Bottom fiend?

It brings a smile to my face when I hear of a woman with the tactile inclinations of a female gorilla. The latest addition to this redoubtable sorority is Bianca Revrenna, a 68-year-old “shop girl” with a penchant for slapping the buttocks of her male co-workers.

“I do that to all the boys,” she explained to a younger colleague who had the nerve to protest about a friendly smack of his undeserving rump. 

He then complained to his boss, who wisely told him to be grateful that he possessed a posterior capable of provoking such appreciation. After further bellyaching and whining, he managed to extract an apology from Ms Revrenna; but this wasn’t enough to dissuade him from quitting his job and suing his former employer for “sexual discrimination”. 

The case should be dismissed on the grounds that the plaintiff is a spoilsport and a sissy. Why couldn’t he let the old girl have her fun? If he felt his dignity had been compromised, he could have whacked her wobbly arse in return. That’s what a man with meatballs in his nutsack would have done. As any freshman law student knows, he who is groped by a woman has carte blanche to grope her back. 

When I was in the circus, I remember a clown telling me that he’d been molested by the big cat trainer, a fine lusty woman who had worked as a lifeguard before joining the circus. He alleged that she had sat on his face when he was relaxing after a show. 

“Why don’t you retaliate in kind instead of telling tales?” I said. “She won’t respect you until you do. Don’t forget she’s used to dealing with big pussies.” 

So the clown stalked her discreetly for the next few days, and eventually caught her off guard when she was bending over to pick up her lucky alligator’s tooth. He promptly buried his nose between her arse cheeks, causing her to squawk like a parrot and belly-dive onto the ground. Honour was satisfied and they became the best of friends. 

Different rules apply to inter-species fraternisation, of course. No woman has ever dared to touch my posterior without my prior consent. Maybe some were tempted, but there’s something about a gorilla’s hairy rump that intimidates the bravest of humans. Had the big cat trainer ever tried it on with me, I would have applied my weight to a fleshy part of her body until she agreed to write me an apology note. I’ve learned enough about humans to know that talk is cheap – you can’t hold them to anything unless you’ve got it in writing. 

Humans who want to pet their primate cousins should try their luck with orang-utans rather than gorillas or chimps. Scientists have discovered that they and humans share genetic traits which other primates don’t have. Presumably these include red hair and sexual perversion. Do you remember Clyde, the man-friendly orang-utan who starred alongside Clint Eastwood in Every Which Way But Loose? That saucy ape was always sticking his paw in places it didn’t belong. And he lived with Clint’s mother too. There is no way an orang-utan would shack up with an elderly woman unless something devilishly kinky was going on. 

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A piglet squeals

I’m going to nominate Britney Spears’ former bodyguard for the ‘Sissy of the Year’ award. He has recently been telling tales about Britney in court, claiming that she pranced around naked and made him watch her play with herself. He believes this entitles him to sue her for “sexual harassment” and obtain ridiculous damages. If I were Britney’s lawyer, I would ask the jury one simple question: How could a man who protects people for a living behave like such a snivelling wuss? 

Now I don’t dispute that Britney did behave like a sex-crazed vixen in need of a good seeing to. One wouldn’t expect anything different from the woman. Nor am I saying that the fellow should have jumped on top of her the minute she wiggled her naked butt-cheeks – that sort of behaviour is for the goats and baboons. But a man who expects to be financially compensated for being propositioned by a nubile woman has forfeited the right to own a pair of testicles. 

There is always a polite way of declining a woman’s favours without making her feel like a heifer whose udders are unfit for milking. When holidaying in England, a few years ago, I had the privilege of reading the memoirs of Lieutenant Cornelius Wagstaff of the Royal Navy, whose journal was an heirloom in a stately home I visited. In its pages, there is a description of an incident that occurred during shore leave in Naples, when the Contessa di Napoli invited Wagstaff to her palace to examine some artefacts of the late Lady Hamilton. 

When Wagstaff arrived, he found a home empty of servants apart from a maid, who gave him directions to the Contessa’s bedchamber before leaving herself. On arriving, he found that both the door and the Contessa were wide open. As the latter sprawled naked on her bed, arching her back like a pussycat about to be stroked, she addressed her guest as follows: 

“Here I am and this is what I offer you.” 

Like a true officer of the King’s Navy, Wagstaff composed himself before responding to the challenge of an enemy vessel. Taking a deep breath, he said: 

“My lady! Your body is an exquisite temptation which causes my sturdy loins to surge with manly desire. Yet I cannot succumb, for I am betrothed to a woman who at this very moment clasps my portrait to her tender, yearning bosom!” 

“I see,” said the Contessa. “Shall I dress and show you the palace?” 

Wagstaff chewed his lip and frowned before replying to this question: 

“Rather than dressing, my lady, let me join you in your unveiled simplicity as we tour this majestic domicile, that you may witness your effect on my manhood. You have shown me yours, so I must show you mine.” 

So the Lieutenant and the Contessa walked around the palace as innocently and as nakedly as Adam and Eve on their first day in Paradise. The Contessa was satisfied that her physical charms had not been scorned, and Wagstaff had turned what might have been an untoward incident into a triumph for British diplomacy. 

Is there a man alive today with the manners and discretion of Lieutenant Cornelius Wagstaff?

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