The human body is a beautiful thing – capable of running the sub-four minute mile, dancing till dawn, bearing children and experiencing one of the most exquisite pleasures of life – the orgasm.
The funny thing is, when it comes to the pursuit of that same exquisite pleasure, the stress of trying to impress someone you really fancy can actually cause unexpected problems to surface that work against your courageous quest to scale the peak of your Everest of desire. Or to put it another way, given the opportunity to get some, your body – the main beneficiary in the situation, you’d have thought – sabotages the whole deal. You’d be forgiven for thinking that the body is somewhat schizophrenic.
Even if you manage to keep your body in check long enough to persuade your date back to your bedroom, you’re not home free.
In some ways, guys have it easier than girls. For the average bloke, farting at an inopportune moment is a chance for impromptu comedy. When an ex of mine broke wind in bed, he handled what might have been an awkward moment by pulling the covers over my head so that I could get a full whiff of the bouquet. Lovely. But we did have a laugh.
I am a feminist and as such I should support equal opportunity farting, but what’s good for the goose is not always good for the gander. Years ago when I was still young and innocent, my friend Stephen told me about a girl who had the misfortune to let rip with a stinker at the crucial moment during an intimate liaison. As nasty as that may have been for him, it must have been gut-wrenchingly embarrassing for her. To say that it took the edge off their ardour is to put it mildly.
I know it’s not the sort of thing that you’ll want to discuss on your first glorious dinner date with what you imagine may well turn out be the love of your life, but the curse of females everywhere is the dreaded “fanny fart”. Not a sexy subject, even for a second, but one of our missions here is to get things out into the open so that they don’t seem quite so intimidating or off-putting if and when they do happen. As you can imagine, fanny farts occur when wind gets trapped in the vagina. What goes in must come out and the air is expelled with what can only be described as a fart-like noise.
This has only happened to me once. We were lying in the lounge on cushions requisitioned from the couch, candles lit, music playing and champagne chilling. It was the ideal romantic setting until my otherwise perfect vagina betrayed me in this cruel and unusual way! Luckily, Chris thought this was hilarious and although it wasn’t my finest moment, it didn’t put him off going for Round Two. But I was mortified.
The good news is that this is not really the woman’s fault – it’s the man’s, although that may be cold comfort if it happens to you. Here’s the physics of it. The penis forces air into the vagina. If you change positions and the man has to exit before entering again, there is the potential for more air to be pushed in. The more frequently you do this, the greater the chance of a musical toot happening at the end of a vigorous lovemaking session. Or so they tell me!
For men, the most embarrassing trick the body can play is a downright refusal to co-operate. The inability to get an erection when one is required is every man’s worst nightmare. Add to that worries about premature ejaculation and you have to admire the bravery of the average male in going for it at all. Because, in fairness, these problems make fanny farts seem like a minor issue indeed.
All kinds of things can cause a man to lose his erection – stress, emotional issues, tiredness or too much booze. The latter may be the most common cause, but whatever the reason, the situation can be desperately uncomfortable for both parties. Not only does the poor guy have to deal with any embarrassment he may be feeling, but chances are he’ll have to spend the next forty-five minutes reassuring his partner that it wasn’t the sight of her milk-white thighs that put him off his game.
In the early hours of yesterday morning I was in bed with the lovely Thomas, administering what appeared to be top-quality fellatio. I was feeling like the blowjob queen watching him respond to each and every flick and twist of my tongue.
He was gripping the blankets and making all the right noises. He was putty in my hands – or mouth, to be anatomically exact – until I started making noises too. Not sexy “Mmh, you taste as delicious as a Tango Twister on a hot day” kind of noises – no, what intervened was the full-on growl of a hungry stomach that wanted more protein than it could reasonably expect to receive in this kind of situation. Damn!
Once would have been bad enough, but after the third rumble emanating from my pesky digestive system, Thomas became distracted enough to want to know if I was okay. That’s just not sexy.
Funnily enough, as I was writing this, he was sitting on the opposite couch, working on his laptop when I began to hear his stomach growling. I couldn’t help but laugh, to which he disdainfully remarked that at least he wasn’t in the middle of performing a sexual act. Bastard!
I shall have to drag him off to the bedroom before dinner just to get even.