Sex, Sleep or Scrabble

by Hammond, Phil

  Alternatively, you can buy a local anaesthetic spray (subtly called Premjact. Just the thing in a busy Boots). This gets sprayed on the head of your penis ten minutes before sex and takes away a bit of sensation. If you cover it with a condom too, you’ll lose a little bit more friction and the anaesthetic spray won’t rub off on your partner. Alternatively, buy a condom with anaesthetic already in it. Durex Performa is one, although you may end up uncomfortably numb.

  If you’ve only recently started coming quickly with a new partner, or if you don’t fancy taking any drugs, then you can have a lot of fun learning to hold on, provided (as with all sex) you keep a sense of humour and perspective.

  Things you can do for yourself include a tug before sex (only really works below a certain age), wear a condom (on your penis), make shorter thrusts or circular motions, have a break, take it out quickly and squeeze the head, go fishing for the condom, remember to hold onto the base of the condom when withdrawing next time, put on a new condom, pop it back in, name the 1966 World Cup winning team (preferably not out loud), laugh, take a deep breath and clench your buttocks repeatedly near climax. Then go again as soon as you’re both up to it.

  The anus-tightening exercise is good for men (to hold on longer) and women (to keep their pelvic floor intact). If you’re competitive, you can have a clench-off in the queue at Asda (TIP. Make sure you’ve mastered the neutral clench-face first). A hundred clenches a minute is a fantastic score (and the same rate you pump a heart after a cardiac arrest).

  Other things you can do together include talking, listening, laughing, looking at each other, foreplay, more foreplay for her and afterplay if required. The squeeze technique is much more fun together, provided it isn’t done too hard. Just as some men try to find the G spot by turning their hand into a human egg-whisk and hoping for the best, many women ‘stroke’ a man as if they were de-rooting a tree in double-time. Handle each others parts with care. Start slow and gentle, and use eye contact and affirmation to change the pace.

  The squeeze technique: Chat, kiss, cuddle, hand-stroke the penis, feel the pleasure but give the stop sign before you come. Gesturing with a down-turned palm is a good sign, or shouting ‘Nobby Stiles.’ Quickly but gently squeeze just below the head of the penis for twenty seconds. Chat, laugh, do fifty anal clenches, remember Jimmy Greaves and relax for thirty seconds. Start again. Repeat three times and then come. If you come sooner, who cares? Next time, try it with some lubricant. When you’ve built up a bit of stamina, have sex with your partner on top (or underneath, if you’d prefer) and use the same stop-start signals.

  The good news is that nearly all couples find this method helps, the bad news is that it takes a lot of patience and you may need to persevere several times a week for several months. Not really something for a one-night stand. In the longer term, the mere fact that you’re concentrating on each other’s pleasure and looking at each other will do more for your sex life than just a minute staring at a pillow.

  MAKING BABIES

  Why does it take a hundred million sperm to fertilise one egg?

  Because none of them will stop to ask the way.

  Are you more likely to make a baby with one big shot or lots of little shots?

  It might seem logical to save all your sperm up for one huge explosion in the middle of the cycle, but fertilisation is more likely to occur the more often you have sex. Although you release fewer sperm each time, they move faster and have more chance of bumping into an egg. Your position or the phase of the moon makes no difference to the odds of fertilisation but it never hurts to lie down and cuddle for a while afterwards.

  Is it true that a horny fish can tell you if you’re pregnant?

  Nearly. An old folk pregnancy test was to catch a female bitterling (looks a bit like a carp, apparently) and you pop it in a quart of fresh water with two teaspoons of urine from the woman being tested. If she’s pregnant, the fish will stick out its impressive ovipositor (egg-laying tube), or so the theory goes. The non-excited ovipositor is only 2mm long, but bigs up to 25 mm, so it’s easier than a standard pregnancy test to read.

  When this old wives’ tale was put to the test in 1936, twenty-eight urine samples of women known to be pregnant were tested, and the bitterling popped out its egg tube for twenty-six within twenty-four hours, and the other two within forty-eight hours. So far so good; a sensitive test. Alas, the tube also popped out for three menstruating women, three men, two children and one post-menopausal woman. We now have much more specific pregnancy tests so we can let the bitterling be.

  Don’t feel too sorry for bitterlings. The ladyfish have such long ovipostors so they can deposit their eggs between the gill filaments of freshwater mussels. Before the mussel has time to object, the male bitterling ejects his sperm into its water current, fertilisation occurs and the parents then bugger off upstream, leaving the mussel to raise their kids.

  How can I tell if my cervix is ripe?

  Nearly every pregnant doctor I’ve known has examined her own cervix. This is more out of curiosity than fear, to assess the ripeness. For those who’ve never tried, a normal cervix is firm and long, like a carrot. By the end of pregnancy, it goes soft and mushy, like a warm marshmallow. Desperate doctors have even been known to give it a quick ‘sweep’ to try to bring on labour. At forty-two weeks with heartburn, backache and piles, you’ll try anything.

  The official test of ripeness is not a squeeze, but something called the Bishop Score. Bishops seem to get everywhere these days, but this one was an obstetrician who wanted to predict if the cervix was ready to get labour started. There are six factors to be scored from nought to three by internal examination but in essence, if yours is a carrot, there’s no way the baby’s coming out that way anytime soon (no matter how much wheelbarrow sex you have while eating a vindaloo). If, on the other hand, you’re getting warm marshmallow, keep your birth plan with you at all times.

  Can men appear to be pregnant?

  A lot of men have the shape of a pregnant woman, thanks to the Budweiser baby*2, but they can also have the symptoms to go with it, described by the French as ‘couvade’ (from couver, meaning to brood or hatch). Couvade has been documented in most Western cultures with a surprising number of fathers-to-be suffering from nausea, vomiting, heartburn, constipation, backache, headache, restlessness, poor sleep, poor concentration, irritability, fatigue, tension, odd food cravings and even more weight gain than the beer can explain.

  Some men even go through quite convincing motions of labour pain and delivery, seen in some cultures as a way of sharing the burden and drawing evil spirits away from the mother, and something to be praised and celebrated. In the West, you’re likely to be labelled as neurotic and told to pull yourself together or get out of the room. There are, however, weighted corsets you can buy or borrow to experience the equivalent mechanical challenge of lugging a baby around inside you. But they do look silly.

  Can I demand a Caesarean section to keep my fanny honeymoon-fresh?

  You can certainly ask for it, but you may have to convince your obstetrician that a honeymoon-fresh fanny is ‘an established clinical need’. In your favour is the fact that a fair few doctors and doctors’ wives take the Caesarean route to save their pelvic floor from the ravages of a ten-pounder with a prop’s shoulders. But a Caesarean section has its own risks, and costs a lot more than pushing-as-directed.

  As a doctor, I was only ever called to deliveries that went wrong and so my perception of childbirth (a painful mess where babies invariably get stuck and vaginas are torn to shreds before being sewn up the wrong way round) is at odds with the normal, head-first, joyous, anatomy-preserving birth that most people apparently have.

  The last birth I witnessed was one of the most pleasant; a planned Caesarean section under a spinal block. I was filming a documentary about the history of anaesthetics, and how we’ve gone from theatrical amputations on screaming patients, to knocking everyone out by taking them as close to death as possible and, final
ly, keeping them awake and completely pain free. The birth was in the latter camp, and very moving. Nobody argues that Caesareans don’t work – you’ve got to be pretty bad if you don’t manage to get the baby out – but there are still risks from the anaesthetic, operative mishap, blood clots, infections, scar pain and a longer recovery time.

  Most women weigh up the evidence and go for route one, but if I was ever pregnant, I’d certainly consider other options. One in ten women have difficulty controlling wind or faeces after childbirth, particularly older mums with big babies. Even more have leakage of urine and it’s not uncommon to have both. Because we don’t like talking about it, many women have no idea what they’re letting themselves in for. Treatments can help, but you may choose not to go there in the first place.

  Are men damaged by birth?

  That’s just the start of it. I once went to the pub with a group of new dads, and we shared our experiences and anxieties:

  ‘It’s great being a Dad. You spend all day worrying about meningitis and all night worrying about cot death. And then you rush out and buy a second-hand Volvo Estate and a boot full of smoke alarms.’

  ‘He was really difficult for the first three months – inconsolable and angry – and it rubbed off on us. I was sure his first words would be “little fucker”.’

  ‘I don’t know why, but I was expecting her to come out beautiful, not all squashed up and covered in blood. She looked like a peeled plum tomato’

  ‘Yeah, but don’t they smell lovely.’

  ‘Not at both ends.’

  ‘I never thought I’d see my wife thrashing about, swearing her head off and biting me. Well, not all at once. I don’t see why it has to be so painful.’

  ‘I heard it’s like shitting a watermelon’

  ‘I heard it’s like putting a deflated basketball up your arse, then pumping it up for nine months and then shitting it out.’

  ‘I heard it was like taking your top lip and stretching it back right over your head.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ll ever recover from the sight of the wife’s piles. Bloody enormous. Like the Hanging Gardens of Babylon.’

  ‘My wife had loads of stitches but they wouldn’t dissolve so I had to cut them out for her. It looked a right mess down there, and I’m sure she’s a flap short. I don’t see how sex can ever be the same.’

  ‘Does it feel the same after a baby’s passed through?’

  ‘Dunno. Who’s had sex yet?’

  ‘No’

  ‘No’

  ‘No’

  ‘Hand job’

  ‘Now we’ve had a baby, it’s no more blow jobs. I don’t really understand the logic. I mean, it’s not as if they come out of your mouth.’

  ‘Has anyone else got a hole on the underside of his penis?’

  (Pause)

  ‘My round, I think’

  ‘No, I’ll get it.’

  Round 2

  ‘Sorry, you were saying?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Has anyone changed a nappy yet?’

  ‘No’

  ‘No’

  ‘No’

  ‘No’

  ‘Yes. And it changed everything. For the first three months, I hated being a dad. He suffered from colic and all I could do was stick him in a sling and me in an iPod and pace around the garden for hours. I didn’t hate him, I didn’t love him. I just wanted to go to bed. Then one day I changed his nappy. I wasn’t sure what I was doing and it took ages and he got fidgety. He stuck his hand in his poo, stuck it in my mouth and the bastard smiled at me.

  We bonded for life. From then on in, he was pulling my glasses off, copying my raspberries and smiling like a village idiot. In the “who gets on best with the baby?” competition, mothers usually edge it until speech kicks in. Babies find it easier to say “Dada” than “Muma”. But you’ve got to be there to witness it.’

  ‘Have you finished?’

  ‘No. It’s hypospadius.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘The hole in the underside of your knob. It’s quite common and I know a brilliant plastic surgeon who can fix it.’

  ‘Oh right. Would you like to see it?’

  ‘Not just now. I’ll have another beer, though .’

  Can men breastfeed?

  Theoretically yes. We have breasts and certain drugs and illnesses have been known to trigger lactation. Breastfeeding, however, is a big step up for men. I know one orthopaedic surgeon, keen to empathise with his wife’s sore nipples, who allowed his baby to latch on, just the see what it felt like. He screamed like a … well, like a breastfeeding man.

  Is it normal to be turned on watching my partner breastfeed?

  Hard to say. The sleep-deprived, sex-deprived, emotionally-overloaded new dad can react in all sorts of ways. If something gives you pleasure without harm, then it’s OK. I’d just be a bit wary about sharing it with the men’s group. Breastfeeding is a fabulous thing and can provide all the nourishment a baby needs for the first six months. So don’t interrupt it with an erection. Just hold fire and think of all the money you’re saving on formula feeds.

  Breasts are very good at multi-tasking, which is why men find them so confusing. They provide occasional visual and tactile stimulation, as well as being hormonally-active throughout life and constantly on standby each month in case they’re called into action for infant feeding (which, unbelievably, is what they’re for). And if the breasts are working well, a baby doesn’t need any more food at all for six months; no topping up with formula or sugary snacks, less chance of an overweight toddler. And there are other benefits of breastfeeding:

  For mums, it:

  • strengthens your bones;

  • lowers your risk of getting ovarian or breast cancer;

  • gets your figure back more quickly;

  • makes the nappies stink less.

  For babies, it:

  • protects against diarrhoea, gastroenteritis, ear and chest infections;

  • reduces the risk of diabetes and eczema;

  • makes the nappies stink less.

  Some women find breastfeeding a challenge, particularly first time round, but there’s a whole army of qualified lactation consultants out there itching to help. To find one near you, go to www.lcgb.org.

  Why is the public sign for breastfeeding a bottle?

  Because we’re a nation of prudes. If we can’t even tolerate a breast sign in a motorway service station, what chance a public feast? Breastfeeding takes a lot of time and effort, and it‘s nice to get out of the house occasionally. But being forced to feed in a filthy public toilet or a stuffy car, because some ignorant prig takes offence at the merest hint of nipple, is absurd. If as many mothers as possible breastfed exclusively for the first six months, it would do more for the nation’s health than anything else I can think of. At present, two per cent do. Breastfeeding in public needs to fill the cultural space that smokers have vacated, and soon … before we get even fatter.

  NOT MAKING BABIES

  In an ideal world, contraception would be fun. We’d all help each other put diaphragms in and condoms on, building it into the performance. Amusing pill reminders would be left on post-it notes around the house. Mirena coils would be fitted in M&S, and men would skip gleefully off to the vasectomy clinic. The fact that none of this happens, and we have very high unwanted pregnancy rates, suggest most people view contraception as a pain in the arse (not a method I’d recommend more than once).

  Can family planning save the world?

  It could certainly help. A friend of mine recently heard Jonathon Porritt speak in Cheltenham. It was an intelligent talk about the perils our planet faces to a cultured audience, with a few minutes for questions. The final one came from a posh woman at the back: ‘I appreciate you’re trying to be as constructive as possible, but are we fucked?’

  ‘Tough question’, said Porritt, ‘but regrettably yes, I think we are fucked.’ If you want to know why, read the article that eve
n Greenpeace refused to publish at www.jonathonporritt.com. In essence, our problem isn’t so much carbon burning, it’s that we have too many carbon burners. Western countries may be facing a future manpower crisis but overall, the planet can’t sustain the exponential population growth and we don’t have a hope in saving the planet without ‘responsible fertility management.’

  As Porritt puts it:

  The governments of many of the poorest countries in the world are crying out for financial support for family planning, but are not getting it. The lives of countless millions of women are devastated by their inability to manage their own fertility, and hundreds of thousands die every year because of illegal abortions or complications from unwanted pregnancies. But their voices go largely unheard. On top of all that, every single one of the environmental problems we face today is exacerbated by population growth, and the already massive challenge of achieving an 80% cut in greenhouse gases by 2050 is rendered completely fantastical by the prospective arrival of another 2.5 billion people over the next 40 years.

  Now, I suspect Greenpeace didn’t want to publish this because population restriction is a very controversial topic with all sorts of religious sensitivities and charges of coercion. And it also implies that the work of all those charities devoting their lives to getting us to reduce our consumption is pointless if there are just too many consumers out there. There are arguments against, which Porritt neatly demolishes in his article, but the bottom line is simple. Without decent family planning for all, we really are fucked.