Kinky
Jeffrey Bernard
A castaway review copy of a pretty ridiculous book has fallen into my hands, namely The Intimate Sex Lives of Famous' People. It was written by God only knows how many people who previously produced The Book of Lists, and what's puzzling me is how the hell and where on earth did these people get their information from? For example, they inform us that Edward VIII had a pathetically small penis and that he was also a pretty lousy lover. Did they any of them see it or try him out? Obviously it can't be hard to get information about the sexual proclivities of someone like Marilyn Monroe because there are still so many people about who knew her and experienced her, but the Duke of Windsor? Come off it. W. C. Fields it seems, was impotent — too much booze — but Victor Hugo was at It day and night. Joan Crawford screwed her way to the top and Charlie Chaplin was quite obviously an absolute shit as far as women went. Charles II was known as Old Rowley not because he frequented Newmarket so much but because naked he was said to resemble a famous stallion of that name. So it goes on. Napoleon was a disappointment in every department and Swinburne plainly ridiculous. I quite liked W. C. Fields saying, 'I like women. They're like elephants. Good to look at but I wouldn't want to own one.' Adelena Patti had an affair with a midget and Mark Twain liked extremely young girls. Mozart, of all people, indulged in coprophilia.
Dear, oh dear. I never realised I was so boringly straight, liking as I do deeply attractive women who adore me — a pretty rare breed I can tell you. Come to think of it, so rare, it might actually be a perversion. Unlike Brahms I don't run away when they say 'yes', and anyway I haven't got enough loot to run to a brothel like he did. I haven't got a chandelier to swing from and to try it from an anglepoise would be foolhardy. I have got an iron though. You know about the strange Parisian with his electric iron? He had it suspended from the ceiling above his bed and he'd lower it on to his bare stomach — his idea of fun — until he could bear the pain no more. Then he'd pull on the line and tie off until he'd recovered and was in need of further stimulation. Well, one day the iron shorted and the poor chap was electrocuted. The iron eventually went through him, through the bed and came to rest in the room beneath. What a way to run a hotel. Another dangerous escapade becoming increasingly popular according to forensic scientists is cavorting in a plastic bag. It's quite amazing what turns some People on; not shocking, you understand, just extraordinary.
The idea of being hung upside down and bombarded with cream cakes strikes me as being a savage waste of food as well as being expensive. These people must be extremely lucky if they can ever find those Who don't need cash to cooperate. Hence a lack of strange goings on as a rule among the working classes. Just suppose you could Only have an orgasm if you had caviar thrown at you. And talking of food, what about the pickle factory incident? I know a man who after a party took a girl out to go in. search of a place to perform the deed. Slightly drunk, they found themselves in this pickle factory where attempting what's known as a 'knee trembler' he fell into a vat of chutney and nearly drowned. I believe the same thing has happened in breweries — another good reason for sticking to vodka. Yes, location is frightfully important to some people and they say air hostesses on some of the long haul flights have to tear couples apart. Cars are as Popular as ever, not quite so dangerous since the introduction of the station wagon, but quite embarrassing when you remember the case of the woman whose partner got her leg stuck in the steering wheel and then had to summon the police to extricate her. Which reminds me. Does having had it in an Austin Seven date one, d'you think?
Probably the oddest location must be the nick. Lucky too for those therein who can swing it. An acquaintance of mine who was once doing a little time in Pentonville was sent one day with five other lags to Holloway Prison as a working party to do a little painting and decorating. After a week's work they were quite shattered. After reading about the sex lives of famous people I'm quite shattered. Reassured too.
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