Colleen Figg

Diagrams and instructions

2008-08-15 08:40

Colleen Figg

I avoid glossy magazines. They're always going on about perfect sex; the Quest for the Ultimate Orgasm. They've got ten step guides, with diagrams and instructions.

I often envisage Mr and Mrs Jones trying out these steps of an evening; Mr Jones holding the mag over Mrs Jones' left shoulder moaning instructions at her (or vice versa) while she ties herself up in improbable knots that land up taking her hip out at the end of it all.

What really tickles me is imagining how they came to be trying out the ten step guide in the first place.

Presumably Mrs J would have dropped hints and suggestions and Mr J might have tried to comply until The Article was read. Suddenly it must have become clear where they were going wrong all along - the incorrect underwear, for starters.

Secondly, there was no ambience in their bedroom but then again why did they have to keep using the bedroom... what was wrong with the kitchen... saucy enough idea eh?

Years of getting comfortable with each other meant years of falling into a rut (no one ever notices this terrible pun, seemingly) button A results in reaction B and errr... knob c means a rush of sensation in point D.


The ten step guide pooh-poohs all this. People in touch with their sexuality should be flinging each other against the wall like Jeff Bridges did to Rachel Ward in Against All Odds, calling her filthy names and grabbing her by the hair as he forced her quivering surrender. That's what women want, we are told, to be forcefully "taken" in exotic locations while sweat is licked from their heaving flanks.

I also blame authors of so-called "romance novels" for fanning the flames of marital discontent, mind you. Women in their curlers reading lines like, "He turned the full force of his blue flamed gaze upon her and caressed her pretty lips with his finger, pulling her towards him to devour her pink lushness with his beard smudged mouth", can't help but feel that the hubby, labour away as he might in the bedroom, simply cannot cut the mustard.

And dear old hubby, finding kittenish Brigitte Bardot lookalikes in the men's mags, complete with suggestive pout, would be hard pressed to see the Missus as anything but second hand news, really.

It's all most unfortunate and the ones paying the price are, er, the ones paying the price, as it were, for these mags.

My motto in relation to these magazines, is that ignorance is "less is, in fact, more". I know what I need to have an earth shattering orgasm, I don't need some guide telling me where to find my G-Spot (which has become the newest Holy Grail) nor ten steps to agonise over when I don't get them exactly right!

Ignorance, friends, is bliss!

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