Sex Movie 2: 'The Climax'

Three Naked Ladies And A Whole Lot Of Clitoris

So I'm sitting on a reclining chair, completely naked under a brief robe, in the company of three perfect strangers, watching a sex therapist discuss the clitoral orgasms of a very plain woman in glasses. I'm hungry, I'm nervous, and, whilst two of the perfect strangers are other naked-but-for-robes women, the third is a fully dressed man, which makes the whole thing just that little bit more awkward. And did I mention I am hungry?

"Clitoris!" says the sex therapist, for the fifteenth time.

"Vibrator!" says Plain Woman, along with some details about how she used it. "Clitoral orgasm! Amazing! First time ever! Clitoris!"

"Clitoris!" responded the therapist, approvingly. "Vaginal? Vibrator! Sex sex sex!!!"

The two Naked Ladies and I cringe under our gowns. The Fully Dressed Man tries to sink into a wall. I don't know where to look, so I fixate on the screen. Plain Woman's husband is now getting in on the action.

"Penis," he informs them, importantly. "Penis penis clitoris. Vibrator! Sex!!!"

I contemplate getting up and leaving, robe and all. It is excruciating. And cold. And, as I may have mentioned, I am STARVING.

Finally, FINALLY, there is a mirage in white.

"Do you want me to turn this off?" she asks. "Seems the Oprah show is getting a bit raunchy today!"

I've never been so happy to see a nurse in all my life.

"YES PLEASE!" we gowned patients chorus, as one. "Thank you!"

"That's okay," she said. "Probably not what you want to be watching when you're about to go in for gynae surgery."

"Not so much," I tell her. I settle down to watch the Midday movie. It is about a traumatised young girl seeking an abortion. Quite a relief, really.

Eventually, my name is called and I'm hoisted onto a trolley and wheeled into the anaesthetic room. I'm nervous, because I don't like having operations, even if they are very minor (which this one, happily, is). So nervous, in fact, that I am shaking.

"Hello Kerri. I am giving you a pre-med now," says the anaesthetist. He seems reassuringly capable, but not what one might call 'verbose'.

"Okay," I say, barely able to speak from anxiety. I try to swallow, but my throat is too dry.

Suddenly, a lovely warmth fills my body. And, as they push me into the operating theatre, I remember a hilarious story.

"I've been watching the funniest thing!" I tell the assembled doctors and scrub nurses merrily. "So funny! There was a clitoris and penis and vibrator! Clitoris clitoris! Was so funny because I was naked! And so were the other two women! But the man was dressed! He had a penis!"

A mask is placed over my face. I feel myself fading away.

"Penis!" I mumble happily, as I fall into sleep. "And the vibrator makes the orgasm go brrmmmm! Clitoris.... Orgasm.... So very funny...."

And I am out cold.
I don't remember anything more about that afternoon. I do recall waking up a couple of hours later in recovery, feeling sore and sorry for myself, with a strange realisation that my hysterical tale didn't seem to be so funny anymore.
Thankfully, however, when my delightful doctor came to visit, he didn't mention my pre-surgical dissertation, nor did the nursing staff who had wheeled me into the operating room. Perhaps they were being polite. Perhaps they were so used to trippy patients spouting nonsense that they don't even pay attention anymore.
But personally? I think we'd probably just all had enough of clitorises for one long day.

Bzzzzzzzz....... It's Giveaway Time!!!!!!

UPDATED:

WE HAVE A WINNER!!!!

Yes girls (well... it WAS mainly girls), after some wonderful entries here online and privately via email, I have made my decision. And yes, I unashamedly allowed myself to be swayed by the clever inclusion of the term 'Simon Baker'.

So congratulations to MAMA MOGANTOSH
for your extremely funny entry. Please email me at k.sack@live.com or via Twitter with your address so your prize can be posted out.

And well done to everyone else. May stimulation find you in other ways.


BIG buzzy news....

The gorgeous girls at Love Being Woman are offering a fabulous Be Be as a Mother's Day Giveaway to one very lucky Life&OtherCrises reader. And you don't even need to be a mother to win!!!

Now, many of you will have read here of my fondness for the Be Be, an utterly brilliant personal massager (using 'personal massager' in the sense of, well, 'vibrator').

And now, I have one to give to you.

So I have come up with a competition.

But first, some exclusions:

• This competition is not open to Lana (SharpestPencil) for fear of perceived bias.
• This competition is not open to any of my family members because they don't have sex. Even alone. Especially alone!
• This competition is not open to Marguerite or Rudy because they have one already.
• This competition is not open to any of my parents' friends because if they have sex then my parents do too and that just freaks me out.

Furthermore:

• This competition is open only to those who will use the Be Be with the regularity, reverence and love that it deserves.

AND

• This competition is only open to those who like Nutella. Because if you don't like Nutella, you're weird.

Okay, so, here's how to win:
Tell me in 100 words or less (or more!) what your explanation would be if your child / mother / cleaning lady / real estate agent stumbled across your Be Be.
The best, most creative entry will win the prize.
I am the judge and my decision is FINAL.
I am the judge and my decision is FINAL (sorry, that was so much fun I just had to say it again).
Entries may be submitted as comments below, or to me via email at k.sack@live.com if you prefer to remain anonymous (except, you know, to me.....)
The winner will be announced on FRIDAY 30th APRIL on my blog. Please note that if you haven't provided contact details it is your responsibility to contact me at the above address to claim your brilliant prize.
Good luck, and thank you to Be Be Vibes!

Just Another Night At Home....

On Saturday night we had dinner at our house with Rudolph and Marguerite*. We met Rudy and Marg through our children, and really love them, despite them being terribly similar to us in many ways.

Dinner began with a substantial amount of wine, and at least a kilo of cheese between the four of us, after which we consumed enormous steaks, bowls of pasta, ice cream and chocolates. It was like an experiment in how many calories the average person could consume before actually passing out. The answer is... quite a lot, really.

We talked about a variety of topics, as we tend to do with this particular couple. We discussed travel, work, religion, kids, food, and then Rudy quoted some poetry, which he is wont to do after a few glasses of wine. (It was good poetry, too, though admittedly he didn’t write it.)

The talk of poetry smoothly segued into talk of swinging (as, you know, it does). Now, my hubby and I don’t swing, and as far as I know, Rudolph and Marguerite don’t swing either. Apparently, though, there is a large swinging scene in our community. And this fascinated me. How does it work? I asked. What if your husband ends up with someone else’s nice wife but you land with the horrid husband? Do you and your husband kiss each other goodbye and say ‘See you when you’re done’? And what if one of you takes, like, three times as long as the other? Wouldn’t that be a little awkward?

What was especially interesting, I said, is why anyone would want to swing at all (using ‘anyone’ in the sense of ‘women’). Most women I know (using ‘most’ in the sense of ‘all the’) wouldn’t want to have sex with random men at this stage in their lives. In fact, most women I know don’t want to have all that much sex with anyone at all. They’d rather sleep.

'That'd be right,' said Rudolph. 'You remind me of that HG Wells book in which there are no men at all, just women.'

'Sounds good to me,' said Marg.

‘I remember that book,' said my husband. 'They have an Orgasmatron to meet their sexual needs.'

‘Oh they wouldn't need an Orgasmatron,’ I thought, forgetting I was actually speaking out loud. ‘They'd just need a Be Be**.’

‘What’s a Be Be?’ Rudy asked.

‘Er... nothing,’ I said. Marg laughed. I realised I may have mentioned the Be Be to her once or seventeen times.

‘Seriously, what is it?’ he insisted.

‘It’s a... you know... personal massager,’ I told him, but only because I didn’t want to seem rude. ‘I won it in a competition***.’

‘Ooh... a vibrator?’ Rudy asked. ‘Can I see it? I might buy one for Marguerite.’

‘Um... can I just show you on the internet?’ I asked. Somehow showing him the actual device seemed a little inappropriate.

‘Yeah, sure,’ he said. ‘Just show me on your iPhone.’

‘Er... can I show you on your iPhone?’ I asked.

My husband laughed. ‘What, because it’s okay to talk about a vibrator at a dinner party, and okay to show your dinner guest, but to show him on your iPhone would be unseemly??? Is that what it says in the Women’s Weekly Etiquette book?’

I couldn’t explain, but it was late, and I’d drunk too much wine and eaten too much cheese, and it was time for them to go home.

But as they walked out the door, Rudy was busy on his iPhone.

And only he and Marguerite know what happened next.

*Not their real names. Not even close.
** No, I have not been paid for this post. I wish. But if you're interested, click here.
***This is true. I won it on Mamamia a while back. And I don’t know why I felt the need to tell you that I didn’t actually buy it.