clear your diary for 30 hours, love, we’re having a go at tantric sex

More news from my Valentine’s Day gift guide, which has now been published in various media forms (despite its woeful lack of erectile dysfunction health check-ups from Bupa), leaving me at liberty to openly mock it.

One gift I included in the list – after heavy bribery – was Diddy’s latest addition to his fragrance range, the Unforgiveable Woman Bubble Bath.

I admit, my interest was piqued: what, precisely, does an Unforgiveable Woman smell like? Halibut? Wet dog? Another man’s love butter?

The answer, somewhat disappointingly, was: “a delicate fusion of the rarest ingredients: cool citrus and florals inspired by the sun-drenched Seychelles, soft notes of bergamot, orange, neroli, cassis, grapefruit, apple, cucumber and orange”. In short, like the vegetable aisle at Sainsbury’s when the air conditioning breaks.

One should never trust a man who has full-size portraits of himself hanging in his house, as my dear old Nan might have said (she was surprisingly vocal about Mr Diddy, right up until the end).

There are some men whose egos are so gargantuan that you wonder how they ever manage to walk down the street without attempting to seduce every shiny surface their eyes alight upon. Diddy, an ostentatious, self-promoting human parakeet prone to appearing in public wearing a crown, a cape and carrying a sceptre, is such a man.

Anyone who holds press conferences to announce that they’re changing their name from Sean Combs to Puff Daddy and then from Puff Daddy to P Diddy and then from P Diddy to Diddy makes a circus clown look like a credible intellectual.

Of his latest name change he said: “I felt the ‘P’ was getting between me and my fans and now we’re closer. I even started to get confused myself – when I’d called someone on the telephone it took me a long time to explain who I was. Too long. One word, five letters, period.”

Additionally, Puff/P/Daddy/Diddy/Didn’t-He? is a keen supporter of Tantric sex, a form of intimacy which utterly terrifies me on the basis that I barely have time to brush my teeth every evening, let alone commit to a sexual marathon that will forever be inextricably linked to that stool-dwelling buffoon, Sting.

Sting and Trudi Styler found their Tantric sex sessions just as exciting as ever

Trudi wondered if it was in yet

I remember a few years ago, Diddy was in Paris with the mother of his then three-month-old twins and claimed that, after a quick jaunt up the Eiffel Tower (I refer to the famous Parisian landmark, rather than a metaphor for Diddy’s manhood) he and Kim Porter had indulged in a 30-hour Tantric sex session.

Thirty hours. A day and a quarter. Four main meals. Series one, two and five episodes of series three of The Wire.

As far as I can gather, doing it Tantric style is the sexual equivalent of watching paint dry.

Under no circumstances should it be confused with Tantrum sex (after a row), Tandem sex (on a bicycle), Tandoori sex (in an oven), Tangent sex (where you break off in the middle to do something completely different) or Tanked-up sex (generally with someone regrettable), which are all far more enjoyable.

I’m not sure about you, but anything which goes on longer than an hour or so, or overruns EastEnders, or involves missing your tea is a big no-no, especially if the other half of the Tantric time trial is a bloke who can’t even remember his own name

The bubble bath was OK. I didn’t feel any desire to ‘get my sexy on’ as the blurb suggested, but I’d only used it once. By the time I get to the bottom of the bottle, a 30-hour sex session will seem like a quick foreplay session. I shall have to get my assistant to reschedule some meetings – or get video conferencing in the bedroom.


9 Responses to “clear your diary for 30 hours, love, we’re having a go at tantric sex”

  1. February 15, 2009 at 1:35 am

    In my opinion an unforgivable woman smells like freshly exploded gunpowder. Either that or like my Glenmorangie when I first get home, when I used to drink it that is . . .

    But seriously, that’s not why you called . . .

    It is better to trust a man with full size portraits of himself visible than a man who keeps one hidden in his attic which strangely looks like it was painted when he was much older than he now appears . . .. Perhaps he should have stopped Peeing on them. That would certainly make me feel like he was more approachable.

    I used to be partial to sex of any duration and thought it was a hallmark of my abilities to last longer. With age I realized that my dreams have been fulfilled only to find that sometimes it never ends and I collapse before I get to the REALLY good part. Now I would just settle for any sex that wasn’t preceded by buying myself a bunch of flowers and an intimate dinner for one.

    Oh well . . .

  2. February 15, 2009 at 2:20 am

    Gotcha. Diddy’ really into himself. I always thought that tantric sex was just a ruse the elite class could use to separate themselves from the unwashed masses, as regular sex knows no class boundaries. As if to suggest, “you are still having regular sex? Commoner. Now pass the Grey Poupon”, or something like that.

  3. 3 brucehood
    February 15, 2009 at 2:05 pm

    “love butter???” What is that or dare I ask? Does Ram sell it in the Food Here store and which counter is that, dairy or pharmacy? I think I’d rather not know. Again classic writing WIB and belated happy VD to you!

  4. 4 okathleen
    February 16, 2009 at 9:37 am

    I think I saw Sting demonstrate tantric sex once – he looked like Tigger on speed.

    Two questions:

    1 How much Viagra doth a 30 hour session make?
    2 How long can you lie back and think of England before getting bed sores?


  5. February 16, 2009 at 7:39 pm

    lol. i heard about that somewhere, and i was like yea right. you gotta take bathroom and food breaks. and if you do that, doesn’t it kind of break the tantric-ness? oh p.diddy, puffy, sean diddy, p fricken combs…

  6. February 22, 2009 at 5:20 pm

    “One should never trust a man who has full-size portraits of himself hanging in his house, as my dear old Nan might have said (she was surprisingly vocal about Mr Diddy, right up until the end)”

    Lol, the second part of that sentence could be one of the funniest things I’ve ever read on WordPress!! 🙂

    Oh, and replacing Eastenders with sex would be a VERY healthy thing. To me, that show is actively damaging to ones health, so best to give it a miss! 😉

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