Friday Night is very much love-night for the Irish man. Arriving back from the pub, having partaken of the traditional Irish aphrodisiac—12 pints of Guinness, and some fish and chips, his mind set on one thing… LOVE! Or as he says himself “the ride.” His lust, at fever pitch, after the sensuous excitement of a hard night’s dominoes, he approaches his beloved wife, enticing her with gentle words of passion… “Any chance of me hole then love?” The good lady in question perhaps over excited by the erotic smell of Guinness or the sensuous vision of chips sticking to his chin, is at first somewhat reluctant. This coy reluctance is expressed with the flirtatious “Would ye ever fuck off!”
Foreplay is very important indeed. This basically consists of the male, whipping off his slightly soiled Y fronts provocatively at his wife, that usually land skid-mark side down, as he approaches the bed gyrating with one hand on his ip and the other on the back of his head, singing the ancient Gaelic fertility chant “Here we go, here we go, here we go.” Upon reaching the bed he comments proudly on this rampant 8 incher. This is a classic example of alcohol-induced double vision.
After 12 pints, sometimes the man’s old Willie Winkie is a trifle reluctant to extend itself (literally). Impotence is very much a blow to the man’s self esteem and the wife has to be very tactful. She will offer gentle and sensitive words of encouragement such as “Ye useless bastard, ye” or possibly “It never happens to the Milkman”. Oral sex is a great favorite of the Irishman. He approaches his wife with a cheeky invitation, “How’d ye like to put your teeth round dis?” The woman nods willingly and points suggestively to her falsies smiling happily in a bedside tumbler. “Go on then,” she says, “but don’t disturb me.”
DOWN TO BUSINESS
Eventually the moment comes to consummate their tender love. Again alcohol-induced double vision is an important factor as the man decides which of his willies to use for penetration. Sometimes in his excitement as he moves into his position he may suffer from severe premature ejaculation. A phenomenon he explains to his wife using the poetic phrase “Oh fuck, I’ve shot me load.” If this does occur it is essential he makes up for disappointing his wife by uttering tender and loving compliments such as, perhaps, informing her she’s the nicest woman he’s ever come across. An imaginative lover, the Irishman, possibly having read the woman likes to be spoken dirty to, says such things as “shite, arsehole.” The woman is speechless. The man is now thrusting away, his mind a kaleidoscope of jumbled erotic thoughts. The woman wonders if they should repaint the ceiling. Sometimes she utters a word of encouragement such as “Are you sure it’s in?” Given his level sexual expertise the Irishman’s ideal partner should be a versatile lover specializing in the faked orgasm. This takes the form of a breathless shout “Ooyah, ooyah, Big Boy.” Eventually it’s all over. The man roles over, falls asleep and commences snoring like a pig. There’s no one in the world performs quite like an Irishman—veritable prince in the kingdom of sex.