THE TERRIBLE TRUTH ABOUT PUSSY – Why Science Fiction Is To Blame For Men’s Aversion To Cunnilingus And How To Cure The Condition

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If there are any straight girls reading this, I’m going to start by giving you this thought to hang on to. Unless they are gay, men love pussy. That’s in the bank, it’s safe and no-one can take it away from you. They love how it looks, how it feels, how it smells and tastes and everything about it. Even just the word and saying and hearing the word. Now that might seem to be stating the obvious, but you might want to keep referring back to this paragraph as The Terrible Truth About Pussy is revealed.

That said, let’s not tread on eggshells. Human genitals, of both varieties, are not intrinsically pretty. They’re never going to appear in the same documentary on the aesthetics of a butterfly’s wing or the Taj Mahal. There is a very good reason the Americans call the act of physical love “Bumping Uglies”. Though I prefer the English Restoration term “Joining Giblets”, purely because it’s far more descriptive and disgusting.

Lots of things we like to look at should not be intrinsically pretty if you stop to think about it. Breasts for instance. They’re just balloons of skin stuffed with flab and glands and topped off with what looks suspiciously like a wart. The Germans, brutally direct as ever, just go right ahead and say it. Their word for nipple literally means “breast wart”.

A bag full of organs worn outside the body should look very strange indeed. Swathe said organs in a thick layer of fat and pinch the end together with what is, in evolutionary terms, a large modified sweat duct and the result should be hideous. But breasts are lovely, not hideous.

 Conversely, Babies are not cute. If you saw another human being whose head made up a third of the length of their entire body, you wouldn’t sigh and go “Aaahh”. You’d freak out and go “Aaaarrrghh!”

Add to that the uncontrollable wailing, puking and shitting and it would be reasonable to assume that you were having an encounter with one of those heavily inbred Royal rejects that the queen hides from the public in the attic of Glamis castle.  Yet we love ‘em. Babies, that is, not the Glamis castle freaks. The selfish genes need to replicate and make us see beauty in places we otherwise might not.

My dad had a saying. “Son,” he’d say, “there are some parts of a lady best seen by twilight”. Most women think this too deep down and that’s why they are obsessed with moonlit evenings and candles. They, and my dad, are of course wrong.

Girls, whatever your perceived shortcomings of your downstairs lady bits, remember there’s a popular magazine or heavily subscribed website devoted to that very feature. Your beaver is beautiful, your pussy perfect, your cunny a creation of God; a delight to behold and a wonder of the world

So if all this is true -and it is- why is it that so many men are so reluctant to meet this wonder face to face, so to speak? Or if they’re not, why do they expect a medal no matter how perfunctory or slapdash the job they do while they’re down there? Some men would need a block and tackle to get their head within a half a yard of the gusset region. I don’t know about the rest of the world, but the reason in Britain can be summed up in two words. Doctor Who.

While the Sixties revolution was giving women the gumption to ask for oral sex, or even just to admit that they wanted it, a sci-fi revolution was happening on the telly. Little boys, before their externally worn glands got round to a-dropping, spent Saturday evenings cowering behind settees –as sofas were called then- to avoid alien monsters. And this is the crux of the matter

.The Doctor Who monsters were never revealed until well into the episode, sometimes well into the series. But they were hinted at by sound effects. These were wet, slithery sound effects which suggested moistness and glistening and a mouth with lips not like those on any earthly face. This is unfortunate. Anticipation is usually worse than the actual event, and once the monsters were revealed as just men in rather ropy rubber costumes there was already a different picture in the little boy’s head.

 Years later, when the adolescent finally gets his hands on a pornographic magazine or later still -gasp! – the real thing, there’s an unusual reaction. Saturday afternoons are recreated: the quickened pulse and shallow breath and jellified knot in the stomach. But these symptoms are all similar to those of sexual excitement in the human male, so it all gets a bit muddled.

This is the reason for the expectation of a medal after a spot of muff munching, no matter how brief and unsatisfying it might have been for the female in question. He’s been a brave boy, see? So girls, if you have a reluctant hero on your hands, here’s a little advice. Build a cosy love den behind the sofa and let him give it a try there. Everyone knows the Doctor Who monsters can’t do anything bad to you behind the sofa.

The Next Generation of men, of course, will have been brought up on the new incarnation of Doctor Who. High production values and thus no budgetary restraints. The monsters are seen straight away, with no need to suggest them via the medium of wet squelchy sound effects. They’ll dive down there quicker than Tom Daley with lead weights strapped to his wrists.

Sadly, they will also have been watching internet porn since they were ten. So they will have a distressing tendency to spit on vaginas before commencing with the good stuff. All in all, I think posterity may record that the fort behind the sofa situation was marginally preferable.

© Copyright Michael Grimes 2013

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About thedailygrime

At that awkward age - too young to be a grumpy old man, but just acerbic and downtrodden enough to have an opinion. Read it here.

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