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Tuesday, June 06, 2006


‘There are two types of the men in the world’ I said assuredly, as I picked up my martini glass.

‘And which might those be?’ K replied, sipping her mojito.

I took a long gulp. ‘Those who haven’t found the clitoris; and those who have’.

K laughed and placed her glass back on the table. ‘Very true’.

‘Thankfully’, I continued, somewhat drunkenly, ‘the former is in the minority – it’s been quite rare in recent years, for me to meet a guy who just heads straight for penetration and then in-out rabbit-pumps me without even attempting some clitoral stimulation: as much as I enjoy a rampant quickie, there is something to be said for a little foreplay now and then.’

‘Thank god most men seem to know it takes more than that to get a woman going’, K agreed.

I nodded. ‘But I’m not sure whether those men that know about the clitoris are much better.’

K looked at me curiously. ‘Whatever do you mean?’

I leaned in to her conspiratorially and said, in a low voice, ‘just because they know where it is, doesn’t mean they know what to do with it.’

K laughed loudly and slapped me on my arm playfully.

I continued. ‘Too many men seem to want a medal just because they know of the clitoris: “look darling, I’ve found it!” Well, no, I don’t think congratulations are in order – especially if they aggressively attack it as if they were trying to rub out a stain on an ornament.’

K roared and spat out her drink from laughing. ‘God, that’s so fucking true! What is it with them? Don’t they know about delicacy?’

‘Evidently not’ I replied. ‘They tug themselves so bloody hard, they probably think the same works for us.’

K shook her head. ‘No. Fuck no.’

‘It’s like once they’ve found the “magic button” all they can think to do, is press it, pull it, tap it and rub it – they don’t seem to realise that it is very sensitive.’

K nodded in agreement again and whispered to me. ‘Mine can’t be even be touched: it’s just too much for me’.

‘Me too’, I replied, whispering back. ‘Too much pounding and it goes numb: then there’s no hope in me coming.’

We both sighed and took swigs of our drinks. Then I perked up again. ‘It’s not all bad’ I said, ‘I think there’s a third type of bloke – even if he is few and far between.’

‘Oh yeah?’

‘Yeah. I’ve been with a few men who not only know where the clitoris is, but know just how sensitive it is too: they never ever touched it, but still made me come all the time.’

K raised her eyebrow, quizzically. ‘What did they do?’

‘They teased me for ages; you know, touching or licking near it and around it, but never actually on it. It drove me fucking crazy – made me want to stick their cock in me pronto.’

K laughed. ‘That’s definitely the way, god yes. I wish more men did that. Hey, maybe we should set up an information group – a way to educate men about getting a woman properly aroused?’

I sniggered. ‘What a good idea! We could teach them all about the benefits of indirect clitoral stimulation, and as a result, they’d have women soaking wet, begging to fuck them. Then men would get shagged rampantly and women would get lots of orgasms prior to penetration. Win/win: fantastic.’

K grinned and we both finished off the dregs of alcohol in our glasses.

I then thought about it some more. ‘This group sounds like a great idea: we should do it. I would suggest calling it The Third Way, but it makes me think of New Labour, and surely the whole point would be to get women more horny, rather than turning them off sex altogether?!’

We both laughed and I got up to buy us some more drinks. On the way, I eyed up a handsome man in a suit who was standing by the bar, and wondered how I might get him into a conversation about equality in bed without sounding like I wanted to shag him.

Even though, truth be told, given the opportunity, I would have gladly fucked his brains out. As long as he let me gently grind my crotch against him to get me all hot and bothered first, that is.

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