Do you know what you're doing?
Have a Modern Sex Life.
It was during the fifth or possibly sixth beer, that our discussion arrived at sex. My best friend Albert and I have a wonderful, honest, relationship, similar to the one I once had with my wife. He asked how my sex life was and I had to admit that it was as infrequent as it was dull.
“That’s because you’re no longer a mystery; you need to surprise her, give her a shock.”
“Going home early would do that.”
“Roy! Your kids are married and gone; you should be having the sex of your lives. Try bending her over the settee or take her on the kitchen floor.”
“Taking her to chemist for indigestion and headache pills is as far as I go nowadays.”
“Don’t tell me you’re not up to date with seduction techniques?”
“Techniques? Couple of lagers topped up with a few brandies and knickers off, is that no longer the order of the day?
“Naw, naw naw; that’s primitive; it’s all about Bodisim; it’s the new thing.”
“Bodisim! What the fuck’s Bodisim?”
“Unless you want her legs to stay closed forever, you must learn. It’s a mystical art of stripping your woman naked and then belting her arse until it’s red raw.”
“Is this beer getting to you???”
“It’s no wind up. Bodisim was invented by a woman whose hair turned grey on her fiftieth birthday.”
“How did she come up with that?”
“She was so depressed that she jay walked across the road to buy a colourful wig. A posh city bloke, in a Rolls Royce, smacked into her and she landed open legged on top of his Spirit of Ecstasy. Her bum was badly bruised and she was in agony, but she orgasmed five times before the emergency crew pulled her off it. From that day on, she couldn’t enjoy sex without a painful arse.”
“Interesting as that is, how will it help me?”
“Because that aching ass was a milestone; just like the first woman who burnt her bra when she had sore nipples, another piece of history in the making.”
“Surely you know that I haven’t got a Rolls Royce.”
“You don’t need a posh car to belt your loved one; that Spirit of Ecstasy was only the spark. You’ve got a bike, use an inner tube.”
“So, if I belt my wife’s ass with an inner tube, she’ll be mad for sex?”
“Take my word for it; in fact get some Viagra, she’ll keep you at it all night.”
I enjoy being drunk; it stopped me from feeling embarrassed when I asked the girl in the chemist for Viagra, in fact,I asked for it in quite a loud voice. I wanted everyone in the shop to know that they were in the presence of a stud.
“You’re fucking late home again you drunken cunt.”
My wife’s voice seemed to be lacking its feminine charm, but armed with my new carnival knowledge, she’d soon need an abacus to keep count of her orgasms. After calling me every name under the sun for an hour or so, she went upstairs for her evening bath. I waited until steam began to escape beneath the door and crept in gripping my lengthy inner tube. Perfect, she was naked and bent over the bath testing the water.
“What happened then?” Albert asked, in the pub a few days later.
“Well, I’d overlooked something most important; she was still having treatment for bum blisters.”
“Oh yeah, you spilled that boiling coffee on her arse when she was sunbathing in the garden.”
“Anyway, I managed to land two really powerful strokes. Hearing her yell, I thought your information was working. It roused rather than aroused her; she grabbed me by the balls and literally threw me in the air.”
“The black eye?”
“From a right hook on the way down.”
“I’m afraid your wife must be one of those rare women who are not suited to Bodisim. She’s what you call a Domontricks Massacarist. Fortunately, I know how to make those horny too.”
Want a little comedy sex read?
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