Sexed up: So you want to get my knickers down?

Life is a rich tapestry of pleasure, pain and mystery – music, good food, laughter, the magic of sex and the depths of the human heart, quantum physics, the cruelty of war, the tragedy of ageing, the quest for knowledge, the Bermuda Triangle and the unfathomable idea of God. But the greatest mystery of all is the essential “otherness” of other people. There’s nothing so depraved that someone somewhere hasn’t enjoyed it, just as there’s no act of kindness we’ve neglected either. Why people behave the way they do is one mystery, but men are a complete sub-category of weirdness all by themselves.

Women are often caught unawares by the sheer oddness of men. We shake our heads and ask ourselves, what the hell is he thinking? Nowhere is this more pronounced than in the negotiation of sexual relations. Seduction is a delicate art. It requires both a soupçon of finesse and a dollop of common sense, but men frequently blunder in with size eleven feet and trample upon any interest you might have had in them. Why they do this I’ll never know. But what I can tell you is that there are certain actions, behaviours and idiosyncrasies that leave a woman cold and have her wondering if joining a convent would make for a simpler, happier experience. Read and learn, boys!

Begging For Sex
There are few things in life less sexy than a whiner, and at the bottom of the whiner’s league are the men that have formed the false impression that nagging unlocks the door to a woman’s heart or at least admits temporary accommodation to her pants. There are, I’ll admit, occasions when a woman may be willing to change her mind, but nagging ain’t gonna to do it. Begging may not be on a par with overpowering physical force in the lexicon of crimes against womanhood, but it’s certainly annoying – and deeply, deeply unsexy. You sound like a spoilt little girl – and only perverts fancy those.

Drunken Office Louts
There’s something about a bloke who tries to pull you on a Friday evening wearing his Friday morning office outfit that makes me a little queasy. He’s not an attractive sight – he’s been drinking since 5.30, his tie is skew, his shirt-tails are hanging out of his pants and the smell of work clings to his skin like a miasma of sweat and desperation. Go home and have a shower, buddy boy! If I’ve spent quality time in the bathroom and wielded the hairdryer to great effect, I deserve better – or at the very least, fresher.

The Gym Bunny Boiler
I once got roped into going on a date with a man who fancied himself something awful. Nick, as the creature was called, arrived at my apartment wearing tightey-whitey gym shorts and a fitted T-shirt. Granted, it was summer, but still – WTF? On the off chance that I was blind to his defined calves and impressive thighs, he proceeded to high kick my kitchen wall. He picked me up – literally – and practically twirled me over his head. I like to work out, he told me, while flexing his arms. He Jackie Chan’ed his way down the stairs and attacked a tree Bruce Lee style while I looked on with a growing sense of dread and mortification. I appreciate a man with an ass you could bounce coins off as much as the next girl, but there’s no need to show off.

Wacky T-shirts
You know the type – Female Body Inspector; Meaningful Overnight Relationship Sought; If You Can Read This, The Bitch Fell Off. Only men who do not actually want to get laid wear t-shirts of casual misogyny and dubious humour. Wacky T-shirt Man wears his slogan with pride, safe in the knowledge that he will not be called upon to deal with any real-life women. Instead he can pursue the homoerotic joys of getting drunk, maudlin and touchy-feely with his mates believing that his t-shirt confers on him the status of a ‘playa’.

Talking of which… men who think they’re ‘playas’
No you’re not. You’re a wigger. With self-esteem issues. And probably a small dick.

Fuck Me, I’m Rich!
Possibly my least favourite type of man of all is the bloke who tries to impress the ladies with the size of his wallet. He’ll casually drop his BMW keys on the table; brag about how he always flies business class; or tell you all about his job, stressing not the work itself, but the remuneration package attached. It’s more than a little insulting as Mr Moneybags thinks, at heart, all women are whores – it’s just the price and the mode of payment that differ.

Mr Numbers
Every male group sports one member who has slept with loads of women, or at least that’s what he’ll claim. With the possible exception of seduction maestro, Neill Strauss, men who genuinely have garnered more than a fair share of totty don’t need to keep reminding you what a stud they are. Their mates good-naturedly tolerate these exaggerations because every man needs a friend he can look down on. Fair enough. But why these blokes tell prospective female partners about their myriad conquests is beyond me. We don’t think you’re Don Juan in a GAA shirt, we think you’re a liar. Or so bad nobody was willing to come back for seconds.

Porn Flashers
Just as a lady is one who never shows her underwear unintentionally, a gentleman should never flash his porn without reason. If you’ve invited me round for tea, buns and barely-legal co-eds, fine, otherwise put it away. No woman likes to have sex with Jenna Jameson staring at her lasciviously from the nightstand – it puts us under pressure.

Filthy Fellas
A dirty mind is all very well and is frequently appreciated, but a dirty apartment is not. I am, I’m the first to admit, no domestic goddess with a feather duster and a bottle of Cillit Bang, but I keep the gaff in a reasonable state of tidiness and appreciate a man who does the same. Three-day-old dishes, odd smells coming from the bin and crusty sheets? No thanks. Flowers may grow in shit, but seduction should never take place amid squalor.
There are of course, whole swathes of men that are just as off-putting – fake tan wearing oompa loompahs, men reeking of cheap cologne; misogynists; himbos and the general all-round assholes who model their personalities, and God forbid, their dress sense, on Simon Cowell.
I may bitch and moan, but never let it be said that Ms Sexton doesn’t appreciate men. I do. I just wish I could appreciate more of you.