Kiss and Tell

I often wish I had a Secret Squirrel video camera, a fabbo gadget worthy of James Bond. I would use it to record conversations with men when they're talking about sex, and show the results to women.

Huge generalization, but there would be basically three kinds of conversations:

Did you boff that girl, what's her name, Laura, last night?

Nah. But I'll be upending her real soon, I know it.

Cool.

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Or, alternatively:

So did you boff that girl, what's her name, Laura, last night?

Yep.

How was it?

Let me tell you my friend, I am the studdliest of studs.

Is she any good in the cot?

Yep.

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And finally:

Did you boff that girl, what's her name, Laura, last night?

Nope. She basically told me to get lost.

Shit.

Yep.

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I can tell you that talking in depth about sex isn't something most guys I know are good at. When we're shooting the breeze, the concern is more about being seen to be potent - the strength or flavour of the encounter (or any other nuance for that matter) is less important than the fact that we're getting some.

Opening up with details leaves us vulnerable to criticism of our technique and possible derision. It's the ego talking, but we tend to think of ourselves as Vicomte Sébastien de Valmont; sexually expert, devastatingly knowledgeable, and utterly irresistable. Plus an expert in Latin.

It's a terrible conceit, and obviously fallacious. But admitting to a buddy that you fumbled her bra clasp, couldn't find her clitoris, almost shoved it up her arse, and couldn't figure out if she came would be way too embarrassing.

Instead we say next to nothing. Life is simpler that way.