Introduction

The heart has reasons that reason does not understand.

—Jacques Benigne Bossuel

So you’ve got the book — the one book that no man has ever been brave enough to write and publish, The Truth about Men and Love. To many the title is probably an oxymoron. To those that don’t know what an oxymoron is, well, it’s a bit like saying ‘ground pilot’, ‘Hell’s Angels’, ‘liquid gas’, ‘seriously funny’ and certainly the ultimate, ‘free love’, which must rate as the greatest oxymoron of all time. Or am I being a little cynical?

Now before we start, I want you to know I may be a little harsh in the early chapters on various aspects of womanhood, manhood and generally everything that has a hood. What you must know is I love women and this book is all about that love of women, even if it may not seem that way at first.

So with that said, it’s important to note those of you reading this book must either be naïve, inquisitive, horny or desperate; otherwise you wouldn’t have bought or borrowed the book. This is no doubt a book for women, not girls. It may also be a book for many men.

So you want to know the truth about men and love? That’s why you have this in your hot little hands and that is why I may be inappropriate at times.

Well then, here comes the truth — the honest truth. I will divulge to you the facts that men and women have always hypothesised, but when it comes time to divulge, gloss over for fear of retribution. Some of what you will read you will know. Some of this you may have suspected you know, but I think I’m right when I say most of what you are about to be told, you wouldn’t have a fucking clue about. Why? Because you, the sweet, uninitiated and not so uninitiated woman has been lied to. Yes, you’ve been lied to by your boyfriends, husbands and, worst of all — your girlfriends and mothers. Yes, I did say that. Women lie and lie with a passion to men that most men can’t see. They also lie to other women. Note, yes, I did mention mothers as well. You see, the problem most women have in their arsenal of deceit is their mothers, God bless them, who didn’t, or don’t have the understanding of men that women now have; or did many have an understanding far outweighing what the modern girl has absorbed? Remember, they kept their husbands forever, or far longer than what modern girls do; their husbands didn’t seem to have the affairs that men now have, and, by the way, when men do have affairs, they are usually with women not men, so guess what I’m saying here. Actually not true with one mate of mine, well two, actually.

But before we get into what this book is really all about, I want to tell you about me, Peter, the author, the storyteller, let me give you the balls and all truth, pun intended.

I’m a 54-year-old bloke. For those of you who don’t know what a bloke is … it’s a bloke … a man, a real man, not some sook who drinks bloody sherry. I do drink wine and in abundance. Some would say I drink too much. Well, if the truth be known I do, but so what. I’m 54 and I can do what I want, when I want and with whom I want, unless my girlfriend says I can’t. Just joking, I would never do anything to hurt her … well, that’s if she exists.

The inspiration for writing this ‘Man Encyclopaedia’ came on a Friday night at the best pizza place in the world. A place called Beaches, in Manly, NSW, Australia. Manly had the name bestowed upon it when Captain Arthur Philip hit our golden shores in the back half of the 1700s. Now what ‘Philly’ noted, (in Australia we add a letter or letters, or change letters in surnames to identify them more easily … so Philip is ‘Philly’, Wood is ‘Woody’, Meares is ‘Mearsey’ and my mate Ian is ‘Fuck That’ … his is different). Anyway, Philly noted when searching for water in the northern bays of Sydney that the local Aboriginals were very manly, as in strong or fierce, so be it, that’s the name, Manly.

So Manly, home of great surfers, lifesavers, swimmers, netballers, footballers, cricketers, people and yes, you may have guessed it … blokes, is where this all started.

I’m a Manly boy myself, grew up in the water, so to speak, played all my sport for the area, was schooled at the infamous St Augustine’s College, (for young gentlemen), in Brookvale down the road and now live my life writing books like this, dabbling in the world of public relations, publishing a magazine, writing music, singing and playing guitar. I still swim every day so I can get on the piss at night and have a semi non-fat figure. It’s a very Jimmy Buffett experience, but not as famous.

The inspiration for writing this book was provided by the Goddess (that’s my ex-girlfriend), someone so special that if she kissed the sarcophagus of Tutankhamen he’d sit up and tell you what really happened. So any reference in this book to the Goddess, it means my ex-girlfriend. Why the Goddess? Well, she was perfect in every way. Mary Poppins could not have expressed it better. She was a soul mate. We both believed we had been together in a previous life as our chatter never waned and we never bored with each other. I would have liked for us to be great mates after we broke up … yes, blokes can have girls as mates and I’m not talking the copulation-mate theory, even though we were together and got involved in the wild thing. For all intents and purposes, during this book I will refer to the Goddess in the present, even though it may all be in the past. I loved her deeply and always will. She has taken my heart from my chest and cast it to a thousand places, but I can’t help but love everything about her and will never forget her. I give thanks to the Goddess, a thanks from the deepest wells of my soul.

Every day I write this book I am writing from one of two great locations. The first is the best little bar/restaurant/cafe in Manly called Insitu. Actually it’s about the best place I have been to in Australia. It’s owned by a couple of young guys Sam and Aaron. They really are a couple of lovable rogues and my favourite waitresses Tess, (a Swedish import), and Monica, coupled with Adam, Mark and Lauchy, the counterpart barmen and barista, look after me like I was a visiting Danish prince. Thanks guys for the background music which keeps me happy and the setting that keeps me inspired. If you are ever in Manly, visit them, say hello and tell them why you are there. If you are a single girl you may just get lucky.

The second is from a farm on the south coast of New South Wales. It’s my mate Rosco’s place, which he has as his getaway for the weekends. It has cows, horses and chickens, plus a wandering bull who thinks 22 cows isn’t enough for him. This bull just doesn’t get it. Now Rosco is in his late forties, single, tall, athletic and bald. The problem has been the number of calves born lately popping out bald headed with small donks. He reckons it isn’t him, but chatting with a wandering bull can be difficult. The farm gives me the solitude I need and I fetch the fresh eggs every morning. I feel a bit like a male version of Eva Gabor in Green Acres when I’m there.

As for me, well, I’ve been around as a man now for about six months and around in the male gender for a bit over 54 years. My name ‘Peter’ is very apt, as I’m sometimes likened to the J.M. Barrie book character Peter Pan, in which Peter never grows up, hence the ‘Peter Pan Syndrome’. I agree. I never really grew up as I think kids have more fun. I still jump in the puddles when I walk in the rain; try it, it’s fun.

I do however, very much like being a man. I don’t have breasts or a vagina to play with any time I want, but I have my willy, and he is important to me. I love him, play with him, go to bed with him, shower with him, lend him out to girls on not so special occasions; I even watch television with him. In fact we are inseparable and that’s the way I like it. He’s no good at sport, he can’t shave by himself and generally I don’t let him out in public alone as he has a habit of plane spotting and may one day get arrested. That said, I’d never go anywhere without him. He is not detachable the same as a woman’s vibrator is detached or detachable and, without notice, he can do the same as those battery operated devices and turn on without first telling me. Sometimes he does it at the most inappropriate moments. Even though he believes he can think for himself, he is just not that smart and has been known to get me into the occasional pickle. I still have great love and affection for him and so I’m forever being good to him. For thanks, he occasionally gets the odd pat on the head here and there.

So I guess lesson number one is upon us — men love their willies and if you didn’t know that by now, then you should be buying a book called, Men and Their Willies 101. It would be a very short book and the first and last chapter would just be called, “Men love their willies and that’s all there is to it — don’t talk about it ever again”.

I won’t labour the point too long, but you must get a grip on this mere fact that men and their willies are inseparable. Just like Sodom and Gomorrah were inseparable fabled cities known for sodomy and oral sex, men and their willies are inseparable, even if they are actually different individuals with differing personalities, but always with the same intention. For example, Big Willy Number One is me, and he will take Big Willy Number Two, (my penis and we always say ‘big’ even if our penises aren’t), to lots of places. Big Willy Number One likes going to the beach, swimming, football, cricket, baseball, opera and the pub. Big Willy Number Two likes going to bed and the toilet. Big Willy Numbers One and Two share the same likes in bed, but that’s where it stops. They are best mates but don’t necessarily have to tell the world. However, they do have two very different brain patterns but on closer inspection seem to have the same personality. The problem: Big Willy Number One takes Big Willy Number Two to many places he may not want to go and, sometimes, has to stay up all night. Big Willy Number Two invariably gets pissed off with this and seeks retribution. So what does he do? Well, he takes Big Willy Number One to places he may not want to go … end of story.

So ladies, who I’m only guessing is the case, sit back, grab a pillow and, as we progress through the chapters, gradually move your knees apart, because once you read this book there will be a number of things you will gain. Firstly, you will get more frequent and better sex, and secondly, you will be happy you now have a far better insight into how to control your man. To top it off you will be making your man a happier person … without him even knowing it. He will continue to stay loyal to you, talk about you always in the most positive of ways, describe your beauty glowingly and want to get home to be with you.

If this isn’t what you want in a man, or in your man, (and I am suggesting there will be some of you out there), then I would basically describe you as a broken woman, who, at the end of the day, will probably have trouble turning your vibrator on let alone a man. To assist yourself, buy a motorbike with a big exhaust and just sit tight on it … you won’t even need to get a license, just leave it in the garage, turn the engine on, sit on it, and, as you howl at the moon in your climax, give the engine a big rev to counter your screams.

Let’s begin …