Can you tell the off-season has begun in the Niagara Falls hospitality biz?
But seriously, no, scratch that, nothing about this post is going to be serious in tone. Though you may find some information that could prove beneficial at some point in the future, this is my attempt at adult humor and more importantly, it’s my answer to eleven hours a day of soul-crushing boredom.
And it began with a call (one of the few I’ve done this week) that introduced me to a young couple from Boston who were anything but romantic to each other as they left the hotel, their duffel bags, laundry basket, beer cooler and six pairs of shoes (still in the boxes) and myself and my trusty cart, of course, in tow. How cold were they to one another, you ask?
“Don’t get to close to her in the elevator, buddy, or your nuts will freeze off!” was his whispered greeting to me as he made his way out of the room immediately after answering the door. He was a brawny Mark Wahlberg clone and she was Taylor Swift’s slightly older, shorter sister. I find comparing guests to celebrities helps my readers form a mental picture without jeopardizing guest privacy. You’re welcome.
Sure enough, she was silent as I loaded up their belongings and we made our way to the elevator for what I knew was going to be the longest trip ever down from the fiftieth floor.
And boy, was I ever right for once.
She gave off wave after wave of hostility until he couldn’t take it anymore and he whispered, “I’m sorry, but it’s not really my fault, all right? Sometimes a guy just fires off way early! It happens to everyone!” And then, right after he said that, my Spidey sense began to tingle and he turned to me and said, “Right, boss?”
They both stared at me as the Jeopardy theme rang out in my head. Fortunately, the elevator doors opened at that moment and she took off like a sexually-frustrated race horse. I merely shrugged at her-not-quite-up-to-the-task lover and we headed off to the valet deck where they both adopted the silent treatment as I loaded their Tiguan, snatched a meager tip from Wannabe Wahlberg and got out of Dodge as fast as I could.
And then the wheels started slowly turning…
So here now is The Hook’s version of…
The Gentleman’s Guide To Premature Ejaculation!
I felt the slammer was appropriate considering the shock that often follows this act. At any rate, here are a few tips for those of you who barely make it past the tip…
ONE) Never, ever, under any circumstances… blame your partner! These things do indeed happen to everyone from time to time and while the situation sucks as horribly as a blind hooker, the last thing a man should do is pin the blame on his partner. Doing so just makes a bad situation even worse.
A true gentleman will avoid using phrases/excuses like:
“I couldn’t help it! You’re too damn sexy… you sexy bitch!”
“Seriously, this is your fault.”
“You shouldn’t have sprung those new moves on me; my body reacted on it’s own.”
“Scientific studies have proven the penis has a will of it’s own… so this was literally out of my hands.”
“Once you said ‘Yes’, I was pretty much done…”
“It’s against my religion to copulate longer than forty-five seconds, so…”
“You pushed me past the point of no return with your whore talk, like, ‘You’re on my hair’ and ‘That’s my belly button, not my cha cha’.
TWO) Pace yourself,Lightning McSteam! Coitus should be a marathon not a sprint. What’s the point in begging for hours if the whole thing is going to be over in five minutes? Take your time. Savor your partner’s form; their shoulders, neck, and spleen. Undress each other or put more clothing on if you’re into that sort of thing.
Just be sure to make the most of the whole thing. I once knew a girl whose boyfriend showered her with four hours of foreplay. Every. Single. Time.
Granted, this is extreme on a Trumpian scale but you get the point, right? She was one happy chick in the bedroom. Though after four hours of foreplay I imagine the actual penetration component of the encounter was explosive, to say the least…
THREE) Switching things up can make all the difference in the world. Move around, not like the Tasmanian Devil but in a measured manner. Enjoy yourself but do so in a variety of positions, thus allowing your body to cool down for a few minutes at a time. You’re no doubt thinking, “Does this actually work, Hook?” I’ve been married for twenty-three years, what do you think?
FOUR) Shy away from “Miracle Cures”. Viagra. Plastic rings that snap around your “Lil buddy” like a boa constrictor. There are a million snake oil salesmen out there who would love to sell you a million tonics, devices, pharmaceuticals and others miracle cures, but a true gentleman will own his issues and deal with them on his own. Besides, every “cure” has a nasty side effect or ten.
I once knew a guy from the hood (or what passes for the hood in Toronto) who decided applying numbing spray to his member would allow him to “bust it with his ho all night.” (His words, obviously.) And so he spritzed away. Problem was, his lady friend decided to do something many females shy away from unless it’s their man’s birthday (or they’re getting paid). A short while later, she began to choke. And not for the reason you’re envisioning…
Turns out the spray froze her throat and she nearly died. Needless to say, that pretty much sucked the romance out of the evening.
FIVE) Accept the situation, adapt and move on. Getting angry with yourself or your partner won’t help. Cursing God won’t help. The only thing that actually does help is to own up to your mortality, try to lighten the mood with some levity (“At least you won’t have to worry about getting tired, right, baby?”) and as I’ve said, move on with your life.
A gentleman will make it up to his partner with flowers the next day, or a nice meal. Or if you’re married, you can clean the bathroom or do the dishes for a week. (Wives love that stuff.)
And that, my friends, concludes this lesson in etiquette. I hope I’ve offered up some tidbits that were both entertaining and helpful. I tried to make this post last as long as possible…
See you in the lobby, kids…