Having been a bit of a tart in my youth – tending to sleep with any girl that would have me – I liked to think that in my maturity (viz. from the age of 25 onwards) I gradually grew up and became adult in my approach to relationships. In short, I became more discerning.
Gradually this shift in momentum towards ‘responsibility’ reduced my appetite for variety and adventure. At one stage, beset by a period of self-loathing, I operated a policy whereby I refused to sleep with any woman who was willing to sleep with me, simply on the basis that those women who’d be prepared to go to bed with a loser like me must be losers themselves … and why would I – or indeed anyone – want to go to bed with a loser?
Later I went right to the other end of the scale. Having determined that I was omnipotent and God’s gift to the female of the species, I decided that I should spread my seed only sparingly.
Rather than flailing around in a desperate-looking quest to bed as many women as possible for their own good (I figured), it would be best for the future of humanity if I held myself back and reserved my sexual favours for the true elite, the ‘first eleven’, if you like … rather than wasting them on the ‘second’ equivalent, or any lesser outfit.
As a result, women would then tend to regard being admitted to my boudoir as the ultimate tribute to both their sexual attractiveness and, of course, mine.
Sadly, that policy didn’t last too long. There seemed to be so few ‘first eleven’ candidates that I rarely found any that qualified – and, of those that I did locate, most were already taken. Before too many months had passed I had inadvertently made myself completely unattainable, which (as you’d expect) wasn’t the intention of the scheme at all.
Latterly, having now reached senior citizen status – as least in calendar years – I now discover that I am, to all intents and purposes, celibate.
For some reason this brings me to the topic of my bi-annual medical MOTs, in which one test is to determine the likelihood of the onset (or not) of prostate cancer.
A couple of years ago now, I recall one doctor telling me that all man are susceptible to this disease and that – in all probability – most men who die over the age of 65 will be suffering from prostate cancer (to one degree or another) in addition to whatever other primary medical illness or condition may actually cause their demise.
My father always loved to quote the observation of his uncle, a larger than life character, who insisted that the primary cause of anyone suffering from prostate cancer was that “they hadn’t had their fair share”.
I was reminded of this earlier today, when I noticed media reports on a new study, just published, by the University of Montreal which demonstrates that men who sleep with 20 or more female partners are 28% less likely to contract prostate cancer.
They were apparently also 19% less likely to suffer from aggressive forms of cancer than men who had slept with only one woman.
One of their most worrying discoveries was that celibates are at double the risk of developing prostate cancer.
Asked whether this meant public health authorities will now be encouraging men to sleep with as many women as possible, in order to protect against prostate cancer, Professor Marie-Elise Parent replied “We are not there yet”.
See here for the report on this subject by Antonia Molloy which appears today on the website of The Independent today – THE INDEPENDENT
It only remains for me to make an appeal to readers of the National Rust:
If there are any females out there over the age of consent and below the age of 80 – and otherwise sound of limb and mind – who would be willing to assist a refined gentleman in his mid-sixties stave off the onset of prostate cancer, please would they write to me (c/o the National Rust) in order to arrange an interview and then a long weekend stay at the Home Counties luxury hotel of their choice.