She may want more sex in lockdown, but let's not hurt ourselves guys
Our healthcare workers are occupied, so spare everyone the fancy moves lest you get wheeled into the emergency room
We're told that we shouldn't respond to the lockdown as a crisis. Instead, "they" tell us it's actually an opportunity for a step change in our way of life. That sounds like a lot of motivational gobbledegook to me. Even the crème de la crème of verbal gymnastics, that Vusi Thembekwayo fellow, is failing to make lemon cider from the lemons Covid has served us, if his delicious Twitter rant is anything to go by.
Then again, I once attended a course called Living Leadership. I don't remember much because I spent most of the days nursing a moerse babalaas. But I do remember one pearl of wisdom from the thoughtful woman who facilitated the course. Apparently, she asserted, human beings are not capable of fundamental change. Only a crisis can force change in human beings.
As a non-believer in the delusion of free will that we harbour, this observation naturally resonates with me. And segues nicely into general concerns about our respective love games in my circle of friends. The details are unimportant. A gentleman never gives the missus the best three minutes in his arsenal and then turns around and tells.
Don't scoff at three minutes. Michael Spinks didn't make it to the three-minute mark against "Iron" Mike Tyson for the undisputed heavyweight championship of the world. Anyway, the fellows have raised concerns about the working from home situation. This is compounded by not being able to grab one's car keys while mumbling something inaudible about "the game at Bhubesi's house, everybody will be there".
This inevitably leads to hours upon hours spent at home with the missus. In the words of one of the savages I consort with, "It was only a matter of time before there came the expectation of an increase in the frequency of nocturnal scrums." True. In fact, the expectations of diurnal scrums has also increased.
Look, I'm not complaining. But this sort of thing comes with a lot of pressure for us, the weaker, unpolished sex. You see, our successes and spectacular flops in this sphere are as obvious to see as the pathetic attempt at the comb-over on Trump's empty head. This pressure is compounded by popular culture on TV, in Hollywood and, lately, on social media.
A video clip of an emaciated chap with the face of a malnourished Black Backed Jackal went viral last week. Very likely a revenge-porn situation. He is seen pulling off moves that this 48-year-old soft bag of bones would require 30 months of intense work with a personal trainer to sorta, kinda emulate. And even then I'd probably get a cramp in my thigh and snap my adductor longus in the process.
Fellows on WhatsApp, Twitter and Facebook were so shown up by his skill and fitness levels that they decided to impugn his character using diversions, smokes and mirrors, such as pointing out that his wall was not plastered. Yes, we're a particularly mature lot. There were even rumblings about his technique being similar to a wooden ladle stirring porridge. The hard-to-accept truth is that for the average bloke, Mr Unplastered Wall is like Lionel Messi to his Sunday league skill level.
Have you ever tried to take a shower with your lover? Most. Impractical. Nonsense. Ever.
This is the reason I've steered clear of soft erotica on telly and streaming sites. There's just too much pressure.
In the '80s, soul crooner Teddy Pendergrass had a hit single titled Turn off the Lights. A prominent line goes "Let's take a shower together, yeah, I'll wash your body and you'll wash mine, yeah." Have you ever tried to take a shower with your lover? Most. Impractical. Nonsense. Ever. For starters, there's the issue of whose ideal water temperature to settle on. Then there are the slippery tiles. Instead of focusing on rocking her world, you're worrying about slipping and hitting your head on the corner of the shower door. Not the most ideal situation.
And don't get me started on that sex on the beach nonsense. I have four words for you: "Sand, sand, sand everywhere." Believe me, there is no intensity of pleasure that can make you ignore the granular feeling of sand particles between your cheeks.
We've all seen those erotic scenes where the protagonists are wrestling inside a car. It all looks so exciting. Until you're that idiot fumbling within a space the size of a suitcase. Getting the angles right is a task more impossible than picking up a watermelon seed off wet tiles.
I guess what I'm saying to the fellows is, the lockdown may still be with us for a few more months. There's a shortage of hospital beds. There's truly no need for you to be that guy being wheeled into the emergency room with locked knees.