Practice Makes Perfect...
2002-11-26 . 11:42 p.m.

Maybe it's just me (okay...It is just me) but I've always wondered about professionals within the sex industry.

Does screwing for a living make you a better lay?

Imagine the scenario - you work for a company that makes toy cars. After maybe a couple of years you will have picked up a few tips'n'tricks for making those cars a little faster, a little bit more efficient than your co-workers. Some elbow grease here, a short cut there. Soon you're making better toy cars in less time. Now it must follow that in most careers, with experience comes skill. Now let's apply that theory to the sex industry. You are a hooker/porn star etc. You f*ck for a living (on the job training in it's most basic form) :

Does it follow that you are better at it? Is there some form of rating for sexual skill? If so, and you practice this on a daily (nay, hourly) basis - does this make you better in bed?

I'd like to point out at this juncture that I have never visited a prostitute. I may never do so (though the prospect gets inexorably closer as the time moves on...) but i have always wondered whether someone who screws for their business has a higher level of skill than us average mortals (well...you guys anyway). Certainly lawyers get better with age and experience and if we're being honest - no-one screws you better than a lawyer.

So. Anyway.

As Fletch says on a regular basis "We really need to get you laid..."

Certainly a couple of years back I was unstoppable (this may read like advertising - it's not). Women melted at my touch. Sex was my middle name. I was Monsieur Studmuffin. In one week alone, eight women were subject to my prowess. Over the course of four years I slept with nigh on sixty wonderful women.

But. It has been a couple of years. I said to Fletch the other day that I was so fucked up after being single so long (I haven't even kissed a girl on the cheek for a year and a half) that I have almost totally forgotten what the sexual experience is like. Shit; I know it's fun. I know it's the most wonderful expression of togetherness one can encounter. The emotional stuff is indelibly burned into my lobes. But I cannot remember the physical aspects of it.

I remember bits and pieces of the life I have led. Sometimes I was fantastic, sometimes I was awesome (hell, once I was asleep...) but I don't remember anything of it anymore. I found myself thinking yesterday how I ought to just go beating the snot out of people who have chosen celibacy. Seriously.

Celibacy. What the f*ck is that about. Well. Not much at a guess. I can think of no more romantic expression of love than to place your physical body totally at the mercy of another. Think about it. Mankind spends probably 90% of it's time clothed. Most people feel, well; "naked", when they are undressed. "Naked" can even be taken to mean defenceless. What greater expression of trust can there be than openness, nakedness, with the one you love? I have forgotten the physical aspects of lust, but as long as my mind serves me I shall never forget the emotional bond that comes with flinging away society's inhibitions of nakedness to "be" truly yourself with the one you love.

Once again, I go to sleep alone (Fletch has told me to stop pestering him) but to all those of you out there with a partner. Hug them for me. Tell them you love them. Take comfort in your nakedness together.

Then send me pictures.

(What? You didn't think I was that nice did you?)