Ah, sex. Why are you so complicated?
(Dad, stop reading immediately. Thank you).
Yesterday I discovered a whole new world of sexual fetish which I had previously been blissfully unaware of. (No, I am not prepared to disclose how I came upon this information).
It turns out there is a sizable (the payoff for using this word will come at the end of the sentence) group of fellas who want to have sex with female GIANTS.
As if life were not confusing and un-fulfilling enough!
These guys, known as macrophiles, are obsessed with idea of being sexually dominated by a mahoosive woman. And we’re not talking large-ish; they want the Jolly Green Giant with girlie bits, a fantasy which can patently never be made real as one of them explains (in a teeny squeaky voice, surely): ‘Can you imagine how it would feel to be sitting in front of a giant? I couldn’t handle it.’
Another says, (and I imagine him to adopt an ickle lisp) ‘As a superior being, she would have little regard for me other than supplying her own needs.’
Look, if pretending to be a Lilliputian works for you, knock your (tiny) self out. All of us harbour secret desires and most will never be realised because: marriage/tiredness/too many holes to be actually, ahem, arsed with.
What we each desire, consensual sex-wise, represents a smorgasboard of options, a sexual supermarket aisle rammed with alternative brands. Yet a survey by Ann Summers tells us that 86% of us still prefer sex in a bed and 21% still prefer the missionary position, especially in Cardiff; a fact which demands further enquiry.
Also, 24% of us now use sex toys and 13% of us like to get our action whilst at work, a pair of statistics which make perfect sense to us home-workers…(and Dad, if you’re still reading, YOU WERE WARNED).
But underpinning all the fetishes, philias and fumblings, there is one truth about sex which cannot be denied:
If a man ejaculates inside a woman’s vagina without the use of contraception, there is a chance she may get pregnant.
I’m sorry to spell it out, but there it is. The one incontrovertible sex fact. We all know it. We all know how to prevent it if we don’t want it. And yet…and yet…
We are a species seemingly hardwired to make sexual mistakes, especially after too many malibu and cokes when a fella you’ve fancied for ages rocks up and says he wants you and neither of you are prepared but oh this is lovely and it’s not until the next morning that you are forced to confront that one incontrovertible truth.
I used the morning-after pill once or twice, back in the days when you had to get it from the doctor, or in my case (as these accidents tend to happen at the weekend) from the local A&E dept which is always a splendid location for a regret-filled hangover.
I wasn’t especially stupid. It was perfectly consensual. I just forgot myself for a bit. And, let us be clear, so did HE.
Yet it was I who faced humiliating conversations with doctors who delved into my sexual history and behaviour and delivered patronising lectures on sexual health. It was I who took the hormones and spent the rest of my cycle in a state of panic, desperately looking for menstrual signs.
Of course, those days are gone now that we can just pop to the chemist and buy the morning-after pill over the counter. Although you will still be asked a handful of tricky questions and will have to pay an extortionate fee (up to £30) for the privilege of not having to raise a human for the rest of your life when all you were after was an orgasm (and almost certainly didn’t get one of those anyway).
According to Boots the Chemist, this is absolutely how it should be. Until being forced to cave under political and commercial pressure this week (because Superdrug and Tesco charge half the price for the same product) they had refused to lower the cost of their morning-after pill products for fear of ‘incentivising inappropriate use.’
I can’t tell you how brilliant it is, as a woman, to be informed that we are incapable of making sensible decisions about our own reproduction, especially by a man; Marc Donovan, their chief pharmacist.
Imagine if every time a man bought condoms, he were subjected to a similar interrogation:
Chemist: Have you used these before?
Man: Er, yep.
Chemist: (a bit judgy) I see. And are you aware of how to correctly use them?
Man: Yep. Been alright so far.
Chemist: Are you currently in a stable relationship?
Man: Er, no, why?
Chemist: Because the activities of your penis are a matter for the state, so if you want to pursue your own selfish, sexual desires without the risk of creating an unwanted child, that’ll be £25 please.
Man: Eh? That’s a bit steep.
Chemist: We don’t want to be seen to be incentivising inappropriate use.
Man: But all I wanna do is have sex without getting her pregnant.
Chemist: A privilege which will cost you £25.
Man: I’m trying to do the right thing here!
Chemist: Perhaps the right thing is not to have sex at all, unless you want to have a child?
Man: Fuck this shit. I’ll take my chances.
Chemist: (shaking head sadly as man walks away) selfish, selfish, horny twat.
Of course we should all be careful. Of course we should take precautions. But if we don’t, if both the fella AND the chick fuck that bit up, for whatever reason, far better to have an effective, affordable solution that prevents abortion or an unwanted child, because that shizzle (if it really needs spelling out) all comes home to roost in the womb and if it’s ok with you, we’d kinda like to be in charge of our own wombs.
Never be in doubt, if men were forced to take real financial and practical responsibility for unwanted pregnancy, the morning-after pill would be FREE.
Now let us all google macrophilia, the safest sex available on the market.
You’re welcome x