Sex on other Planets

A conspiracy is afoot. Millions are being sucked into the clutches of evil men and women who write “self-help” books secretly designed to drive the reader to the gates of insanity or homicide...

How To Make Love All Night And Drive A Woman Wild (Harper Collins) by Barbara Keesling, (PhD) is just one such source of wisdom and encouragement. Dr. Keesling acquired her degrees I’m sure, but the glamorous photo on the book sleeve leads one to believe that perhaps she attended college on a spokesmodel scholarship.

Dr. Keesling recommends to men that we make friends with our penises. “If you like your penis, your partner will like your penis. Be proud of your penis. If you’re proud of your penis, your partner will be proud of your penis.” The good doctor would like men and their penises to get to know one another and become closer. I don’t have a problem with becoming friends with my penis. On the contrary, my penis and I have been very close recently and that’s the problem; I think it’s time my penis started seeing other people.

The point Dr. Keesling seems to be making (aside from seeing how many times she can use the word “penis” and keep a straight face), is that men should not think of their "wonder wand” as merely a part of their bodies, but as an important friend and ally. If he’s such a good buddy, why doesn’t he buy the drinks once in a while?

Speaking of which, after an evening of too many tequilas, I find this particular friend determined to stay “at ease” when he should be “standing at attention.” Never have I made any attempt to become friends with my hypothalamus, much less be proud of it. I have no idea what my hypothalamus is supposed to do, but I’m sure it hasn’t been lying down on the job like some friends I can think of.

Women are supposed to be more in touch with their bodies than men are with theirs. How many women do you know who have become friends with their clitoris and are proud of them? Of these women, how many have bothered to speak to a man since?

Which brings us to another brilliant breakthrough, this time reported years ago in the pages of Cosmopolitan or one of its clones. According to the cover, an article inside offered women information on how to achieve a “two-hour orgasm.” Not having received any complaints from my partners about the quality, much less duration, of their orgasms (as long as I hadn’t bought my “friend” any tequila), I didn’t bother to read the article. It’s hard to believe that the information was valid, however. If such a mega-orgasm were indeed possible, women all over North America would be demanding them (“Do you realize that I only came for 45 minutes? You make me sick. All you can think about is yourself and being proud of your penis!”).

Let’s assume, however, that you and your partner achieve this exquisite state; what about etiquette? While the woman is foaming at the mouth and having her orgasmic grand mal seizure, what does the man do? Monitor her vital signs and stand by for possible CPR? Invite friends over and take bets (“Twenty bucks says she makes it all the way through the mattress before it’s over”)? Make breakfast and have it waiting for her? (Men, our orgasm lasts approximately five seconds. Picture your urge for a pizza after sex times 1,440).

This two-hour orgasm stuff could come in handy outside the bedroom, however. If you and your wife are expected to attend a party and you know she’s going to be bored, you just fire her up, stand her in a corner, and let’er rip (“Hey Jim, thanks for coming over. Drop by any time. Sure, bring Linda along, just give us some notice next time, so she doesn’t scare the dog again.“).

It’s not as if women didn’t have anything else to stress out over before this issue came up. Sexual harassment, abuse issues, abortion, child care, AIDS and career issues; a woman is lucky to have time for the run-of-the-mill orgasm, much less one that lasts longer than a World Cup soccer match (including overtime and sudden-death shootout).

The Cosmo article is proof that a dedicated band of misogynists is perpetrating cruel hoaxes. Who knows what damage these people have caused? John Wayne Bobbitt probably made friends with his penis and was proud of it. And when Lorena found out she could be having two-hour orgasms and wasn’t, she tossed her husband’s “friend and ally” into a vacant lot. I’d rather hang onto my penis, thank you, and be proud of my friendship with a woman. Preferably one who doesn’t expect a two-hour orgasm.

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