All That She Wants Is Another Baby

Headline from twenty years hence:

Woman Conceives: Father Admits to Lying About Birth Control. 

I guess that male chemical contraception - by pill or injection - isn't far away.

You can picture it now: A couple arrive at her apartment in a cab, all bra-straps and breathless. They can't take their hands off each other. On the ride up in the elevator, they grind in the corner. Inside, they pause for a moment on the threshold, kissing deeply. She takes him by the hand to her bedroom. Clothes come off, then she stops:

"You are firing blanks, aren't you?" She asks.

He smiles smugly. "Of course. I had my HeroShot last week. I'm good 'til June."

"In that case....c'mere and fuck me" she growls.


Fortunes can be made if you can predict headlines from the future. The difficult ones will make you the most, easier ones not so much. Even I can predict those, like the one I opened with. The trend of women adopting male behaviour is well entrenched. Rates of binge drinking, violence and infidelity among women are heading towards those of men, presumably a consequence of the move to "gender equality", although quite what women gain from equality in these areas escapes me.

The other social elephant in the room is the fact of declining birthrates. Now that's been a kind of under-the-fold headline for a decade or so, but I predict that too will change. (Making my opening headline even more prescient, BTW.) Western countries face huge problems with declining populations starting about now. Asian countries will follow, and only the continent of Africa will be growing by mid-century.

No-one remembers a man called Paul Ehrlich. He wrote a book in the 1970s, The Population Bomb, in which he posited the decline of humans because we were too numerous. In fact, time will show that he was 180 degrees out with his predictions, that our biggest problems will come simply from there being too few of us.

I'm going to counter his Population Bomb idiocy with a theory of my own. By 2050, the most valuable event on earth will be a natural pregnancy. We might live to regret that male pill.



Bottoms Up, Conceptors.

Pistols at Dawn

Ancient joke:

She offered her honor,
He honored her offer.
The rest of the night
It was honor and offer.

Unfortunately for me, living in 2012, the notion that a lady's honor is to be protected still rattles around my head. But just what is honor in this context? Is it:

+ courteous regard?

+ a sign of high respect?

+ a euphemism for her maidenhead?

+ a misogynistic possessive demeaning of female self-will?

+ a misguided object of male bravura?

+ the distillation of all those gloomy novels from the Brontë sisters?


Jane Eyre aside, it's quite possible that feminism, the pill and the success of  Us Weekly mean that female honor is defunct. This is the honor that I define thusly:

+ the granting of intimacy and sexual favors on a more-or-less exclusive basis in return for physical protection and support.

So a man defending a woman's honor is pretty much about his willingness to acknowledge that they're going steady. And to challenge other guys intending to change that. With pistols at dawn, if necessary.

Yeah, we can do without that, right?




Bottoms Up, You Lovebirds You.

Dead Rubber

It would end much of the fluff filling celebrity newspapers and gossip websites, but if men took charge of their potency, their lives would be more in their control.

The only guaranteed male contraceptive is the vasectomy. In case you forgot your basic male reproductive anatomy, this procedure cuts and seals the vas deferentia, the tubes that carry sperm from the testicles into the seminal stream.

Sidebar: There appears to be, in my discussions with women about this, misunderstanding of how jism is made. Semen is the overarching term for the complete ejaculate. Semen Cocktail is formed during the process of ejaculation, when sperm passes through the vas and mixes with other fluids from the prostate and elsewhere. In short, the actual reproductive material, the love-taddies or sperm, comprise only around 10% of the ejaculate. That's what is stopped by the vasectomy. The rest is a mix of fructose, enzymes, citric acid and lipids designed to protect and lubricate the sperm on the way to the eggs.

End sidebar.

Interestingly, the vagina is chemically hostile to sperm. The mix of fluids comprising male orgasmic fireworks is mostly a tank battalion designed to storm the castle of the lady's gooey defences. The only difference between the vasectomized and the unvasectomized man is the potential pregnancy. Everything else is exactly the same, including, I am reliably informed, the taste.

So. Once a man has an heir, a spare, and perhaps one or two more for luck, he'd be smart to take charge of his shit, and get the big V. I've heard that, later in life, women find a potent but infertile man irresistible.





Bottoms Up, Ejaculators!

Friday Fluffer - Condom Eiffel Towers

I'm led to believe that latex sheaths coated with nonoxynol-9 have uses other than to prevent one night stands becoming paternity suit filers.

Here's evidence.




Bottoms Up Squeakers!


Forward woman pic from my favourite state [link]

And another hat-tip to Snaf, without whom I'd be bereft of material.

The Boner Gap

An awkward few seconds lurk in the space between knowing she's ready and crossing the moat. The preparatory work is done, according to the following checklist:

A. Girl nearby.

B. Aroused girl nearby.

C. At least partially naked girl nearby.

(Note: These first three points might be the same girl, or three, YMMV.)

D. Boner. (Your own.)

E. Condom.



Okay, now to connect your erect penis with the willing pussy. Time to bust out the condom.

Quickly now, the clock's running.

Another checklist:

A. Locate condom.

B. Tear open condom packet.

C. Retrieve that sucker from the packet.

D. Make sure you avoid the inside-out error.

E. Roll condom on penis.

F. Fully unfurl said prophylactic.

G. Insert properly outfitted manhood into luscious love trench.



What's the timing on that? Should we say between ten and thirty seconds?

We need a name for that gap. My suggestions include:

The Boner Gap.

The Keep it Up Interregnum.

Don't Let me Down, Dude, Gap.

Say Flaccid and I'll Kill You Gap.

The Why Hasn't Condom Packaging Improved in 100 Years Gap.

The How Bad Would a Baby Be Anyway? Gap.






Bottoms Up, Condomistas!


Pic of pigtailed aweseomeness from here [link]

Hat-tip to Snaf for the inspiration.

Intrauterine Device

The hour and a half spent thigh-to-thigh with Karen Goodier spun off a number of later problems. [link]

Quick précis: My first sex-education experience occurred in the company of my mother and a girl class-mate by the name of Karen Goodier and her mother. It wasn't so much Sex-Ed as Repro-Ed. It left me with scars for life, to wit:

Red-faced and self-conscious, I forgot to take notice of the content of this Repro-Ed presentation. My awareness was of the proximity of Goodier, the fact that her mother, an adult stranger, was sitting next to her. Normally one of those kids who gulped down information, this particular area - vaginas, penises, "love", tadpoles, eggs, canals and uteruses - failed to excite any interest. Too embarrassed.

Plus I could smell Karen, a most distracting thought.

In subsequent Repro-Ed classes, focus quickly shifted to not reproducing. With clinical coolness that only a dedicated professional can muster, the visiting educator showed us the panoply of counter-preggo tools. Condoms, obviously. The pill, of course. And then there was something called the "Copper 7" an intrauterine device. As she talked, she passed this evil-looking device back and forth from hand to hand, explaining how it worked, percentage success rates and something about retrieval.

This is where my not paying attention earlier came to haunt me. With a flawed understanding of female internals, I couldn't figure out how both my penis and this metal device would fit comfortably inside a girl. Protective of my sensitive-skinned dick, the thought of inserting it into a thusly-equipped female and having the poor little thing (my penis) scraping the IUD horrified me.

Was sex all about finding room up there for that thing and my appendage?

Yeah, forget that. I headed off to kick a footy.



My post about my introduction to sex ed. [link]