With a casual, passing comment, made during the course of an analysis of the American presidency, the journalist Jacob Weisberg has blown the cover on the White House’s most closely guarded secret. President Bush has never been that interested in religion, apparently. What has always really fascinated him is sex.
Suddenly, the slightly distracted air that the President has worn of late is explained. He has a lot on his mind. Under pressure from publishers to produce the traditional post-presidency book, he is aware that he is not at his best when talking or, worse, writing about politics. So instead, he has returned to an old enthusiasm. During these last, lame-duck days of his presidency, he has begun work on a book provisionally entitled From Climax to Foreplay: President George W Bush’s Step-by-Step Guide to Total Erotical Pleasurement.
We asked our White House deep throat (and never has that description been more appropriate) to let us have an early glimpse of the presidential sex guide.
Foreplay. This is the bit before you get to the real business which means that it is the real business because that is where it really begins. A lot of guys think that it is called foreplay because it’s like being on the green when you’re about to play golf. You shout “Fore!” and then you give it your best shot. That is a common misconceivement. The reason why it is called foreplay is simple. It’s called that because it involves four people – you, Mr Mouse, her and her Miss Cha-Cha.
Getting undressed. Some folks believe you should get undressed before the commencement of foreplayfication. Others like to get undressed when the other person is getting dressed. It’s like the old saying says: the person that wears the trousers can choose between wearing trousers and not trousers wearing.
It’s up to you to make your own erotical choice. What I know is this. Make sure you take your clothes off in the right order. The guy whose Mr Mouse never gets to meet Miss Cha-Cha because his two legs are stuck in the same-trouser leg is never going to discover horizontal pleasurement. Here’s how it goes: shirt buttons, socks, first cowboy boot, underpants, trousers, cufflinks, second cowboy boot, jacket, Stetson.
Some ladies like guys to keep their cowboy boots on which gets into a whole new ball-game. It’s way too complicated for me, I can tell you that.
Premature evacuation. This is where things can get kinda sticky. Sometimes, while you’re getting undressed, Mr Mouse gets exciteder by Miss Cha-Cha than is strictly expropriating and is so ahead of himself that he’s finishing from the starting-blocks. That’s when he evacuates.
There’s a simple erotical technique when this happens. You say, “Uh-oh, honey. I think I just done evacuated there.” When it comes to sexual pleasurement, policy is always the best honesty.
Addictment. There’s on old saying – a feast is as good as enough said. What this means in an erotical context is that when Mr Mouse is still hungry after some snacking, that’s in the natural God-made nature of things. A man’s got to do what no man is an island. On the other hand, when Miss Cha-Cha goes crazy like some old bucking bronco on the ranch, that’s what we sexologists call symphonia.
When a guy meets a symphomaniac, he needs to grab his Stetson and get the hell out of there. Symphonia can lead to preversion and all sorts of weird unnatural positions out of that Indian sex book, the Dalai Lama, which no normal man can do, leastways with his cowboy boots on.
Honey, I’ve disinherited the kids
With an honesty bordering on the reckless, Nigella Lawson, left, who in her civilian life is also Mrs Charles Saatchi, has been talking about money and inheritance. Her children can expect no financial security from her, she says. “It ruins people not having to earn money.”
These are wise words – for all but the very idle or stupid, inheriting wealth invariably leads to dissatisfaction and underachievement – but it may not have been sensible for Lawson to be so open in her views, since her husband fundamentally disagrees with her.
Money differences are famously a cause of marital strife, and in the case of the Saatchis, a few hundred million pounds are at stake. How worrying it all is.
* A footballer can mumble inanities into a ghost-writer’s tape-recorder and be paid millions for his pains. A reality-show bimbo can be given a vast publishing advance in return for putting her name to a series of novels, and the world praises her enterprise. A children’s author can write stories which make her one of the richest women of the world, and she becomes a saintly figure for all right-thinking people. But when a successful literary novelist is discovered to be earning £80,000 to talk to students about writing and literature, it is as if some essential law of propriety and decency has been breached. Martin Amis has for decades been a lightning conductor for cultural fatuity – the teeth, the marriage, the agent – but it has been the money that he earns which has caused more silliness and prejudice than anything else. Successful actors, musicians and artists get well paid for their work. What is it about being a serious novelist which deserves a different, lower scale of payment?