There are a few major differences between men and women. Other than the obvious hardware variances and hair growth patterns, of course. But in my opinion one of the most obvious things that sets us apart is the fact that men are always (bar the very rare exception) in the mood for sex. Always.
Now let me state, for the record, that I actually rather like sex and I’ll generally take as much of it as I can get. Within reason of course.
And there’s the major difference between our sexes. The ‘within reason’ part.
The way I see it, surely there’s a time and a place for everything?
Nope, not for guys. It could be the end of the world, and it’s left up to you and your dude to help someone like Will Smith or Denzel Washington stop an asteroid from causing an earthquake, that results in a tsunami, that causes a hurricane, that could wipe out all of humanity if you don’t do something about it fast. And there’s a good chance your guy will want to just quickly pull into that abandoned truck stop and get busy. It won’t take a minute, just five seconds, aw come on babe. You know it helps me focus and I always perform better afterwards.
Guys will take sex anywhere, anytime, anyhow, with just about anyone.
I once dated this guy, let’s call him ‘Guy’. Anyway, we’d only been together for a couple of months, Guy and I, so we were in that new phase of the relationship. The part where you still think his morning breath is cute. (The days where you believe it capable of felling trees comes much later on in the relationship.)
So it was around then that I got flu. And we’re not talking your average strain of flu here. This was the George Bush of flu’s – powerful and stupid. The kind that makes man-flu look like a paper cut.
It was a Saturday night and since I was sick, Guy was over and we were watching a DVD. Rather he was watching a DVD, I was pouring from the nose and eyes, sneezing like it was an Olympic sport and simultaneously coughing up a lung. I couldn’t have looked any worse.
When the movie ended I turned to look at Guy and even through my Syndol haze I could tell that he was looking at me with ‘those eyes’. You know the ones. The kind of eyes that if they had a soundtrack it would be Barry White. So I immediately stepped into defensive mode and told him how awful I was feeling. I started with my aching bones and then graphically described my nasal activity.
Who knew snot could be sexy? Apparently I’d never looked hotter. I tried to explain that was because I had a temperature of a hundred and two. But the next thing I knew Guy was moving in with one of his four classic standard pre-foreplay manoeuvres. Here I was half dying, snot literally pouring down my face, and he still wanted to do it. Hey, that’s guys for you. If you’re willing to give it, they’ll take it, regardless of the circumstances.
Why is it, do you think? Perhaps it’s because men’s equipment is so out there, while ours is more discreetly tucked away underneath us, out of sight, out of mind. Maybe that’s why guys are rumoured to think about sex every two minutes or so. Every move they make their tackle is right there in front of them, leading the way, reminding them of its needy existence.
Or maybe guys are like those telemarketers, or spam purveyors, and they operate under the law of averages and that’s why they’re always trying to have sex. The way they see it it’s pure statistics. If they make a move on you sixteen times (ie: at every available opportunity in the day, regardless of the circumstances) then you’re bound to say yes at least once. Score.