There is some level of pish when it comes to women and their satisfactions...and of course middle aged men.

The latter resort to visits to the GP for the wee blue diamonds or procure them by illicit means. All because the lady loves the lights out...as my mate a GP put it, shove them in bed with Kylie and they'd have no bother getting it up. Just they don't fancy the wee cute chubby who turned into the middle age mammy with the rolly sides.

For younger women there is this big issue you get struck with- and maybe always about the same time point- emotionally- not in calendar months under the bridge. Few if any of my rather prodigous scores moaned one Iota about not getting enough on the wee dangler on the first night. It's only after an undecided period that they start to moan about needing more clitoral stimulation.


So you go along with it and then comes the complaints about salty hands ( even though you just came out the shower, they magically mutate into open packets of smiths crisps after 10 mins on the old squiggly napper), not the right spot, not the right direction, the wrong frequency and the wrong amplification! The tongue is too tickely, the thumb too diffuse, the forefinger stingy and the pinky too wee.

It seems this miraculous button is best manoievred by expert hands.......the owners being the best.

And this is the trouble. A bit like a guy after a dry spell, it gets over used and then reaching orgasm with a new, strange body becomes difficult. Now guys actually, given they fancy the girl are through this post oninary stage fright or "comers block" within a matter of a handful of wee knee tremblers...even in the course of one night or less likely but happens, after one seemingly ever lasting visit to the fleshy garage with the bad auto shifter.

But girls- no - it becomes a relationship long plague. It becomes one of those comments amongst many like, "put a condom on now then", "you can do it to me but don't expect THAT back", " let's do it really slowly" which make a mans eye's roll in the dark of the boudoir and his best mate shrink down to ordinary instead of supercharged dimension. " Stimulate my clitoris more".....

Why does a good few weeks or months of shaggin' come to an abrupt end with the little micro chippolata getting between a man and satisfaction all round? It's the point when the excitement has gone out it for her. Foreplay used to be a time of unexpected rubbing of crotches and writhing of thighs, of fumbling with bra straps and straining with flies. It used to happen at spontaenious unagreed times, but now the relationship is normalising with the social life and more relaxed dates making it a late evening enevitablity for her.

With the rush gone and it resigned to late nights and the odd sunday morning, she rightly feels dissatisfied. But it's only herself she is cheating. Once a guy has a regular and the novelty of another notch on the bed post is gone, then he is happy to go along with the social arrangements...faar be it from him to interupt a make-up session before a dinner party or rock concert with a quicky. The woman is in stablising, nesting and showing her catch off mode now...secure in the idea it's not just sex and not a flash in the pan.

Here is the crux of it for me. Do 'wanked out' , sorry oninary fatigued, women desserve clittoral orgasm from their partner if it's going to be so much trouble?

For years we were under the impression ( me and other shaggers) that the clittoral stim' was a mere appetiser on the route to G stim and deep vaginal orgasm. This is what girls wanted . Furthermore, we forget that in our late teens and early twenties a girl would remove your well aimed finger after a couple of minutes and pop your old man up into the tuna tunnel rather than waiting for anything further to happen in the lobby. It was up to the 12 floor pl---ease!

But it seems that a girl in her thirties or late twenties even, has had so much self stimulation that the little pink pigmy mole hill gets blown into the big black mountain of unfullfilled sex with her partner. The hand shandy is very satisfying and becomes exquisite because the delicate little dumpling is under self determination and can be held off the poiint of front-bottom buzz and taken into it at will.

The real function of the clittoris ? Probably to enhance mid bang pleasure and of course initial turn on upon oral-nasal investigation by male mammal. Something which is super-sensitive and blossoms quickly in the few delightful minutes which encapsulate a good old fuck. It is a private, secluded little island which if over visited by the sex-tourist-owner becomes spoiled. They need to start going there with all sorts of fancy equipment and spending ever more time to get the same effect. But it seems to never be the same again after a certain point in a monogamy, or perhaps never sated by a string of bedfellows

For most men in the range of what is normal, the cock on the other hand ( punny!) is equally at home in auto erotic as it is in symbiotic erotic. True it takes a little time to move into stranger mode for many, but given a partner with the right dimensions whom presents enough eye candy or fumble fancy to the bloke then it is an easy transtion from Palmella to Angela.

Men at this stage of post rush compromise a bit or resort to alcohol -tactics. They give up on the boring, mid week horizontal joggs and cut to the kill only when whetted. It is more like a first date. Maybe they even get carried away by the sight of all the flesh on show out on the town. Worse by this time they have started to think of some wnk-fantasy or yet worse allow excitement to rise only at the thought of it being one for her (sexier) friends

Do women then have the right to expect to abuse their own bodies and then demand that men compensate for this loss of climatic functionality? Should the wee button be reserved for self-stimulation and the inner grasping orgasm be the concern for partner sex?

Well, you meet a man who can utilise 10 mins fumbling, 2 minutes undressing, 3 to 5 mins fingers in the ditch of desire and 10-20 mins of the missionary - with the other half being sated then my pals you have met a happy man.