“Want to know why women don’t blink during foreplay? Not enough time.” Joan Rivers
I just heard the term “pound town,” an interesting adage found in the once fountain of sex: Playboy. It describes what women hate (which used to be Playboy). They hate being pounded. They hate having to explain everything, especially when the guy thinks he knows everything already.
In Bridget Phetasy’s article “Are You Done Yet?,” she claims men have to stop thinking they’re in a porno movie — and worse, acting like they could possibly be in a porno movie. At least those porn guys know when to stop. The rest of us seem to be like giddy jackhammers.
Phetasy’s study of 40 women, got varying responses, ranging from “If I’m having sex longer than 35 minutes, I’m over that shit,” to “I start thinking about tax refunds at 12 [minutes]. Money keeps me enthusiastic.”
Think of her as an engine. No oil, engine seizes, you’re hitchhiking to work.
There’s nothing worse than wearing out your sexual welcome, especially around tax time, but it seems whether you’re a “rock cock” or a “lazy one pump chump,” the real issue is foreplay. If baby ain’t lubed, your fancy moves (long or short) are an irritant. Think of her as an engine. No oil, engine seizes, you’re hitchhiking to work.
We respect our car maintenance manuals, so why aren’t we respecting our other baby? You know, the one wearing the teddy, even though she hates teddies, and is probably thinking of Thai food — or her taxes — right now.
Truth is, it isn’t whether you can go 2 hours or two minutes. The real issue is how she feels during that time. Properly lubed, she’s a lot happier than if she feels like you’re trying to start a fire rubbing two sticks together.
“I swear,” one woman admitted, “I was so dry, I thought smoke was gonna start rising through the bed sheets.”
The more you stimulate the manifold — sorry, vagina — the more moisture comes out. It’s sort of a win-win for both of you.
You can’t treat women’s vaginas like holsters, guys. Unless she says, “I’ve already taken care of it,” you have a responsibility. Ignore the prep work and you’re going to have one sore (and sorry) girl who doesn’t blink.
Vaginas are actually miracles of anatomy. Imagine if your engine could oil itself, and all you had to do was rub the manifold. Pretty amazing, huh? Well, vaginas lubricate themselves by drawing water from blood through the vaginal walls. The more you stimulate the manifold — sorry, vagina — the more moisture comes out. It’s sort of a win-win for both of you.
Admittedly, some women are regular gushers, others not so much. Some need a little verbal coaxing, others want you to shut up. In either case, you can’t just shove it in like you’re going through a car wash.
That said, and with all due respect to Bridget Phetasy’s findings, I went to my own source for unabridged answers on sex. No, not Jell-O Shot Fridays at the Loose Moose. I mean reddit’s Ask Women. To the question: “How long, per session, do you want sex to last?” 50 respondents were remarkably candid about their “bone sessions.”
Nobody wants to be “pounded indefinitely,” even if it is their birthday.
On average, I determined that women prefer 20–30 minutes of foreplay, followed by a PIV (penis to vagina) chaser. “The actual PIV bit?” one woman said. “Between 2–10 minutes.” Most women agreed that foreplay takes precedence over actual sex. Nobody wants to be “pounded indefinitely,” even if it is their birthday.
“I have to be thoroughly wet, especially if the guy’s going to keep banging away. There’s only so much my vagina can take.”
“I just hit a threshold where I reach peak pleasure and there’s nothing gained by going longer than that.”
Nobody wants smoke rising, just as nobody wants to be thinking about their taxes while “hubby with the chubby” tries to be Keith Moon with the backboard.
When asked by a curious male (not me) if foreplay is “just to get wet” or “more enjoyable than sex,” one woman, possibly a science major, explained it this way:
“Sex with foreplay = going to a restaurant and being able to enjoy the atmosphere, lighting, good conversation, etc., before slowly digging into a tasty meal at your own pace. Sex without foreplay = somebody suddenly shoving a burger in your face.”
The takeaway? Initiate sex without foreplay at your own peril. Nobody wants smoke rising, just as nobody wants to be thinking about their taxes while “hubby with the chubby” tries to be Keith Moon with the backboard.
Foreplay is crucial. It’s not subordinate to sex — it is sex. And don’t think oral sex is limited to what you do between a woman’s legs. Heads, shoulders, arms, toes all have nerve endings which conspire to make a woman wet. Licking a woman’s earlobes, for instance, isn’t time wasted — nor is turning off the football game.
Everything can be foreplay. Flirting, role-playing, getting a few things out of the fridge, all are part of the grand design of sex. It’s also important to understand the purpose as well as the outcome. You’re not trying to “do the act,” you’re trying to “re-create the act.”
“If God didn’t want you to go down on a woman, he wouldn’t have made it look like a taco.”
The biggest criticism women have today is, “It’s not exciting anymore.” Think back to when you started dating, before kids, mortgages — possibly even puberty. Re-creating that naughtiness, those moments of excitation aren’t just possible — they’re probable if you approach it the right way.
For one thing, stop thinking of sex, or foreplay — or getting naked, for that matter — as a household chore. There’s a lot to be gained keeping your women moist, but you’ve got to get busy down there, guys.
As a wise man once said — before he was killed by his wife for saying really insensitive things on a regular basis — “If God didn’t want you to go down on a woman, he wouldn’t have made it look like a taco.”
Another thing — and this can’t be stressed enough — men need foreplay, too. Rather than waiting for your own stimulation, take the upper hand. Talk dirty, rub his chest, grab his chubby — or at least turn off the television.
“Birth control now,” she confessed, “is leaving the lights on.”
Sex is a combined effort. Expecting one side to perform while you lay back with mental score cards is wrong. “If I waited for a man to get my juices flowing,” Joan Rivers once said, “I’d never get anything done.”
We all have to “get-r-done,” as Larry the Cable Guy would say, and hopefully before we’re too old. Once that happens, it won’t matter what we want or need or expect others to do. Joan Rivers certainly found that out in her later years. “Birth control now,” she confessed, “is leaving the lights on.”
So, guys, give your woman’s vagina the same care and feeding you give the lawn. And, girls, put down those score cards. If you want orgasms, speak up, perk up and stop thinking about your taxes and Thai food.
Robert Cormack is a novelist, journalist and blogger. His first novel “You Can Lead a Horse to Water (But You Can’t Make It Scuba Dive)” is available online and at most major bookstores (now in paperback).