The sound of one hand clapping

CAPE TIMES, 2 AUGUST 2002

‘MASTURBATION IS THE thinking man’s television,” said someone once. I forget precisely who said it – it wasn’t Woody Allen, and I would be very much surprised to learn that it was William Shakespeare. I think we can rule out Emily Brontë, although I doubt the sentiment would have been far from her heart. I am also not sure that was precisely the quote. It may have been “Television is the unthinking man’s masturbation,” although I doubt it.

I am not sure I entirely endorse the sentiment. Television lasts longer, for one thing, and has more variety (especially if you have satellite) and can be operated by remote control. Still, masturbation has its own charms.

Masturbation has been on my mind lately. You may not consider that masturbation is a fit subject of conversation in a respectable organ that may fall into the unscrupulous hands of small children, but if you think that small children need to learn about masturbation from a daily newspaper, yours was a very dull childhood indeed. I am however aware – indeed, I am frequently reminded by certain members of the public – that this column finds its best use lining the birdcages of the peninsula, so if you find that next week Polly’s demands are of a nature more clamorous and unnatural than a cuttlefish and a cracker, I suppose you will have to blame me.

There has been something of a hubbub and brouhaha in recent weeks because two of those critters on Big Brother – a man and a woman – are apparently in the habit of pleasing themselves loudly and with abandon in a variety of locations, including the jacuzzi, which is just about what I would expect of a jacuzzi. I have a phobia about jacuzzis. I have never so much as dandled a toe in a jacuzzi. I always have the awful suspicion that five minutes before I arrived, someone had been pleasing themselves loudly and with abandon in that jacuzzi. Even the word “jacuzzi” makes me uncomfortable. It sounds like the surname of a pimp in the old quarter of Napoli.

But I digress. I am not surprised that housemates should be making recourse to the comfort of the hand. Frankly I expected more would. When I first saw them I remember uttering a sentence on the subject that began with the words, “What a bunch of”. But while there are occasions in which masturbation is clearly inappropriate – in public, say, or while preparing the main course at your dinner party – I would suggest that today it is a practice to be actively encouraged. Instead of being frowned upon as the resort of the lonely and the teenaged and the married, masturbation should be celebrated as a positive sexual option that is safe, as well as easy and convenient.

Oh, there are many good things to say about masturbation. No one ever became resentful because they masturbated, then didn’t call themselves the next day. No one ever performed an unnatural act on themselves without their consent. Plus, you never have to fake a headache. If you’re not in the mood, well, it really isn’t an issue. But mainly it is safe. No one ever made themselves pregnant or gave themselves a disease. I am not suggesting you sit your children down and tell them about masturbating. That is just creepy. Besides, they already know. I am just suggesting that it would be better for all if masturbation were more purposefully embraced as a leisure option. It is not often my columns have a social message, but this one does: “Masturbators of the world, unite!” Although I suppose that might be defeating the purpose.