Dear Mr Bananas
I read with interest your post of 10th January where you described how a queen behaves. Given your knowledge of these matters, I wonder if you could answer a question which has always intrigued me.
Do posh women make posh noises when they are having sex?
I have never been able to find out for myself because I have only ever slept with prostitutes and cannot afford the high class ones.
You can check for yourself that there was absolutely nothing in that post to suggest I knew the answer to his question. Evidently, he was making unwarranted assumptions about the places I had visited and the events I had witnessed. I am sorry to say that this sort of impertinence from strangers is becoming all too common in internet communications. I sent him the following curt reply:
Dear Mr Hockey-Stick
Frankly, I resent the implication of your message that I have nothing better to do than infiltrate the bedrooms of upper class women and listen to them making love. I am a busy gorilla with affairs to manage and have no time for such frivolous activities. I suggest that you further your enquiries with the Mistress of Girton College, Cambridge.
I thought that would be the end of him, but much to my annoyance he persisted in his correspondence with the following message:
Dear Mr Bananas
You misunderstand me. I wasn’t accusing you of being a Peeping Tom. I just assumed you must have humped a few hoity-toity ladies who are into that kind of thing. You know the sort – the ones who like it rough and hairy and will pay for the privilege.
Just between us boys, couldn’t we compare notes? I have done a few things with Brazilian tarts that might interest you.
This was clearly offensive. I have never once been tempted to work as a gigolo, nor have I ever needed to. Thanks to the skills of my manager, Dr Whipsnade, my financial position has always been sound. Nor was I the least bit interested in his experiences with Brazilian tarts. The time had come to take off the gloves and give this degenerate upstart a solid smack of invective:
Damn you, Sir, I don’t know what noises they make. And if I did know, I would pickle myself in gooseberry juice before telling you.
He hasn’t bothered me anymore with his nuisance e-mails, but I am ashamed to admit that the question he raised has been pecking away at the back of my brain. You know how it is – you start the day with a pure heart and a clean conscience: then you see something that corrupts your mind. I believe that pornography works on a similar principle. Anyway, I’ve decided to put my thoughts on the issue of bedroom noises in the public domain in the hope it will act as a purgative.
In general, I imagine that posh ladies make similar – if not identical – noises to women of more humble birth. The only likely exception I can think of is Lady Penelope of Thunderbirds, who is the kind of woman who would keep her vowels under control if she were being ravished by a troupe of drunken sailors. Let us imagine that she calls Parker into her bedchamber after getting the urge of nature. Obviously, they would do it with their clothes on, Her Ladyship wearing a silk negligee to minimise the friction, and Parker wearing his chauffeur’s uniform. She would lie on her back, looking at the ceiling without blinking, while Parker would bury his face in a pillow to avoid ogling his mistress while alleviating her lust. The dialogue might go something like this:
Lady Penelope (slightly breathlessly): That’s enough rubbing, Parker, you may now proceed.
Parker: Very good, milady.
Lady Penelope: A little faster now, Parker.
Parker: Ooof! Ooof! Ooof!
Lady Penelope: Keep going Parker, we’re almost there.
Parker: Oomph! Oomph! Aaaaargh!
Lady Penelope: Ohww! Paaaaarker!
Parker (chewing on pillow): Chomp! Chomp! Charump!
Lady Penelope: Get off now Parker and hand me that box of tissues on the dresser.
Parker: Very good, milady. (Gets off Her Ladyship and mops sweaty face with chauffeur’s hat before attending to her request).
I think the key characteristic of the über-posh lady would be her ability to carry on speaking in coherent phrases for as much of the coupling as possible; and then, when her desires have been sated, to attend to her daily programme with the same grace and diligence as before.
Glad to have got that off my chest.
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