Flop

What to do when the flesh isn't as willing as you'd like? OR: Dong diabetes, racing your food delivery, and a list of things it's a bad idea to try.

[CONTENT WARNING: contains brief reference to Frühstück.]

Transcript

I’ve been thinking about doing an episode on when things that were previously throbbing and sturdy suddenly end up squidgy and a bit shy. But it’s a bit of a touchy subject, isn’t it? No-one likes to admit that their little soldier is asleep on duty. That Mister Happy isn’t at home to visitors. That the 8th chevron will not lock, as it were.

Because it’s associated with manliness, isn’t it? Masculinity. If you can’t get it hard, and fuck all night with your big hard man-dick, then you’re no man at all. Raaaaaa blokey bloke football rugby beer and tits. Thinking like this, that a man is defined by his dick is, ironically, bollocks. Anyone who thinks they can make any measure of what it is to be a man by the dangly tube of skin he has between his legs is probably the kind of person who thinks Men’s Rights is a thing, because feminism was a good idea, but it’s gone too far.

The fact is, no-one is hard and horny all the time. Even when people try and talk dirty it makes me laugh. “Oh yeah, I’m gonna pound you all night baby. I’ve got the moves. You’re gonna be screaming my name until the sun comes up… mmmm” I’m like: First off, chafing. All night? We’ll both be sore and bloody by then, no matter how much lube we get through. Two, I’ve got stuff to do in the morning. I need to get a proper sleep, so get on with it. And three, I don’t care what moves you’ve got, if it takes you all night, then you clearly have no idea what you’re doing. As anyone who remembers having a spotty teen rummaging away down there can tell you, Enthusiasm is one thing, but good technique is very much another. 

Personally, I think ordering in food is the best timer. That usually takes half an hour to forty minutes, which is more than enough from start to finish.And it means you’ll have worked up an appetite by the time the food arrives. And also, no-one likes to shag on a full stomach, so it's not like you’re going to do it afterwards, when everyone is bloated and dehydrated from MSG. 

Some delivery places have those progress apps so you can see roughly how long is left before it arrives, which can make it more fun. “Ok, it’s estimated to arrive in about ten minutes! Go go go!

And anyone who claims to be a Grade-A Pork Machine is either a teenager who hasn’t quite worked out that there’s more to life yet, or someone who is probably still living in the 1970s, and they wear their shirt open so everyone can see how virile and hairy their man-chest is.

In fact, there was that story about a guy who was hard for three weeks, and his dick nearly dropped off.

I know a few people who were like “Who wouldn’t want to be hard all the time like that hurrrr!” But apparently it’s not that great. Yes, it would be handy to always have somewhere to hang your hat, or a towel, or a duvet (depending on your personal dimensions and load-bearing capabilities. Heh. Load.) but apparently it hurt like hell. Like, screaming in agony levels of pain. Which is understandable, I guess. I know I’ve had a hangover horn that just won’t go down, no matter how many times I hit it with a book, and even that starts to ache after a couple of hours. 

The story goes like this - he got drunk with a mate, and decided to go to a sex club, so he took a viagra before he left the house. Then, while at this sex club, he pulls this ‘hot nurse’ and invites him back to his. Because, y’know, when you’re having fun splashing around in the sea, you’ll jump at the chance to go somewhere and sit in their bath. Anyway. They get back home and the nurse offers to inject him in the dick with an erection enhancer so they can go at it some more. 

Now, in case this story gets turned into a Netflix Special next month, I should probably drop a spoiler warning… Letting someone he just met inject him in the penis, at stupid o’clock, after a night out drinking and partying, right, turns out to be a bad idea. The kind of bad idea that includes the phrase “Your penis may die if it remains erect for much longer”. 

I mean, I’ve had my share of bad sex. By Christ, have I. But even I have never been in a situation that is so bad, so catastrophic, that it may result in my nob literally dropping off. I’m imagining it like when the last bit of umblical cord falls away from a baby’s belly button, and just kind of plops onto the floor and rolls under the sofa. 

Anyway. There’s a lot to unpack here.

First up is the guy saying “I took a viagra before I went out, as I often find it difficult to get it up if I’ve been drinking heavily.” Now I’m no Captain Obvious, but I can see a solution to this one, sweetheart. Of course, it’s very easy to see the issues in hindsight, and we all know that drinking too much often leads to making iffy decisions. Like, to pick an example completely at random, letting a stranger inject you in the dick. 

How much would you have to drink to get to a place where that seemed like a good idea? Like, you get someone home, get ready to go at it and then… nothing happens. Awkward moment, until the other guy suddenly says “Don’t worry! I got my dick syringe with me! I always carry it, just in case. Chewing gum, phone charger, dick syringe.” Because you never know when you’re going to need to give someone a boner!

After weeks of screaming agony, surgeries and things literally being shoved down his pee hole, doctors managed to sort the problem by rerouting a vein in the dude’s leg so that the blood would drain. And, happy ending! Well, certainly his end was happy, in that it didn’t drop off. I mean, it’s unclear if it’ll work properly again after that, but at least it’s still attached. Although if I were him, I’d start looking around for classes on how to bottom. There’s bound to be some of those in Berlin. If you want the German, it would be something like up deinen hintern. Maybe Dehne dein Kotloch. Or, for the REALLY kinky among you, find somewhere that offers Frustuck. I bet even the nastiest, filthiest sex clubs in Berlin wouldn’t be allowed to let you have Frustuck on the premises…

See, you thought I was going to put on an angry accent and just shout something stupid in English, didn’t you? And do you know where jokes like that get us? Brexit. And we are all better than that.

Anyway. 

This whole story makes me think of a child. Not like that, you pervy fucker, let me finish. Imagine being a child, and being granted a wish by a magical cowboy. As you do. And your wish is to have an infinite amount of sweets. Seems a pretty reasonable request for a child. But then, imagine being that child and trying to eat all the sweets. Not just some sweets, or enough sweets, or a lot of sweets, but all the sweets. No matter how many you have, or how awful you feel from all the sweets you’ve eaten, you just. Keep. eating. This scenario reminds me of that. Maybe this guy went to the club, had a great time, met a guy he fancied, and overstretched while trying to make sure he didn’t miss out on something. Rather than being happy with a few sweets, and enjoying them, he tried to eat all of the sweets whether he was actually enjoying them or not. More isn’t always better, is my point. Learn what ‘enough’ is for you, enjoy that, and stop there. You can never have all the sweets. There will always be some sex that you miss out on. And that’s ok. Focus on what you ARE having, and enjoy that.

My favourite bit of this whole thing was the report that, following this ordeal, whatsisname is advising people against injecting themselves in their funparts. 

Which I didn’t realise was something that we needed to actually say out loud. So, just in case you weren’t sure, here’s a little list of some things that I advise against, in an effort to save everyone some pain and suffering. For fuck’s sake.

Cleaning out your ears with a power drill; Testing a mousetrap with your labia or foreskin; Fucking a pencil sharpener; Attempting a home-made liposuction using a carving knife and a vacuum cleaner. 

There’s others, but I think you get the gist. I’ll sleep well tonight knowing I did my part. Not all of us wear capes.

Anyway. Back to forcing your body to do something that, for whatever reason, it doesn’t want to do. Maybe don’t? If stuff isn’t happening down there, then don’t force it. You are not a machine. Everyone has an off day every now and again. And if you’re worried about not satisfying your lover, then there’s more to sex than just boning. You’ve got hands, and a mouth - get down there and get the job done another way. Have a rummage around in your bedside drawer and see what you find. 

Incidentally, this is why it’s always a good idea to keep a few AA batteries nearby, just in case.

If you need to explain, go with “I got so horny thinking about you earlier that I had to have a wank before I came out to meet you… I was hoping I’d have recharged by now. But, since I haven’t, perhaps I can pleasure you some other way. Om nom nom nom.” 

Or, if you find yourself losing steam halfway through, rather than pushing rope and frantically hoping they won’t notice, just stop, get down there and finish them off another way. They might be impressed by your ability to keep things fresh. Or, at a pinch, fake an orgasm. Just be all “Goodness me, that one snuck up on me a bit. Anyway, now it’s your turn om nom nomnom.”

If I’m honest, I’d say at least half of the times this sort of thing has happened to me, it’s because I wasn’t really horny. I was just bored, or lonely. And it’s important to note that neither boredom nor loneliness can be fucked away. The best it’ll do is delay them a bit, so you might as well deal with them properly, rather than putting them off for twenty minutes with another hollow, and probably not particularly fun, sexual experience. Sex is always better when you’re both doing it because you’re both into each other, and not just pretending because that’s easier than dealing with your actual issues.

And that’s not the funniest thing to end on, but never mind. I’ll have another go in the morning.