Sometime last month, before our business closed for the year, Mimi, Jack and I were on one of those laborious drives back from Alberton, where our little costume shop supplier is based. Jack is my third and last business partner, we are a tripod and we work. The three of us man the ship that is our business and we are lucky enough to also be the best of friends. Mimi and I both agree that Jack must have been an Indian Sheik in a past life, being fed grapes by cute boys in loin cloths. He would have been running some flea market in town and keeping company with Nigerians and other swindlers. That’s Jack, he’s a hustler baby, and we smaak him just the way he is. Jack is streetwise, suave, smooth operating and straight talking (maybe the only straight thing about him) but he is also sweet, generous and a great listener. We love Jack.
It is on these long drives that we have the best of conversations and hardly any of it is related to our entertainment business. As we skirted along Louis Botha in Mimi’s A3, the shyest girl in the world turned to me (the unshyest girl in the world) and said “I need to ask you guys something”. Jack and I perked up, our ears excited to hear any form of dirty word fall out of Mimi’s lips. No one starts a sentence with the words “I need to ask you guys something” in that particular tone unless it’s going to be for juicy, sexy, raunchy advice. Just my cuppa tea.
Mimi: “When you, um... are with someone ok. And you are, you know together...”
Me: “Doing the nasty”
Jack: “Having sex”
Mimi: “No! I mean when you are...”
Me: “Giving head?”
Mimi: “Yes, that.”
Jack: “What bout it babes?”
Mimi: “Well, how long would be the right amount of time to you know...”
Jack: “Give a Blow Job”
It took me about 30 seconds of swimming in my bedroom memory bank to say. “Well, it depends... 20 – 30 minutes”. It was then that Mimi almost drove into the taxi in front of us. “What!! 20 minutes? Do you know how long that is? When we work at an event and we are on our feet for 20 minutes, that’s a long time. Wow, Your Oke is one lucky guy.” I told them that 45 minutes was being very nice but that 20 – 30 minutes was pretty standard.
Looking at Jack for reassurance he said to me “Babes, that’s very generous of you.”.
Mimi: “So then when he you know, to you...”
Me: “Well, then I expect at least 20 – 30 minutes back. I mean come on.”
While dishing out my pearls of wisdom, I realised that when it comes to bedroom behaviour, there really is no standard requirement. No set times, no recommended daily allowance, no timetable or schedule, no life expectancy. So I turned to the male version of me and asked Ed his opinion on getting ahead in the head department. His response was something to the effect of “Yeah, sure, whatever, bad head is good head and good head is great.” Eddy couldn’t give me the specifics I needed so I went straight to the source.
Later that week as we were pottering around my bedroom I asked My Oke if he agreed with my statement. He looked at me, smiled and said “Baby, you give the best head.” Sigh. There it was again, that goofy smile and lazy sexing eyes response. My research was not going so well. What is it about men? Any mention of oral sex and they turn to a bowl of awkward custard. I want answers damnit, Mimi’s felacio fling was way overdue and I needed to get the facts straight, for her sake!
On another side of the sexual spectrum I was way overdue as well. My Oke and I were buying dinner when he turned to me and said: “Hey, aren’t you on anti-biotics?” I said “Yeah, what’s your point...” and then we both looked at each other in a slight frenzied panic remembering the advice of my doctor. Oral contraception is unreliable when you are on antibiotics. Damn you chest infection. I had to have (for the first time in my life I should just say, because for the record, this little lady is super responsible with her 5th Chakra) that oh so awkward conversation with my pharmacist. I even went out of my way to a different branch so that I wouldn’t feel the burning eyes of judgement at that clinically lit counter. “Hi, I need um, to get thee uh, morning after pill”. I was handed a purple box (isn’t purple the colour of sexual frustration?) with an Italic font reading “Escapelle” (it keeps getting better doesn’t it?). And then we played the waiting game, time can go by really slowly when your waiting to not be pregnant (which thanks to my purple box of Escapelle, I am not).
Isn’t time just one of those inconvenient mysteries that we keep trying to understand when what we really need to understand is that we cannot define it or hold it or measure it up against anyone else’s hourglass. My 15 year old sister Alex and I had a long discussion about time today. If we could keep time in a bottle, or go back in time and do things over or how time didn’t wait for anyone. I thought it would be a good idea to discuss a theory I had read about in a book by Steve Harvey called: “Act like a lady, think like a man.” In this book Steve discusses how sex at the beginning of a relationship should be seen as a “benefit” much like the ones you are forfeited in a 3 month probation period when starting a job. A person has a set amount of time to prove themselves worthy and capable as a permanent employee before they are able to receive any of the company benefits like medical aid, provident funds etc. So this could (and should) be applied in a relationship, we could (and should) make our partners wait 3 months to prove themselves worthy and capable as our boyfriends before we let them into our brookies. 3 months is a long time and it made me wonder if, had I applied the theory practically in my life and my previous relationships, so many temporary employees would have been promoted to permanent staff. I told Alex that in teenage years, 3 months meant 3 years... she rolled her eyes and we both had a giggle.
So when is the timing right? For sex? For a relationship? For a blow job? I guess that for each person it’s a different clock to watch. It’s hard to trust the natural instinct we all have. The one that wants to run before we can walk, the impatient nag to throw caution to the wind and jump in or maybe for some people its a debilitating hesitation watch the second hand tick by waiting for the right moment to let their hair down. I think some people miss out on a whole lot of fantastic mistakes because they are waiting for an alarm to go off and tell them it’s ok to start living.
We waste time on failing relationships, bank cue’s, bad kissers, traffic (wow I really loath traffic), CD’s with only 1 good song on them, going to the shops to buy milk and forgetting to buy milk, home affairs, any affairs really, trying to make vegan mayonnaise and waiting for someone who’s just not that into you to call you. But every second we spend waiting or wanting or whining is there to prepare us for the next second that could be an adventure or a surprise or a great story. Call me a eclectic but I do believe there is no such thing as good timing. I believe that everything happens exactly as it should and as it was always meant to. Time is the dance floor where our favourite songs are played, where we make fools of ourselves, where we laugh and cry, where we drink cosmo’s and flirt with the DJ.