For once I wasn’t thinking about sex, orgasms or even Beyoncé’s thighs. I was in the middle of my radio show and had stepped out to the water cooler because I was thirsty.
My young and slightly virginal producer came running up to me.
“Jesus, Jack, did you order any electronic devices from Texas?” My mind raced with wonder at the oddness of the question. Undaunted by my quizzical silence, he continued.
“There’s some geezer going mad on the phone. He’s with customs and says there is a suspicious device at the airport with your name on it.”
Being from America, my mind quickly rattled off all of the people I knew from Texas. But, faster than you can make a George W. Bush joke, I realised that Ali, my girlfriend and co-host, had asked an inventor we had interviewed to send over the sex aid called ‘The Slightest Touch’.
A woman straps it on to her ankle and it sends electronic pulses up her leg for 45 minutes thus putting her into a state of “pre-orgasmic bliss”. In the interest of science we thought we’d give it a go.
I quickly explained this and later chuckled with glee when it arrived.
That night I pondered the possibilities of my new found thrill machine. I mean guys, let’s face it, foreplay is fun but nothing beats the satisfaction of a mighty orgasm after a session of freestyle thrusting. Hey, I’m no in and out guy, but this sounded too good to be true.
This beautiful device would allow me, a mere mortal, to step into my love palace where my waiting partner would be desirous of my every touch. Like most men, I like to think of myself as a good lover but here was my chance to be an unstoppable Love God.
Ali and I went through the instructions of how to attach the Slightest Touch. Being both horny and dyslexic brought a frustrated urgency to the affair.
Once it was hooked up I kicked back on the bed and waited to be called on like a conquering hero. Since this contraption blocked any normal advances I casually filled the time by repeatedly asking if there was any change. A droll look of disdain gave me my answer.
My dreams of being in the middle of the action had been replaced by the reality that I was merely commenting from afar. Instead of being a Roy Keane I had become a Bill O’Herlihy. After 20 minutes I offered to hook Ali up to the toaster. At half an hour I thought jump leads might help matters.
In the end I unhooked the machine and I fell back on my tried and trusted techniques of kissing and fondling.
The instructions said that the device had to be used six times for maximum effect, but while it gathers dust in Ali’s knicker drawer, we’ve reverted to what works for us. Although, sometimes I rub my socks on the carpet and then give Ali a little static shock. Just to warm things up of course.