Females can get it up now too


Here’s my Sunday Times Conch column from 6 Sept, hope you grab it by the balls and enjoy.


Are we ready for Female Viagra? Because it’s coming. Of course not without dangerous side effects, like lowered blood pressure and fainting, especially if it’s taken with alcohol. And why wouldn’t it be; aren’t they almost identical products? Other side effects include all the potential sexual injuries the lady pill could cause, like carpet burns, cowboy-walking syndrome and thrush.

This poor old drug has been through the ringer. Over the last few years it has been bombed by the Food and Drug Administration at least twice, that we know of. But the pharmaceutical company involved isn’t giving up so easily, so they’ve finally greased enough palms to squeeze it through. I’m sure that cost twelfty [Note to ed: I know this isn’t a real word, I’m using it on purpose J] Ferraris, a holiday house in The Hamptons and a truckload of of hand-jobs.

I suspect husbands around the world will celebrate the launch of the vagina happy pill, and try figure out how they can slip it into their wife’s morning coffee, especially since they can’t go the whole Ashley Madison adultery website route anymore.

Whereas male Viagra simply increases blood flow to the penis, and voila, hard. The female pill is much more nuanced and complicated. No surprises there. It works more like an anti-depressant for the vagina. And in order to work it needs to be taken daily in the long term.

Ultimately it’s all comes down to desire. Men always want to do it, at least all the men I’ve ever known. But for whatever cruel reason, under certain circumstances they just physically can’t get it up. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak. Whereas, with women, the flesh is willing, but the desire is weak. Women just have so much else they’d rather be doing.

So we’re lucky enough to live in an age where drugs can step in and help out. The only problem is that they’re not very forgiving. You have to be absolutely one hundred percent sure that you’re going to get sex before you embark on this route. There’s no untaking [ed: also used intentionally] these things. And nobody wants to be left hanging.

A friend of mine once had a second date with a woman he met online. He was housesitting at his boss’ fancy house in Camps Bay, so he invited her over for a home-cooked meal to impress her. Unfortunately he grossly misread her body language and dropped his little blue friend five minutes before she got a headache and had a big day the next day, and left.

When he woke up the next morning his genitals were gold. He freaked out. Had there been something funny in his world-famous spag bol? Was he dying? He stumbled out of the bathroom in a panic, reaching for his mobile to call an ambulance.

Then he spotted the moisturizer on the bedside table. The one he’d found in his bosses medicine cabinet in the dark the night before. He looked down, his right palm was golden too.

It was a bronzing self-tan cream. His scrotum looked like disco balls. He couldn’t pee in public till the colour wore off. Moral of the story, guys and girls, in this day of enabled virility, don’t count your chicks or roosters before they hatch.



Disco ball light reflection background



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