Archives for : February2016

So you are a married woman.Is sex a chore or a pleasure?

Pair of underpants and pair of knickers on washing line

Pair of underpants and pair of knickers on washing line


Okay, let’s break it down: Sex, bonking, nookie, quickies, porking and poking, to a married woman, sometimes feels like a chore, a task, another domestic duty. It’s just something else a monogamous woman has to add to her mental, emotional and physical list of ‘pleasing’ others. It’s neither fun nor painful but just .. well.. just plain annoying, kinda like having to feed the kids. Every. Single. Damn. Night.

Rumpy-pumpy with an eager-to-please partner can be considered much like an internal examination, except it’s not happening every two years, it’s expected daily, twice daily for some! The type of internal I am discussing here is where a doctor, regardless of gender, shoves their hand ‘up there’ and cops a good feel for their own (medical) satisfaction. The only difference between doctor and hubby’s styles is that the doctor is looking for anomalies, concerned for your health and wellbeing, while the husband is frantically searching for the exclusive (and elusive) G-Spot, concerned for his sexual prowess and masterful carnal abilities. Nope, that’s not it, Sweetie. You’ve gone too far and now you’re scratching the back of my tonsils.

It’s during these ‘internals’ with your man that you are likely to be flat on your back thinking “Are you done yet?” Or disapproving your sharp non manicured fingernails, or even after a few long minutes of thrusting you begin the desperate and silent prayer for one of the kids to wake up so he will have to hurry the f**k up and finish off.

Sex can sometimes mean your lady bits get rubbed like your man is polishing silverware. Really tarnished silverware. A really tarnished silver lamp. A really tarnished silver Genie lamp. Furiously rubbing that special lamp to make a magical Genie appear.. from your vagina. Sometimes you wish that Vulva Genie would indeed appear so you could make your three wishes — the first: that he stops rubbing you before he chafes your pubic bone.

Sometimes sex involves lots of kissing like they do in the movies. Except it’s actually reality f**ktard and your breath smells foul. And why do all this licking and kissing caper when your baby momma has just showered. Gross! So you’re now covered in saliva! Second wish: breath mints and a cold shower — for him!

Sometimes, in the lead up to sex, your husband’s version of foreplay (which goes on all day) is a slap on the arse, a grope of the tits, a few rotatory swings of his dick and a suggestively asked question “So, how ’bout it?” Wish three: f**k off!

For the small group of women that I know and can have these intimate discussions with, this all seems relatively normal. Normal to rate sex and chores at the same level — especially during a long-term relationship.

But I don’t dare speak for all women, because I happen to personally know a few exceptions to this and they are real life, everyday women who are just absolutely crazy for a bit of horizontal hula. They’d be balls deep all day with their husbands if they didn’t have to work or eat or feed the fruit of their pounding loins. They’re like rabbits on viagra, they can’t get enough of the salami feeding the kitty! God bless their raging meat-loving pussies! For me, though, sometimes I’d rather just go ahead and poke myself… in the eye… with an actual salami.

Hey, while we are talking poking, here’s a good tip to all men out there — when a woman says “make it quick” — mate, you need to move that broomstick like a lightning bolt, alright?! In-out, in-out, roasted? Good now get off us, we got shit to do.

Sex isn’t like in the movies, and the only time it is remotely close to that passionate and consensual ecstasy is in your dreams… with Channing Tatum… and sometimes his wife. Sex is an avoidance. It’s women sneaking into bed, usually unsuccessfully, because even though he doesn’t hear the kids cry at night he can certainly hear the non-existent purr of your pussy.

So many men whine about their wives not ‘putting out’ enough, but — hey, Princess — put out the washing, put the kids to bed, put your dick back in your pants and maybe we might consider putting out more often. But, hey, probs not.

Disclaimer: I love my husband, and in Australia he’d be known as a “decent shag”. He’s not selfish in the bedroom and likes to please, which is sometimes his downfall coz when you’re not in the mood and he wants you to be in the mood things can really drag on. My husband hangs out the washing, bathes the little kids, runs the big kids to sports, he does get up at nighttime and he always puts the little kids to bed at night when he’s home. If only he could learn that slapping his willy on the end of the bed isn’t considered “foreplay” and maybe understand that dicks are ugly no matter which angle you look at them, but more so when they are doing a helicopter trick in front of you. In all honesty, most days I am actually very sexually attracted to my husband, he is handsome and funny and would do anything for me and sex is love and I love him immensely… Then he starts chewing and then I just want to slap him across the face. Love you, Sweetie xx


Henry Sapiecha

Attached Women Smoke Less & R In ‘Healthier Weight Range’: Heart Report shows

loving couples image

Women in relationships eat more fruit and vegetables and are less likely to be overweight or smoke than single females, a new survey has found.

The Heart Foundation survey, released Saturday, polled 6,025 Australians aged between 30 and 65, and looked at the clinical and lifestyle risk factors for developing heart disease. It surveyed people in a relationship (married and defacto) and those not in a relationship (single, widowed, divorced and separated).

“The data found women in a relationship fared better in many of the key risk factors, with more women eating their fruit and veg, more in a healthy weight range, more having normal blood pressure and cholesterol levels, and less women smoking than their single counterparts,” the Heart Foundation said.


Women in relationships rate better on a number of health risk factors.
Twenty percent of single women polled smoked, compared to just 11.8 percent of women in couples, while 61 percent of single females were overweight or obese compared to 54 percent of those coupled-up.

The survey found 7.4 percent of single respondents were at a high risk of having a heart attack, compared to 6 percent for women in couples.

For men, the results were mixed, with the survey finding men in relationships ate better and smoked less, but were more likely to be overweight and were at a higher risk of heart attack.

Heart Foundation national chief executive, professor Garry Jennings, said in heterosexual couples men were generally less healthy.

“If we look solely at couples, men aren’t as healthy as their female partners, with women healthier in almost every aspect,” Jennings said.

Couple relaxing in bedroom

Couple relaxing in bedroom

“It is bad news. The reality is that men are two times more likely to have been told by their doctor that they are at high risk of having heart attack than women.

“Men need to start getting their act together if they’re to live a long and healthy life.”

The release of the survey comes as the Heart Foundation holds its annual Lock in the Love campaign for heart disease research and patient support in Melbourne.

couple run in park-image

The foundation is encouraging people to buy a lock for $10 and attach it to the heart installations at Queensbridge Square or Collins Square in the CBD, NewsCorp Australia reports.

Heart disease is said to be the single biggest killer of Australians, claiming 20,000 lives each year. (6)

Henry Sapiecha

I Cannot Sleep With My Husband


It was 1996. We still made mix-tapes for lovers and friends, wore floral dresses and baggy second-hand corduroys, clomped into cafes in our Blundstone boots and wept in the cinema over The English Patient. Within two weeks of meeting the man who would become my husband, I welcomed him into my home and my messy, unmade bed. And I’m not talking about the passionate, all-encompassing sex of those first days, weeks and months together. I’m talking the hard yards. Sleeping together. Staying over. All night.

The first night he snored. I turned over and tried to ignore it. I was in the first flush of new love — I would have forgiven anything. The second night he spent with me, I nudged him gently and whispered. The third night, I pinched the bridge of his nose — not as hard as I would have liked to — and he woke in a panic, spluttering. I pretended I was fast asleep.

We tried everything after that: buckwheat pillows, essential oils, rain recordings, elevating the head of the bed, buying dust-mite mattress protectors, cutting out dairy, alcohol, caffeine and grains. He subjected himself to a sleep clinic at the hospital, wired up to monitors, and even bought a CPAP machine that made him sound like a cross between Darth Vader and a vacuum cleaner. The snoring was preferable.

Since then, we’ve discovered that he has inherited a genetic narrowing of the throat. The more exhausted he is, the more he snores. Thus, we are blissfully happy sleeping deeply together on trips and holidays, when we’re both rested and free from alarms and schedules. But in the daily grind of work, school runs and hurried evening meals, sleeping together — and actually getting some sleep — is a triumph of negotiation and goodwill.

I’ve thought a lot about sleep in my time. How much I love it, why I always want more, the way naps during the day can be more delicious than meltingly-dark organic chocolate. I know that going to bed and waking up at the same time each day (including weekends) can improve sleep quality, duration and even impact depression and weight loss. The latest research shows a stronger link between lack of sleep and obesity than any dietary factor.

My night-time fantasies are not your run-of-the-mill. I ruminate on how nice it would be to go to bed with the sunset, without electric lights or screens, and wake in the pre-dawn each morning, ready to greet the new day. To sleep longer in winter, and be livelier in the summer months, in rhythm with the seasonal dance of light and dark.

So what next? It’s difficult to give up the dream of the marital bed. In our culture, the symbolism of the parental retreat, of sacred privacy away from children and domestic routines, is as monolithic as our myth of romantic love that lasts a lifetime. In our house we now have many beds, some king-sized, others single, and we swap and change according to weather, mood, snoring level and tolerance.

The phenomenon of couples sleeping alone, away from children, family members and animals, is relatively recent. In pre-Victorian times, especially among rural dwellers, the whole family slept side by side, for safety and to conserve heat. My own mother, growing up in a 1940s Greek village, slept with her parents, siblings and grandparents on mats near the fire, in a loft-like room above the stable where the goats and sheep were housed for the night. Imagine the snoring!

Biphasic sleep in winter was also common before the 1800s, when the time after the ‘first sleep’ and before the ‘second sleep’ was typically used for prayer, religious study or contemplation by the upper classes, and for sex, drinking and talk by the lower echelons. There’s something compelling about an in-between time where dreams, thoughts and conversation would flow into each other in the candlelight.

I must admit, I miss the nightly routine my husband and I have perfected over the years. I miss the male largeness of his body next to mine, the big hands, the scent of just-shampooed hair. That precious time in the dark, between the day’s events and the emptiness of the night, when ideas and emotions we often dismiss are opened up, explored. I miss pressing the sole of my foot against his bony shin, splaying open my toes, as I drift further into sleep. Or the way he can tell me all the details of my dreams, gleaned from my sleep-talking, when we wake together to see the eastern light dusting our bedroom curtains with its shimmer.

But now I just wake a little earlier and visit him in the mornings. And in some ways, that can be even better.


Henry Sapiecha

The Forgotten History of Women’s Football

Several women’s football leagues formed during the 20th century—one from the 1930s even became a national sensation—but they’re barely remembered today

women in football old time images

This season, to much media acclaim, the National Football League hired its first female referee and two female coaches (one intern and one full-time). Considering the attention these additions generated, one could be forgiven for thinking that women were just beginning to get into the sport at any professional level. But in the period between World War I and II, a women’s football league was nearly popular enough to become mainstream entertainment.

Little is known about this short-lived women’s football craze. What remains are the photographs of players from Los Angeles that appeared in two national magazines: first Life in November 1939, then Click the following January. The black-and-white photos showed tough-looking women dressed in full football uniforms, including helmets, pants and shoulder pads. The magazine articles provided hardly any information about these pioneering athletes, though, other than assuring readers that they played “hard, fast” regulation tackle football.

Who were these women, and why did their football league disappear after only one season, despite the Click article’s assertion that it would be expanding nationwide the next fall? Many might assume that public disapproval was to blame. “There was an identification of football with masculinity, much like boxing or wrestling. For women to be playing it would have been seen as an extreme violation of the gender norms,” says football historian Michael Oriard, who mentions the Los Angeles players in his 2004 book King Football. There may be a different explanation for the league’s demise, though, one that has more to do with the women themselves.

My first clue was one of the teams referred in the Life article: the Marshall-Clampett Amazons. I had come across a Marshall-Clampett fastpitch softball team from Los Angeles while researching my book on the history of the sport (the team was named after its car dealership sponsor). A search of the California newspaper archives turned up an article in the Palm Springs Desert Sun that confirmed the Marshall-Clampett football and softball teams were not only related but were, in fact, the same team—the football players featured in the Life article were actually softball players first and foremost.

It’s likely that the three other teams in the Los Angeles women’s football league were composed of softball players, too. In a 2013 blog post, Melitas Forster, a former Marshall-Clampett player, recalled that a softball promoter had organized the football league. Women’s softball was extremely popular in the late 1930s, especially in Los Angeles, where Hollywood celebrities attended games. The same Desert Sun article discussed a charity softball game between the team and a men’s squad that included silent film star Buster Keaton. (Incidentally, the Marshall-Clampett players wound up defeating Buster Keaton’s Palm Springs team, 5-4.) The women’s football games appear to have been an attempt to capitalize on this popularity and extend ticket sales from fall, when the softball season ended, into winter.

If this was indeed the plan, it worked. In addition to attracting national media attention, the games drew crowds of 3,000 or more.

There were some negative reactions to the women’s football games. A news wire article published November 1939 described them as an invasion of “one of the last strongholds of masculinity.” The Life article also argued that football was too dangerous for women, warning that “a blow either on the breasts or in the abdominal region may result in cancer or internal injury.” Still, the more likely reason the Los Angeles league ended was that the players were already committed to softball, which offered considerably more opportunities than football did. Being featured in national magazines paled in comparison to the perks that came with being a 1930s Los Angeles softball player, which included traveling to overseas destinations, such as Japan, and getting to appear in movies, such as the 1937 Rita Hayworth film Girls Can Play.

Though football was likely more dangerous, the Los Angeles players still played physical enough of a softball game to incur strained muscles and the occasional concussion. But there was little incentive for them to risk hurting themselves playing unless the league expanded, and it didn’t. “Let the boys get their heads kicked off. We’ll stick to softball,” some of the players told the Orange County, California, Daily News.

A year later, in the summer of 1941, a second women’s football league attempted to form. This time the setting was Chicago, and once again, many of the players came from softball. The teams only played a few games, though, and they received little publicity other than a few local newspaper articles. By the next year, with the U.S. entrance to World War II, talk of women’s football mostly disappeared until the 1970s, when a semi-professional league based primarily in Ohio and Texas emerged. This league received more media coverage, with articles in magazines, such as Texas Monthly, Ebony and Jet. It failed to reach a wide audience, though, and, like the 1939 California league, was soon forgotten.

The cost-benefit analysis that the Amazons of the 1930s made has a had a modern-day resurgence. Retired football player Antwaan Randle-el told The Washington Post that if faced with the decision again to play football or play baseball (he was drafted in the 14th round by the Chicago Cubs), he would select baseball, citing football’s physical toll.

And with the inherent dangers of playing football becoming daily news material, it’s unclear that a professional women’s football league will ever again take hold.


Henry Sapiecha