pimp would be embarrassed to hear it.

I have often found that those who like to expound profanity in regard to their sexual morays around the social table are often woefully benign in the bedchamber.

On the other hand, those who remain silent tend to be prone to revealing mouthfulls of filth that you would not find in even the most ravenous canine.

In other words, it's the quiet ones you have to watch out for.

And I would have it no other way.
Posh ladies generally are unable to make utterances during sex as they generally have a large plum (or two) in their mouths.

How do you know a posh gel has had an orgasm? She drops her 'Tatler'.

I'm struggling to make some rude wordplay out of 'Country Life', but... nnnggghgh... I give up.
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