STRETCHY, sultry days, shady trees and cool pools deliciously conspired to present me with plenty of time to read over the summer break. And the one book which stood out from the copious tomes which crossed my path was this one: A Young Man’s Guide to Getting Some – How To Win The Girl of your Dreams with Respect and Class in the Age of Sexting and Swiping. Why on earth would a mature woman read a book about young men “getting some”? Read on…
Cleverly penned by Sydney freelance writer Malcolm Chenu, this book not only offers sage advice to young men in the murky age of digital dating, but reminds women, like me, of how they should be treated. The fact it’s written by a bloke makes it even more powerful and was inspired by Chenu’s desire to “make the world a nicer place” and “to remind people that chemistry is built in person rather than on screen.”
On top of this, it’s funny. Really, bloody funny, and reminds us all that dating is sloppy, embarrassing and generally pretty humiliating, and the best bet is to learn to laugh at ourselves, while treating others with respect. Chenu packs a comedy punch early and often, with gems such as: “So, what’s the secret to getting some?…Showing more style and less butt crack; listening to her even when she talks during the footy; offering a foot massage without thinking it’s foreplay.”
Pornography, he reminds us, is not real life. “Putting aside the risk of repetitive strain injury, the main problem with virtual sex is it’s not getting you virtually anywhere. Your goal is not to become a lonely – albeit highly-skilled – masturbator. At its core, pornography is abuse. Women’s sexuality does not exist for the gratification for men.” Which leads us to the penis, in which case, Chenu reminds readers that “no means no”. He also tells young men not to fixate about their “wang”. “There are three-and-a-half billion meat swords in the world and yours is not the biggest, smallest or prettiest. She doesn’t care nearly as much about Mr Winky as you do”.
On the subject of sexting, Chenu sits firmly in the “no” camp. Reminding readers of the difference between flirting and being an electronic “arsehole”. And under no circumstances, should you send dick pics. Nor, ask for nudes, he proffers. One of my favourite pieces of advice occurs mid-way through this 111-page book, in which Chenu offers similar advice to that which I give my male friends when it comes to dating. And that is, women’s HAIR is everything. I have always told my male mates that women spend an ENORMOUS amount of time and money on their hair. Appreciate it. Chenu’s advice is sound: “Women wear fabulous shoes to impress other women and great hair to impress men…which is ironic as you are more interested in the bits in between.”
This ballsy book offers loads of practical advice including the Do’s and Don’ts of Date Dining; Courting Tips; How to be a Caring Lover; and even ventures bravely into the torrid waters of What Women Want. Other favourite chapters include advice on how to break up but remain classy; and reminds men that they are feminists too. At the end of this rollicking read, you’ll find a list of Basic Do’s and Don’ts. Buy this book for your sons, buy it for your daughters, and read it for yourself.
Published by New Holland, one suspects this gorgeous guide won’t be the last for Chenu, who, when not making the world a better place through this delicious dating advice, contributes regularly to Traveller in the Sydney Morning Herald, QantasLink magazine, and various other travel publications. I’d love to see this worldly wisdom spiralling into a series of similar books. In a country where our domestic violence and other abuse rates of women are disturbingly high, Chenu has ventured where few Aussie blokes dare to go. Into the corner of women, by reminding men that enough is enough. The fact he manages to do this with such humour, humility and heart, makes him an author to watch.
FOR those of you who have been hiding under a rock or overseas this week, and believe me, you’ve been very, very lucky, news broke that Queensland Parliamentary Ethics Committee Chairman Peter Dowling has been caught with his pants down. And by this we don’t mean unable to answer a Dorothy Dixer. Well, there was a dixer, but not the Aussie slang for a pre-arranged question by a member of his own side to which I refer. We mean a bloke who thought it was acceptable to cheat on his wife. And as if that’s not bad enough, he decided to sext his mistress using tawdry techniques such as sending her a picture of his penis…dipped in a glass of wine.
Please don’t get me wrong. I love a bit of wine and on occasion I have also been known to appreciate a penis, but from where I’m sitting, the two just don’t go together, no matter how many salted peanuts you’ve had beforehand. Which leads me to wonder: what, exactly, was going through this politician’s head? (And I don’t mean the one in the wine glass).
Are you just sitting in the Parliamentary Annex one night, a bit lonely and tired from reading about this crazy business we like to call ethics here in Queensland, and you think, mmm, I might put just my penis in my Pinot? Were the showers not working? And what the hell did the caption say on the text? “Thirsty?” Worst of all, given he was texting this, it means he was on his own (hopefully, or some parliamentary secretary is being severely underpaid) and therefore was then going to drink that same glass of wine. As a male friend pointed out, “mmmm, nutty undertones.”
At this stage I have to confess no matter how drunk or stupid I have been, I have never, ever possessed the desire to put my vagina in my Verdelho. I’m not even sure how that works. And the fact he not only did this, but then sent a picture of his sausage in his Shiraz, is almost enough to put me off wine for life. On the upside, at least it didn’t fit in a shot glass. On the downside, if you were really trying to impress the mistress you strange, weird, little man, you might have chosen something more impressive – like a brandy balloon.
In those heady few years after my divorce I dated a lot of men and suffice to say, I was sent plenty of unsolicited photos of penises which always baffled me. It was a bit like running an online butcher shop. Did they not realise how ridiculous their schnitzel looks attached to their body, let alone unattached in a text message? Talk about laugh with my gay boy friends at the penis owner’s expense. At one stage, I had so many snaps of schlong of my phone I thought about staging an abstract art exhibition: Creatures from the Deep.
Apart from the abhorrent act of cheating on his wife, and his obvious lack of imagination, is the fact that apparently Queensland tax payers have been footing his affair. Which is kind of interesting. Last month I was out in Queensland wine country doing a series of stories on what a consortium of wine makers call their Strange Birds wines. Many wineries are starting to plant and harvest some of the exotic Italian varieties which are better suited to the Queensland climate. Think Tempranillo, Sangiovese, Barbero, Nebbiolo. And they are indeed top drops being produced by innovative, intelligent and hard-working wine makers.
Unfortunately what’s not so tops is the thought of a Queensland politician dipping his nib in my Nebbiolo or his testicles in my Tempranillo. Peter Dowling, get out of my Parliament, get down on your knees and beg your wife and the tax payers of Queensland for forgiveness. (Please, please, just don’t send me a bottle of wine). And for God’s sake man, keep your wiener out of my vino.
The Global Goddess makes no apologies for any egos which have been bruised in the compilation of this post.