By 1996 women’s magazines such as Cosmopolitan and Fair Lady were dedicating several pages a month to handing out very frank advice on how to make the most of one’s sex life.
This prompted me to write a series of columns aimed at helping that forgotten legion – the Extremely Shy. The columns later appeared in a book, S*x for the Extremely Shy (Penguin 1997)
I shall, from time to time, publish successive chapters in this blog. The extremely shy are advised not to try anything until they have read the entire series…
S*X FOR THE EXTREMELY SHY
FOREWORD
By Lord Cameroon of Ood, Bart., MC., BC., ETC.
My dear Clarke,
Get off my back.
Cameroon.
The reader should know that this rather short foreword – for which I was truly grateful, not to say rather flattered – was received in response to the following, perfectly reasonable (as I am sure you will agree) request:
My Dear Lord Cameron,
I do hope you don’t mind my calling you “my dear”. I am, once again, writing to you (please find enclosed) with regard to you writing a foreword to my latest book, “S*x for the Extremely Shy”.
I realise you may find this an odd request.
The situation is that I wanted Lord Mackeroon to write the foreword but he is not responding to my letters. I wanted him (as I have told you in my previous letters) to write it because he was, after all, involved in that steamy affair with Miss Myrtle Chester who described him in court as “shyest of all the earls” to have entered her parlour.
Your esteemed name, Lord Cameroon, is, as far as my journalistic standards are concerned, near enough to that of Lord Mackeroon – especially if you say “Cameroon” quickly – as to make no difference to the public. And you were, as you probably recall, briefly referred to in the Myrtle Chester case as the “most exuberant of all the earls” and thus rocketed to fame. Well, certainly, the tabloids did you proud. At least I thought so.
Please, my dear, grant me this boon.
I remain,
Yours in literature,
James F Clarke,
PREFACE
Prince Philip, the Duke of Edinburgh K.G., P.C., K.T., O.M., G.B.E.
Letter returned – insufficient postage.
Introduction
Women’s magazines, Sunday papers and the Reader’s Digest have been writing more and more about sex in recent years. They carry candid letters from girls who can’t achieve orgasm or men who fear impotence. They solicit replies from sexologists, whose advice, for some reason, is always written in bold face, and who provide long and explicit answers which never fail to badly shock those of us who were brought up in mid-20th century when the most explicit things in newspapers and magazines were advertisements for Maidenform bras. Today, magazines publish a zillion words a year just on how to find your partner’s G-spot.
I don’t even know what a G-spot is – and I daren’t ask.
What these journals fail to realise is that out there, there are people who have difficulty finding even a decent parking spot and who also wouldn’t know what a G-spot was even if it leapt out and bit them on their backsides. The following advice is for them.
If only editors knew it, there are millions of people who can be classed as “Extremely Shy” and who need just very basic advice so that they can take it s l o w l y.
In the 1950s everybody was shy. Or nearly everybody. For a start your parents never told you anything, but they would issue many an enigmatic warning about, well . . . you know . . . about, well, s*x, the very mention of which would induce a violent fit of coughing. Or they might have slid you some sort of book written by an elderly clergyman who’d obviously never had it which would warn you about not playing with yourself.
As a consequence of all this one would – in fact two would – feel guilty about being sexually attracted and the sex act itself was one stage short of robbing a bank or snatching an old lady’s walking frame as she was hobbling to the shops.
One would writhe in agony before summoning up the courage to make a date. Men especially. In those days few of us had telephones so, if you wanted to ask a girl for a date, you had to do it face to face… if you’ll pardon the expression.
And my generation did not do a much better job in sexually educating our kids. In the 1950s and 1960s you’d no more think of discussing sex at the table than you would flick food at the ceiling to see if it would stick.
Today sex can come up in normal conversation at dinner. “Aesthetically speaking,” one sister might say to another, “whadya think of this new female condom?” The other, idly chasing a pea around her dinner plate, would say she prefers coitus interruptus. Father’s food falls from his open mouth, mother faints, but the girls don’t notice.
If children ask their parents what they did about sex in their day (and well they might these days) father will find an excuse to rush from the room shouting “Gosh, I think I must have forgotten to let the cat in, or out” while mother will pretend to have misheard and say: “What did we do about six? We had tea of course,” and she would quickly ask “Now, who’s for some more carrots or peas, or meat or potatoes or anything?”
Yet, despite all this I venture to say that even today with its telephone sex lines and very biological movies on television most people are still shy and all this G-spot stuff is far too advanced for them. It is true, of course, that, in the end, most people get to know how to do it. After all, with tens of millions of births a year lots of people must be doing it right. But, as sexologists say,
Sex is no longer simply some animal-like act aimed at reproducing. Sex, today, has become a recreation.
Some might argue it has become an art form. Some view it as essential therapy. Certainly there are people who view it as a sort of keep-fit thing. It’s a lot more fun than jogging and even more fun than doing Canadian Air Force exercises.
But, if one is among the Extremely Shy, how does one start out?
I must warn you, it isn’t easy.
The way is fraught with embarrassment, humiliation, shocks, sweat, personal danger, expense, anxiety, psychologists, psychiatrists, insensitive chemist shop assistants, triangles, circles, squares, pitfalls, traumatic escapes, creeping around; it might involve climbing drainpipes and sustaining injuries ranging from scratches and black eyes to broken legs and broken hearts; sometimes the police become involved, so do rivals, fathers, mothers and big brothers; sometimes ambulances, lawyers, the Sunday papers and magistrates.
It is rarely ever – if, again, you’ll forgive me – a one-on-one thing.
I once met a woman at a party who (or even whom), I had been told, was a sexologist.
“So you’re a sexologist?” I began.
“Yes,” she said.
“Why don’t you ever cater for the Extremely Shy?” I asked.
She said: “I’m a sexologist, not a psychiatrist.”
“So who is going to help these poor people?” I asked. “Who is going to show the Extremely Shy how to become sexually active?”
”Look,” she said, speaking in bold face, “I am, in essence, a coach, not an instructor. People who want to learn to play tennis first go to an instructor who explains how they will need to get themselves a racket and a ball and then hit the ball with the wide end of the racket . . .”
I think we can forget sexologists.
Here then is a step-by-step method for the Extremely Shy. The publisher, the author, the printers and the distributors of this advice cannot be held responsible for what might happen should you follow it. Any attempted writs or rude letters will be recycled into low quality egg trays.
STAGE ONE
First find somebody of the opposite sex.
This is not as easy as it sounds because tens of thousands of young women these days wear their hair short, like men, and tens of thousands of men wear their hair long, like women. Both sexes frequently wear baggy trousers, shapeless pullovers, earrings and Brut aftershave.
How then does a young man, let’s say, find out whether the person sitting next to him is male or female? Sadly there is no test that I would like to unconditionally recommend. You could, I suppose, suddenly get up and “accidentally” stand on the person’s toe. If this elicits a high-pitched shriek and you get beaten about the head with a handbag, there is still only a 55/45 chance these days that it’s a woman.
To avoid a situation that could mentally scar you, and, perhaps, physically too – for many young men and women nowadays do karate and fung wu (or whatever) – find somebody in a skirt.
As an extra precaution, avoid tartan skirts.
STAGE TWO
Let us look at this thing from the point of view of the male. After all, according to sexologists, men are the most likely to have the hang ups. And let us now assume you have met a girl who sets your pulse racing and causes little beads of moisture to start from your forehead as if from a folded orange peel.
Congratulations! You are now ready for stage two.
Perhaps you spotted her across a crowded room at a party, or at the office or at a demonstration against the consumption of live oysters. There is only one thing to do – steel yourself by hyperventilating and then go over, and ask her to come to the pictures (stop hyperventilating of course) or, if she looks the type, to Friday’s lecture on Quantitative and Dynamic Ecology.
This, of course, is easier done than said.
In fact, as you grow older, you begin to realise that the only men who know how to speak to women in a calm and reasonable way are film stars and even they require, on average, 27 “takes” and prompt cards.
But, if you follow the instructions carefully, YOU CAN DO IT.
You must practice, every night, saying “Hello! My name is John. I want to take you out on Friday”. Speak very slowly and deliberately. Don’t let your tongue run away from your brain. Keep it on a tight leash.
You don’t have to tell her she is cute. Do not say any more than you have to. Learn the more useful phrases, off by heart.
You must be able to say lines such as “my-name-is-John”, automatically – and, of course, in their proper context. For example, it is no good saying “Hello, my name is John” if she has just said “Your place or mine?” And, of course, if your name is not John then don’t say it is because this will just make things more complicated later on and, believe me, they are going to become pretty complicated anyway.
Keep all communications tight. Don’t say “please”. Saying “Please”, or using any other word beginning with P, must be avoided because, in your nervousness, pronouncing Ps could cause you to let fly some spittle – a switch-off if ever there was one. If your name happens to be Pavel Pappenfus or Percy Popper then perhaps, after all, you’d best say “Hello, my name John”.
Similarly, when she asks what film you had in mind choose a short-titled one without a P in it. Avoid titles with long words too. Suggest seeing Star Wars, for instance, rather than The Purple People Eater of Pakistan.
If you put forward the idea of taking her to the lecture simply say “ecology”. Skip the words “quantitative” and “dynamic”.
She might complicate things by asking “Why?” If this happens, don’t panic. Immediately break off the action, look at your watch, and say: “Gosh! My flight!” (Note the economy of words. Note also we did not say “Gosh, my plane!” And why did we not say “plane”? Exactly! Because we would have been in danger of aerosolling the object of our desire with spittle. You then turn on your heel (for goodness sake, practice this) and rush off having first made sure of your line of retreat, thus saving yourself the embarrassment of running up against a wall or into a blind alley or disappearing down a manhole.
If she says “I’d love to!” you are ready for Stage 3.
The reason I advise you to break off your negotiations the moment she begins to question your motive is because her monosyllabic question, “Why?”, opens up a whole new ball game which calls for quick thinking and a degree of repartee with which “greenhorns” (if I may use that expression) or, let’s say, first-timers – may find they are unable to cope. You will also have noted how, even a single five-lettered word like “Why?” can complicate matters enough to throw you, the would-be lover, into a confusing Clapham Junction of options. This is why this course stresses, over and over again, the need for the Extremely Shy to keep words to a minimum.
Her question would not have fazed the brash who would have immediately come up with any one of the following replies:
Because I find you madly attractive
Because I thought, afterwards, we could have dinner in a nice little restaurant I know
Because I thought afterwards you would like to see my flat/yacht/pad
Because I thought afterwards we could jump into bed.
If you feel you can handle the question then the safest answer is “Because!” Simply that.
It is always best to sound mysterious, and mystery is a good cover up for not knowing what to say, and silence is a good cover-up for shyness. But practice saying “because” in a low voice because a low voice adds to the mystery and covers up the querulousness which might otherwise creep into your voice, perhaps irrevocably sinking your efforts.
If she still persists in firing questions then go back to Plan A and rush off to catch your flight.
Next time you see her you can try again.
Once she agrees, just say: “Meet you (name anywhere without a P in it) at six on Friday.” That’s all. If you tend to stutter on words beginning with s, as many shy people do, make it “five-fifty-five”. If you stutter on F as well as S (which is nothing to be ashamed of at all) you will have to make it as late as eight. There’s no need to say “pm”. She’ll realise the film/lecture doesn’t start at dawn.
Congratulations! Here we are, ready for stage three.
STAGE THREE
As you take your seats in the cinema or lecture theatre and your shoulders touch you may experience a strange sensation – like electricity between you. You may feel as if a zillion volts are crashing through you. This is static and it means one of you is wearing something synthetic.
The situation is avoided by tying your car keys to a long piece of string so they drag along the ground thus earthing you.
Now allow her arm and your arm to share the same arm rest. After five minutes begin to apply gentle pressure with your arm, along the length of her arm. If she responds by pressing her arm against yours, you are ready for stage four.
Try not to breathe audibly. If your shoes are filling up with perspiration, undo the laces. Check for nose bleed. Your nose, not hers.
You may find your throat drying out and cracking in three or four places and you may sense your brain shriveling into a dried-out walnut and noisily dropping into the base of your skull – like a marble into a teacup. Ignore this. She probably will not have heard it.
Just keep calm and don’t attempt to speak.
Be careful not to press your forearm too hard alongside hers because if she were to suddenly remove her arm, your elbow could shoot into her ribs causing her to cry out at an inopportune time during the lecture/movie.
You now manoeuvre your hand until it is touching hers.
The idea now is to hold her hand. This, for the Extremely Shy is the tricky part because it involves 10 digits only five of which are under your personal control. And it has to be done without looking. To look down and obviously appear to be sorting out your fingers and hers could embarrass your partner and kill the magic of the moment.
At the same time you do not want to end up clutching just her small finger. You certainly cannot settle for holding fewer than three fingers. Practice at home in the dark with a small bunch of bananas or an inflated surgical glove.
Once you are holding hands, what now?
This is a question psychologists, psychiatrists, therapists and sub-accountants have debated ever since Ptolemy suggested that one should then fondle the upper thigh. Sexologists say this is nonsense.
In prehistoric times men were never faced with this sort of crisis because there were no theatres. You simply went up to the woman of your desire, bonked her (if you’ll forgive me) on the head with a club. Then you would have dragged her by her hair to their cave whereupon the union was, as we say, consummated.
Some now consider this a somewhat sexist approach.
Once you are holding hands you may well find yourself sitting bolt upright, forgetting to breath, every muscle in spasm, your mind gone and your eyeballs out of control. Be patient. The phase will pass.
Right, let’s now give this young lady a name: Amelia. Yes, that sounds fine. The secret is now not to let go of Amelia’s hand because if you do you may not be able to find it again, especially if she has seized the opportunity and gone home.
If you need to take out your handkerchief, use your free hand. This may be difficult if the hanky is in your other pocket. In such an event it would be best to wipe your nose on your sleeve or discreetly sniff.
At the end of the show/lecture walk out in a thoughtful silence. You could ask: “Did you enjoy that?” If, in turn, she asks you a similar question, just say “Yes”.
You are now ready for Stage 4.
STAGE FOUR
We have now reached stage four. Or, rather, you have.
This is a critical stage.
You now pop the eternal question: “Your place or mine?”
If she says “What for?” you shrug. Certainly you must avoid an academic argument. If she asks what’s at your place, you say: “I want to show you my etchings.” This phrase, corny though it is, has been used since the time of George III. Of course, etchings were novel then but, even so, it still has a 7 percent success rate.
While this may seem small it is a whole lot better than dribbling down your shirt front, or going into a spasm of coughing, or blurting out such answers as “because I want you to meet my Maltese, Tiddles” or “because I would like you to meet my sister, Felicity, who is learning the violin” or “because we could watch ‘How to cultivate bacteria’ on the late-night education programme.”
Amelia now wants to relax.
What if she opts for your place?
According to surveys 78.5 percent of woman in the US (and in the case of Bulgaria, 72.71) prefer this option because they fear a situation where a man might overstay his welcome. With the “your place” option she will be able to escape, if necessary, and take a cab home any time she feels like it.
She will also be naturally curious to see whether you make your bed and keep your room tidy.
So, she says “Your place.”
Here’s what you must do.
1. Try to remember where you live and make a bee-line for it.
2. Don’t forget to take her with you.
3. When you get there do not attempt to do anything dramatically romantic, like carry her across the threshold. For a start you might drop her. There is also the risk of her being too heavy and your back going in three places.
No, it would NOT be a good idea to ask one of your house mates to help carry Amelia inside.
4. Simply open the door and, with a gesture, invite her to step inside. (Practice opening the door and gesturing every time you use your front door).
5. Assuming you have a bed-sitter take her straight into your room thus avoiding your friends who may feel inclined to frippery and to making ribald suggestions.
Had you anticipated the situation in which you now find yourself you would, presumably, have made your bed, hidden your Donald Duck pyjamas and stuffed into a cupboard your accumulation of dirty washing and girlie magazines.
But what if you have not tidied your room? What if it is in its usual state of total chaos? You could feign total surprise and say: “Oh no! Burglars again!” But she might then ask you what has been stolen and you’d have to make up something pretty fast. Don’t just blurt out “My music centre! Gone!”. Women are very observant and she might well point out that your music centre is still there – under all your shirts and pants and last Sunday’s papers.
Best say nothing and simply sweep all the junk off your chair and into a corner and offer her a seat. Then, as nonchalantly as possible, kick your pyjamas under the bed and straighten out the bed clothes. Don’t take too long over tidying the bed because nothing is more boring than watching somebody make a bed. And, for similar reasons, don’t get carried away and start spring cleaning your apartment.
Your room, you now realise, is freezing and you wish that you had got around to repairing the heater. Amelia begins alternatively hugging herself and flapping her arms – a sign that she is seriously cold.
Tip: quickly seek out the kettle and turn it on because the steam will at least produce a sort of warm front. The steam will also help reduce visibility so that the mess in your room is less depressing. Stuff a towel under the door because even the smallest draught will create a cold front and this, when it meets the steam, could trigger off a snowfall over your bed.
Amelia is now shivering violently and looking at her watch, sometimes shaking it in disbelief. Take advantage of this and thrust a mug of coffee into her hands. This will at least stop her rubbing them. Now suggest she would be more comfortable sitting on the bed than sitting on the chair. Sit next to her.
Suggest, in as few words as possible, that it might be warmer if she got right into bed. Say: “It might be warmer if you got right into bed.”
She will probably do just that – get into bed, fully clothed, boots and all, miraculously without letting go of her coffee cup which she now perceives as the only thing between her and hypothermia.
The cold is now making your nose run and you can’t find your handkerchief or a tissue. You go the bathroom down the end of the passage to get toilet paper and that’s finished too. You go the kitchen for a paper towel and there’s Bruce, your Australian flat mate, warming his feet in a low oven, watching a late night show on the table-top TV.
It’s Pamela Anderson playing the part of a mini-skirted motor-cycling cop who fights a losing battle not against crime but against keeping her large bosom inside her low cut cop jacket.
She dismounts from her Harley Davidson exposing two shapely legs which you find yourself counting … it’s warm in the kitchen and your blood stream has resumed flowing. You notice your fingers turning pink.
Bruce pours you a generous glass of cooking sherry and you do not notice his departure because Pamela Anderson is now languidly undressing …
Amelia!
You rush back to your room and there’s Bruce, with his heater.
You have only yourself to blame.
* * *
But what if she answers your question by saying “My place”?
You get to her font door. Your vision is suddenly interrupted by red flashes and there is a loud ringing in your head. This is perfectly normal and merely indicates that your over stimulated heart is pumping excess red corpuscles into your vitreous humour and your forehead has probably come to rest against her illuminated doorbell.
Tip: straighten up.
Now concentrate and breathe deeply. As she gestures for you to enter narrow the eyes and look for a pool of light and walk carefully towards it. Wait for her to say “Won’t you take a seat?” because you can then safely assume you are near to a seat.
Sit.
If, after a while you realise you could not have been near a seat and you find yourself sitting somewhere unorthodox, such as on the floor, on the dog, in a bowl of flowers or among the wreckage of some sort of heirloom coffee table which collapsed under your weight, try to act nonchalant.
This, for the Extremely Shy, is critical advice. ACT NONCHALANT. Write the words on your toe caps so that you will always be looking at them. Say it every night before going to sleep: ACT NONCHALANT. ACT NONCHALANT.
Amelia is now in the kitchen rattling the coffee cups. Use this valuable time to compose yourself. Look around for conversation pieces. Force yourself to focus. Perhaps she has a dog. A little Maltese. Pick it up and pat it. If she has a Rottweiler don’t attempt to pick it up. Perhaps it’s best not to pat it either.
If it is a Maltese and she walks in as you are patting it, make this remark: “Your dog has a nice face.” Just make sure you are, in fact, looking at the right end because Maltese can be confusing. You can then ask its name (”What…is…its…name?”). When she tells you just say, “Nice name.”
Keep control of the conversation for as long as possible so as to avoid the situation where she starts asking you questions you may find difficulty answering, like “What did you say your last name was?”
Try to spot some object in the room with which you are familiar and know something about and can thus start up a conversation. No, the light switch is not really interesting enough. Avoid anything made of china in case she picks it up and hands it to you to examine. Yes, or porcelain. Yes, even iron because you could drop it on your foot. Or on her foot.
Or on the Rottweiler if she has one
A photograph is good enough. Pick it up and say “Who is this?” If she says it’s a boy friend, take a long look at it. If he looks like a sergeant in the Royal Marine Commandos, sit down, drink your coffee in silence, and go home. If he looks smaller than you, say “Ha!” Just that. Don’t get ambitious. Smile with a macho one-sided smile – on the side of your face which she can see. (Practice this before hand). The whole art of coming on to a girl is to be enigmatic.
You are now about to enter stage five …
STAGE FIVE
It is important to find a settee. This is because our next step (very well, your next step) is to sit beside her and this is difficult on an ordinary wooden chair, particular one of those frail antique ones.
When you spot the settee don’t sit crouched up, foetal-like, at one end, even though this may be your natural instinct. But don’t sit in the middle either. This may give her the excuse to sit somewhere else. Sit just off centre leaving her just enough room to sit beside you.
Now comes the tricky part: she offers you coffee and you have to stand up. Heaven knows why, but when somebody offers you a cup of anything, you are expected to rise even though this unnecessarily jeopardises what is quite a hazardous operation to start with. Stand; take the saucer firmly in your left hand and the cup handle in your right. This enables you to stop the cup rattling on the saucer and giving away the fact that your hands are shaking like aspen leaves. Continue to breath deeply but cease hyperventilating at this stage.
Slowly sit down balancing the coffee cup on your knee. Here a number of things could happen and it is well to have a plan worked out ready for any eventuality:
1. You could drop the coffee in your lap. This will inflict second or third degree burns on a section of your person which you were hoping would be launched on a new career later on in the evening. Amelia will rush off to get a towel, but what on earth can you do with a towel unless you take your trousers off which, at this stage, and under these circumstances, is going to spoil the evening?
It would be best to stuff the towel down the front of your trousers and rush off home saying “Gosh, my flight!” At least you have her towel and, therefore, a good excuse to visit her place again.
2. You could, of course, “accidentally” cause her to spill a little coffee over herself. It is not nearly so risky for somebody wearing a dress because it can easily be held away from the body. She will rush off to the bathroom. It would be impolitic for you to follow. It would be equally impolitic to go on dunking your biscuit and whistling tunelessly through your teeth.
Call out to her. Ask if you can help. She will say “No”. But she might be saying to herself: “The cheeky devil. He just wants to force me to take my clothes off!” She could then return wearing nothing more than a little smile. In this case pull her gently on to your lap . . .
What? Well, that’s your funeral, you should have put your damned coffee cup on the table as soon as she re-entered the room.
For further advice send me an order for “Beyond Stage Five”. This can sent in a plain brown wrapper.
