How I Passed Calculus

I was speaking to a friend a while ago and she mentioned that her boyfriend had told her, “Some men just can’t last long in bed. There’s nothing we can do about it.”

I’ll be honest, I’m not really up on the whole “premature ejaculation” line of literature, but that sentence just smacks of pure laziness. I’ve often said that if you’re going into sex just looking for personal satisfaction, you’ve got the wrong outlook. Honestly, if I were just looking for an easy orgasm I’d be better off doing it myself.

When it comes to sex, we guys are pretty easy to please. Sometimes I’ve had women who say to me, “What can I do for you?” I keep telling them not to worry. I’m a guy. I know I’m getting off. Unfortunately, this is a blessing and a curse. While I’m assured of getting where I want to wind up, it means that I have to pace myself and take my partner into consideration.

Look, we guys have all seen the movies of porn stars pounding away like jackhammers. There’s a time and a place for that…but you’re probably not going to be able to keep that up all day. So pacing yourself is an important factor. Plus, if you start fast and hard you’ve got no where to go at an unexpected moment to drive her crazy. Plus, that’s how latex burn happens.

All guys have a decision to make eventually: do I get that post-coital smoke fired up, or do I change things up so I can keep going? If I’m getting really good personal results out of a certain angle or position, I file it away for future reference and switch to something different. I like to find a spot where she’s having fun and I can sort of relax and not worry about how long I can last.

Of course, sometimes there’s nothing for it but to start the mind working. Girls ask me what I think about during sex, and the answer is usually:

“Baseball. The weather. Videogames. Math. TV series'. The Trade-Deficit” Hey, I’ve even mentally recited poetry during sex. I’ve composed essays for class while engaged in reverse cowgirl. In fact, I probably would have failed out of school if it hadn't been for the study time I put in while between a woman's thighes.

"Oh baby, I love your cock! Talk dirty to me!"
"Acceleration is defined as the rate of change (or derivative with respect to time) of velocity! It is thus a vector quantity with dimension length/time²!"
"That's right, stud! Slap my ass!"

Maybe that’s part of what women don’t understand about their bodies. The hotter they are, the LESS I really look at them during sex. Because one minute everything is cool, then I notice how perfect their breasts are and BAM--I'm lying there trying to figure how long I have to cuddle before I can go take a leak.

Lastly, a guy who says that men can’t control themselves needs to learn this: Just because you’ve fired torpedo one, doesn’t mean that your attack is over. It simply means it’s time to get your second missile primed for firing. There’s no reason that a guy can’t go twice at least once in a while. I actually prefer that. By round two, I’m generally desensitized so much that I could be making love to a rusty zipper with roughly the same sensation.

Speaking of a lack in sensations in that general area, one time I was hanging out at a friend’s house with a girl I knew. One thing lead to another and over the course of the evening it was made clear to me that she had activities in mind for me that did not involve studying, hanging out, or clothing. All was well, until I realized that I had no condoms. So before I left, I discretely pulled my friend aside and asked if he had any protection.

“Sure.” He said, and handed me a few condoms. I shoved them into my pocket without examining them.

Later that night, in a position that would make a gymnast wince, I suddenly became aware that I couldn’t feel anything. I mean ANYTHING. It was like my nether regions had fallen asleep. A few minutes later, my ability to perform had gone the way of my enjoyment in the act. I started to freak out, then went and checked the wrapper on the condom. It read:

New Climax Control.

Essentially, they were Novocain filled rubbers. Finally, when I stopped laughing at my friend’s prank, I sat the girl down and explained what had happened. She tried her best to revive feeling, but the only result was her tongue going numb. Ah, good times.

So ladies, the next time a guy says, “we men just can’t control ourselves.” I suggest that mid-thrust you fake one of those orgasms the way you do, roll over, light a cigarette and say, “Sorry. I couldn’t control myself. Maybe we can get you off next time.”