WOMEN PLAGUED BY 200 ORGASMS A DAY
Dozens of women are suffering from a condition that makes them have hundreds of orgasms every day. Researchers have identified the condition as persistent sexual arousal syndrome. American sufferer Jean Lund, 51, says when she told her gynaecologist he said, "You're every man's dream." Office manager Jean says, "I looked at him in the face and said, "How would you like to walk around on the verge of an orgasm every second?' And he shut up." Ten victims of the rare condition have been documented by Boston University's Institute of Sexual Medicine. Another expert in New Jersey claims to have found 40 more cases worldwide.
Oh come come!
The above story reminds me of a girlfriend who was living a bit on a sexually sharpened knife edge like that. But I don't want to talk too much about as I will be painted as this egotistical dreamer who can't sit down because of being so full of shit. Suffice to say she could be strummed like a well worn Spanish guitar to the heights of ecstasy, so intense and over and over again that she found walking difficult. Then I pop around later and have cup of tea. She was a human dynamo that made so much of a racket that elderly neighbours and passers-by, used to line the road to my car and hit me with handbags calling me a disgusting pervert.
The sexual revolution is such that we don't need to be coy about our body responses. When I first got married we lived illegally with her Grandmother in the spare room of a 'warden controlled' bungalow. Her Grandmother who was born in the age when to 'masturbate' was to have a very large discussion. When my new bride and I tried dozens of attempts to consummate our union she would walk in whistling with an upright hoover. Nothing wrong with that, but at three in the morning? That put somewhat of a strain on a new relationship and did nothing for my rhythm and general equilibrium for the next day.
Women are so different. Some like to get very frenzied during sex and place their thumbs in your eye sockets to the knuckle or pull tufts of your hair out. Normal, cathartic behaviour, you think, nodding in that worldly way of yours. Not if you are already bald. Some women just give a little sigh or bill and coo. I admit that as a man I prefer a certain amount of animation during the vinegar strokes otherwise it's a bit like falling asleep at the wheel while driving. Who wants to have to say 'mind the lorry' when partaking in the jousts of Venus. Who in the throes of burying the salami wants to have her say "Shit, you're supposed to give way at a roundabout."
As for women, who orgasm at will, like a demented out of control howitzer it must be like trying to walk a tight rope with anal parasites. Imagine if such 'touchy' females, had a job in a lab filling phials for the centrifuge with bacterial antibodies and then decides to reach climax with one of those multi-barrelled pipettes in her hands. They could wipe out entire civilisations by one small fidget on her stool. I suppose such an individual could be an American football Cheerleader, as shouting and making 'star-shapes' may conceal her unusual health issue. She could squeal and squawk to her hearts content. I'm just glad I don't have to launder her outfit. She would have to be careful during team chants and stick to the script. You couldn't have a more inappropriate behaviour at the SuperBowl after this Justin and Janet scenario ..... "Two bits, four bits, six bits, a dollar, everyone for the Bears stand up and holler, Oooooooooooooh, harder, harder you wife-cheating, chicken-eating sunnavabitch AAAAAahhhhhh! Errrrmmm… Will you still respect me in the morning lover?"
Such women bemoan (if that's the right term) their physical sensitivities like its some kind of affliction. Only one and three women actually experience orgasm. So two thirds of women would rather have a hot meal. These raunchy 'self-frigging g-spot time-bombs' are girls that can't ride a bike or weed asparagus. They can't even drive over a cattle grid without getting pregnant. If they go for a smear test they will scream the surgery down while trying to stick their finger up the GP's arse.
This is a true story and I have not thought of this particular event in my life until now.
Twenty years ago I suffered a divorce and was forced to work long hours in the dreariest light engineering workshop. It was a job that you could train an orang-utan to do, and so, naturally, I was shortlisted for an interview. Not because I was a primate, but because the only other candidates were either just out of prison, or already an intellectual cripple. With the prowess I learned on the fly press making small components for the Spectrum home computer earned me the handle. "Wasp" My little arms were a blur when in full swing. Punching out heat-sinks for Clive Sinclair's new innovation. Stack me! We have come a long way since that little piece of hardware in the industry. The only game you could play was telly ping-pong and if you wanted to use it for anything else you had to buy 'ram' module that would stick in the back of what looked like a very small electric piano. Into the sockets went lumps of memory each other from the back of your machine that started to look like a clumsy electronic sculpture. Like, too many three-pin plugs in multi sockets on your garage wall.
So the 'wasp' made a lot of money on piece work rate. Fit as a flea, from a daily dousing of diesel, blisters on the fingers and ear protectors. I was headhunted to work milling machines soon thereafter.
Whoop! Whoop! Let me explain a milling machine makes 'swarf.' Swarf is like those Velcro balls you pick up on your dog in large forests and require nail scissors to remove. Swarf is curly sharp shavings of metal that spin off chunks of aluminium (or for our American cousins Alooominoooom) and spin through the air at random directions landing in cups of tea and if you have your back to the machine fly off and when you are bending down slip into the cleavage of your arse . These little sharp worms of metal are corkscrew weapons of mass destruction. They slice flesh and like some virulent army inevitably end up in your underwear. If you have to walk home your scrotum is slashed to ribbons and your pubes entwined. I hated milling machines. You had to spray the churning thing with a lubricant. A mixture of engineering oil and water which splattered the whirring chuck and then spat back in your face with the force of a sperm whales ejaculation (I went through a lot of animal analogies to find that one!)
What has this to do with women that can 'bring themselves off' while flower arranging? Well, soon, I was promoted by the firm to supervise a team of 'squaddies' wives. These girls were a 'breed on their own'. They were hard enough to roller skate on and had no lips, because of sucking on Embassy from an early age, instead of normal breast-feeding as an infant. These 'Amazons of the Army' were shameless and vulgar. For my birthday they stripped me and covered my genitalia with maple syrup and hundred and thousands. If the work siren had not summoned them back to work who knows what may have happened? Swarf and maple syrup just don't mix and might have got caught in their throat.
A randy, but hard working bunch of girls who were quite engaging when they ceased trying 'to feel you up' and concentrate on more important matters of engineering. Like understanding press tool extrusions and the value of sandblasting or electroplating.
What astonished me was that these sex starved vixens that had husbands thrown to the farthest corners of the world fighting another countries war left these poor lonely darlings having to work in a filthy, smelly work shop! What further bewildered me was how very hard they worked on the milling machines. They would stand for hours at the same machine with the broadest of smiles. On one Monday morning two women almost fought openly to be the first to work on very a very old 'Britain' or 'turning' machine that rattled and vibrated from dawn until dusk. When I asked why they were so eager to work on the machine. One women chirped. "Well, the brass handle on the wheel is just at the right height."
Explain that to me.
This article mentions that the Doctor said this woman who was 'static-ly' (or ec'static-ly) orgasmic "was every man's dream? Why? Surely this will mean men will have to start faking theirs?
Yes. It's exciting to have neighbours think you are a stallion. But what if they hear yells of pleasure and you have already left for work? No, self respecting tradesmen would be without accusation. It would be a neighborhood scandal.
If this starts to happen soon after marriage, put a stop to it. In other words if she is a 'newcomer', hide your Nokia, set to 'vibrate,' and don't let her stand too near to the Siemens on spin cycle.
If you can't hear yourself think because of the constant moaning get her to nag you instead.
|
