MAIL & GUARDIAN REPORTER, Johannesburg | Friday
SOUTH African husbands, partners or lovers would probably have loved to be a fly on the wall on the Park Hyatt hotel ballroom in Rosebank, Johannesburg, on Tuesday night. The conversation over the foie gras and wine was positively scandalous.
“Oh my God!” shrieked a woman standing near a table laden with guacamole and samoosas. Her companions joined in with bursts of laughter.
“A vibrator?” a middle-aged, heavily made-up and puzzled lady asked of nobody in particular. And the tail end of what was a lively discussion: “… He just never does it anymore!”
The goings-on in the ballroom generated a great deal of interest. In the lift up to the hotel lobby, a silver-haired man enquired: “Do you know what this ‘Romancing the Stone’ workshop is about?” In a grim prediction for the workshop participants who had men waiting back home, his guffaws were loud when he was told it was a sex workshop.
The nervous gatherings near the buffet were indication enough why such a workshop was necessary. Women are afraid to speak about sex and their sexual needs with their partners. Discussing fellatio in the presence of strangers may be easier.
The women came to learn the intricacies of how to keep their men interested or to get them interested again. They forked out R250 to “take the bull by the horn”.
“Why not, its exciting to learn something new!” says a woman from Edenvale, who refused (like nearly all do) to give her name.
The woman who started it all, Ali Murray, hit the headlines earlier this year when she told the world that her husband-to-be had fallen in love with her all over again after she learned to lap-dance.
Solving her bedroom woes spurred Murray into offering lessons for similarly positioned women, including massage technique, dancing and personal fitness advice. The workshop centered around what women have to do to fend off Mother Nature.
“Let’s face it, ladies, we are getting older,” one speaker told the crowd.
The renowned sexologist, “Dr Eve” was true to form. To enthusiastic applause and whistles, she encouraged women to reclaim their bodies and freely express their sexual desires. Of course, the somewhat scabrous tone of the discussion, what with all the talk of “cunt power”, had many tittering nervously behind wedding-ringed hands.
But the women’s confidence grew as the night wore on, with the subjects hotting up somewhat, like how to properly administer just the right amount of Tiger Balm to the tip of a penis to drive a man wild.
The workshop was clearly a success, judging from the confidence the women had by the end of the evening (helped by the red wine) to get on the stage and lap-dance, wobbly stomachs and all.
During question time, the numbers of hands up increased. “Is it normal for my feet to heat up during orgasm?” asked a young black woman.
And the lap-dancing session, performed by Murray in a maid’s uniform, had the women roaring in approval.
“I can’t wait to get home to my husband and show him what I’ve learned,” one woman enthused afterwards. “Did she say lavender or almond, or both?” Two more exchanged notes over their new-found aromatherapy massage skills.
But diversifying one’s sex life is undoubtedly necessary for its survival.
But before the country’s women go rushing out to buy a cat-o’-nine-tails, a few hints: Cooking dinner naked could be disastrous if you’re short-sighted, have elongated breasts, or are frying food. Only send a pornographic e-mail or SMS if you are sure your man is the only one who will see it. If he’s not turned on by lacy knickers but rather, say, multiple amputees – head for the exit.