Unpopular side with Yinka Ijabiyi
Twitter: @Yinkakan Instagram: @oneyinka
Women don’t like one minute men. They sing that to us so much that even if we were going to do one hour, the fear of “1” can change hour into minute. The pressure to “perform” can kill. And it probably has killed. There is no joy for the man who cannot pound all night and all day until the woman arrives. Or like she fantasised strafing to be. Or like she’s seen it done in porn movies. Women, I have a revelation for you: your man isn’t a porn star and will not go on for one fake hour of toing and froing, backwarding and forwarding or inning and outing. He would love to be but your man is no horse!
There are different seasons of sexual maturity in a man’s life as he grows up. The first few years when he is old enough to have sex are probably the most exciting. He is learning the ropes and the thrill of getting a girl to open up for him deliberately and legitimately can and does keep him going on and on for more than one minute. His partner may be young too, just beginning to understand her libidinal needs. When they both meet, whatever fumble and wobble they do feels like sweet heaven. Because after all they did get laid!
Fast forward a few years. Boy has come to the conclusion that one whole is no different from the other. Size matters. But what she can do with it matters more. He understands that the chase is more fun than the catch; after the first time. He hones chasing skills and is usually delighted at each take down. He lives for the thrill and the moment she says yes. But what comes after usually disappoints; he is done in a minute. He soon realises that sex is more psychological than physiological. And that to continue to go at the expected rate, frequency and energy the woman desires is no longer working. Especially if it is the same woman. He is usually at the stage where he is not yet stuck with his choice so he does the most logical thing; change girlfriend. The next one may be better. She is for a few moments and then she isn’t.
Fast forward a few years again. He is ready to settle down. He has found one person whom he believes to be the one. Or whom he’s been told by society is the one. So he’s now married, works and is no longer the spring chicken he used to be. His work is physically exhausting or mentally tasking. He sits all day or stands all day. The traffic he faces in Los Angeles, Chengdu or Recife is award-winning. He gets home and yes he can’t perform. Or if he is able to muster the strength, it is for one minute. Madam wife works very very hard too but his one minute does not even begin to impress her. He just wants to bath (sometimes) and sleep. At other times, he pretends. And at the other times when he has to prove that he is man enough, voila, he’s done in the magical minute, rolls over and snores off immediately. Sometimes the one feels a lot longer to him. He is that tired. Not excited. Obligatorily meeting filial needs.
Fast forward another few years. He rediscovers his mojo. Wife will once in a while wonder what has happened that he seems so energetic and revitalised all of a sudden at his middle age. Is he on some kind of drug? Or has he been drinking again? She never ever really thinks if his old dog is being taught new tricks by a kitten. Sometimes though, that is the case. Bruv is energised, well-practiced and has learnt a few new tricks that he is eager to go home and show off. Those apart, sin is so adrenaline pumping and killingly exciting and sometimes the thought of that evil at the back of his head is enough to prolong his and thus his wife’s excitement and redeem his image for at least one more night. And it goes on and on and on like that. It doesn’t end until he is dead. But he knows it is worth dying for.
She knows it’s worth dying for as well. From the time she knows right from wrong, her older siblings, friends, peers, society promise her that sex is the main thing. TV shows her that love is butterflies in your tummy. TV shows her that sex takes you to heaven and brings you back to earth and the accompanying pleasure is unbelievable. TV and movies show her that sex should be all night long and not one minute. When she begins, one minute is fine because it is rushed anyway and often times done hidden. The cloak and dagger excitement makes her cum earlier. The deed is the enjoyment. And more often than not, nothing else matters.
Fast forward a few years and the excitement is no longer enough. There may still be that element of danger and adventurism post teen years and pre marriage but it isn’t enough to justify a one minute speed of execution. Short time begins to be a problem. She’s the wife and she deserves more. Sometimes a night is amazing and she wonders where the magic came from. Other times it is so totally not there. She craves more. He delivers less more often. She can’t believe her luck at her once formidable sex machine’s massive fail. It’s unreal. Long hours in traffic. Check. Long day at work. Check. Boss/subordinates made him angry. Check. Broke. Check. Sad. Check. No salary. Check. No sales. Check. Long list of checkable excuses.
Yet there is a simple solution. If women think men’s one minute is too pathetic, they should work themselves into a frenzy in superfast time so the minutes can collide and both partners can sleep off already. I think men have been and continue to be wrongfully demonised for the length of their equipment, duration of their performance, quality of their pre-performance and the justification of their much vaunted skills. It is not fair and men need to stand up for themselves. If I am done in a minute, so what? You too meet me half way and be done in 30 seconds. It takes two to tango. If you want me in it for longer than one minute, then put in the work. Whatever it takes, do it. Get ready before I come in to the picture at all. Psyche yourself and prime yourself if you must. No time to waste. Make every minute count. If it is to be, it is up to you. Leave me out of your eternal low performance condemnation. I am done. And I enjoyed it. Don’t blame me for biology. I never liked biology that much in school anyway. Your body is yours. Mine is mine. Let’s give each other the best of our one minute together. The End.
