by Mat Capper
‘There are two certainties in life; Sex and Death. At least after death I won’t feel Nauseous’.
I went to an all boys Grammar School in the Wirral, Merseyside. In the sixth form we had to wear suits and a variety of ties depending on status. My year was the first year that let girls attend the school, also the first year that the cane was banned, which I don’t think was a co-incidence. We had eight girls arrive from various other schools. To this day I can remember their names and exactly what they looked like. They were alien-like creatures who all looked like proper women, at least fifteen years older than I was. I was a late developer, and at sixteen I probably looked thirteen. Those girls aged sixteen looked at least twenty five.
I would always get the ‘aah, isn’t he cute’ thing going on. Desperate to be taken seriously I took the reading books like ‘Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance’ (to this day I don’t understand it) and ‘The Dice Man’(still my favourite). All of the girls were turned off by this and were looking for men at least three years older than them, which meant about ten years older than me in physical terms: men with beards, muscles and cars.
I took to performing in plays as a distraction; I got applause for playing Ariel in the Tempest, and Sebastian in Twelfth Night. The best part was I got to talk to some of the girls and actually became friends with one or two, which as a sixteen year old boy wasn’t exactly what I had in mind, although I couldn’t really be too fussy. At that age my main goals were to shave and to grow to over six foot. Today I have achieved both, but the goal posts have shifted somewhat.
Sex for men, or at least the men I know is an act that can be carried out before, after or even during the most mundane of tasks. I was working in Leeds some years ago on a film and one night as three of us walked to our hotel and in mid conversation one of the actors ran off to a doorway where he had spotted a working girl and proceeded to engage in a paid sexual act. He then ran to catch us up barely mentioning the occurrence. I can honestly say I was shocked. The other guy accompanying us barely acknowledged what had happened.
There is a strange unwritten law amongst men that these sort of occurrences should never be shared with female friends or colleagues. I have never really understood it or been a part of it. Men look at me with suspicion when sharing these tales; I don’t think I am fully trusted. I don’t get invited on the stag parties to Amsterdam or trips to strip clubs in cities, nor would I want to go.
Is it possible to imagine an Amsterdam for women? What would the men be dressed as? Would they have to be all muscular and tanned? Would there have to be fat, bearded professor types for those ladies attracted to academic men? Would there be rows of glass windows with men telling jokes in order to pull in punters? I have no idea. I can’t imagine the process of walking along the streets of Amsterdam and selecting a girl, then walk into a parlour, make a request and pay. The whole thing would just be too hilarious for words. Most men would think I was insane for expressing these views. They would say it is ‘just a laugh’, or ‘that’s what blokes do when they get a weekend pass’.
I suppose we are simple creatures with simple pleasures. We are capable of entering into deeply intimate situations at the drop of a hat. Maybe it is me with the problem. Maybe my late development has left me with some sort of abnormality and I will always be the one who people turn to for advice or support rather than someone who has the clothes ripped off his back. I am happier with that though because sex can be a messy emotional affair, it always seems to screw up great friendships. There’s no going back once you have rolled around naked with someone and pulled all sorts of strange faces. I have probably lost some potentially great friends in the past because of that.
Anyway I will have to sign off on this mumbling as I have got to get ready for my mate’s stag do. We’re off to some club called ‘Hooters’ and he’s told me to bring a stack of ten pound notes. I don’t know why, we must be playing cards or something later….