SEX? DON'T MIND IF I DO...!

[ “Sesso... Tanto per gradire...” ]

by Franca Rame and Dario Fo

translated by Ed Emery

 

 

[Please note: This is a draft translation, still awaiting completion. It is not to be cited or reproduced in any form whatever.]

 

All rights reserved. This text shall not by way of trade or  otherwise be copied, reproduced or recorded in a retrieval  system. Nor shall it be lent, resold, hire out or otherwise  circulated without the owners' specific written consent.

 

For performance rights, please contact:

 

ed.emery [@] britishlibrary.net

 

Please be aware that this translation can only be performed with explicit permission in writing from the agency representing Dario Fo and Franca Rame, the Danese-Tolnay agency in Rome.

 

Original text copyright © Franca Rame

Translation copyright  © Ed Emery

 

 

 

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SEX? DON'T MIND IF I DO...!

[ “Sesso... Tanto per gradire...” ]

by Franca Rame and Dario Fo

translated by Ed Emery

 

 

Stage setting: A backdrop painted with a picture of an "Earthly Paradise", with large plants and various kinds of animals. At the side of the stage stand gigantic "candles", which are reminiscent of those of Gubbio, Nola and Catania. Franca enters.

 

For people in my profession, the loveliest moment is when you come on stage to a warm round of welcoming applause. Thank you.

 

“Sex? Thanks, don't mind if I do...”

 

How did we end up putting together a show on this rather unusual topic?

 

Last season I was in Bolzano, and a number of students turned up, boys and girls, with a photocopy of a book written by our son Jacopo... Jacopo has published about ten books, but we have never discussed them in public... But we're going to have to talk about this one, because it provided the original basis for this evening's show... They were wanting my autograph, but I was amazed. "Why a photocopy?" "It's out of print. It was the only way we could get a copy... It told us a lot of things that we didn't know..." And one girl even told me: "It saved my relationship with my boyfriend..."

 

I sat down with a copy of the book. I read it and re-read it... "Yes, I think we can do it!" My husband said: "You're out of your mind! You can't take a subject like that and put it on stage... It's too personal, too off-the-wall... and what's more, you're a woman..." "I'll find a way! I must do it. If all these young people have found it useful... putting it on the stage might prove useful to grown-ups too."

 

I have to say that the title of the book is a bit naughty... And since I'm my mother's daughter... in a while I'll tell you more about my mother... I've always been a bit embarrassed at having to spell out the title: "Zen and the Art of Fucking". (She shows the book)

 

So, we're going to talk about love and we're going to talk about sex. But more about love.

 

We believe that in the tragic times that we're living through now... with corruption and bribery scandals everywhere... racism, delinquency and vulgarity everywhere... endless violent films on TV... by the time a young person gets to 20 they've already seen 300,000 murders and more than 200,000 rapes... sexual violence against children, against women... apparently in Italy in 1994 there were 7,000 rapes...! The rising cost of living, the corresponding rise in poverty and homelessness, inflation, millions of people out of work all over the world. And the loneliness, depression and suicides among young people... And we could continue all night listing life's difficulties... the tragedies of this world, which is becoming ever more ugly...

 

The only voice of protest that has been raised in Italy, in Milan for example, has been against prostitution: we've seen the setting-up of citizens' committees against prostitution, and everywhere you hear people calling for a return to licensed brothels. Already half a million signatures have been gathered for the abrogation of the Merlin law. So before long you'll see them re-opening the old brothels.

 

However, one has to admit that, if licensed brothels were re-opened, the planned legislation has been thought out very well: workers in the sex industry will have a comfortable place in which to pursue their profession... they'll get free medical care... 17 monthly bonuses just like bank workers... they'll pay their taxes, and join a pension scheme, and take holidays with pay. And there you have the million jobs that Berlusconi has been promising!

 

As I was saying, we believe convinced that our only salvation is to be found in relationships that are truly loving, a frank and open love: both physical love and the love that derives from feelings... A "morality"* and an honesty which unfortunately is becoming less and less common.

 

So we will talk about love.

 

But how can loving relationship be kept alive?

 

We don't know, because nobody ever teaches us.

 

How do we do it? A service every 10,000 kilometres... dig it over in Spring...? Who knows?

 

And those marvellous loves that we thought would be eternal... come to an end.

 

As for sex, well, we reckon we know everything... With the constant bombardment of pornography from all sides, we all reckon we're experts.

 

But not a bit of it!

 

There's a tremendous amount of mis-information about the subject, and ignorance and mystification.

 

This lack of knowledge about love and sex derives from a long way back.

 

We find this even in the Bible, with Adam and Eve. As far as we're told, they never talked about love.

 

For an idea of how things might have been, we have borrowed an idea from none other than Boccaccio.

Adam and Eve have just been created... They hardly know each other... In fact they don't know much about anything... Nobody has explained life to them... let alone love and sex. So here we have Eve, the first women in the world, speaking in a primitive, archaic language,  about her first sexual relationship.

 

 

ADAM AND EVE

 

The First Sexual Relationship

 

I don't know what's come over Adam.

 

For a while now his brain's been obsessed with this idea of the Devil... Not that I have the first idea who this Devil is, and no more does he.

 

It's all the fault of this Angel who sudenly appeared to him in the sky... This flying creature, with its wings spread out, was whirling round over us like a great buzzard, and was calling out: "Beware of the Demon-Devil who lurks in every creature, disguised in beauty! As soon as you meet him, cast him down into the depths of Hell to be punished!"

 

And whoosh-whoosh-whoosh... off he went. Vanished!

 

I mean to say, is that any way to bring a message to people? Come back, you great turkey... At least hang around for a moment and give us an explanation, eh?

 

It was all because of what the Angel shouted that my poor Adam got terribly upset, and began shouting:

 

"Eve! Eve...! Who is this Demon-Devil?"

 

"Adam, there's no need to shout, because there's only the two of us in the whole world, and I can hear you perfectly well...! It must be somebody who is against the Lord."

 

"And where's he to be found, Eve?"

 

"He said he lurked in every creature, disguised in beauty..."

 

"So, Eve, that means that he could very well be lurking in me," he said.

 

"In fact," I said, just to calm him down a bit, "in that case he could be lurking in me too..."

 

"Yes, Eve... It's a lot more likely that the Demon-Devil's lurking in you... disguised in beauty..."

 

Me! I could be the Devil disguised in beauty! I felt myself blushing furiously, and almost fainted on the spot!

 

Beauty! So he thinks I'm beautiful!

 

I could have kissed him. I could have fallen on his neck and cried: "Yes, I'm the beautiful Demon-Devil, and I'm going to haul you off to Hell!"

 

Hell? Ah, yes.. What is this Hell? A place, presumably. But what place? A prison, maybe, or a dungeon, into which this Devil has to be cast, to punish him. God, that great flying chicken had really landed me in it! Now my silly boy Adam started seeing the Devil everywhere.

 

And, most particularly, he started taking it out on me. He threw me out of the cave. "Get out!" he shouted. "Be off with you!"

 

"Hang on, what's got into you?" One minute we were playing like two kids, rolling about in the grass with each other, and then, the moment he took me in his arms, he suddenly dropped me, and threw me right out. "Are you out of your mind?!"

 

"Go to your Hell!" he shouted, and he shut himself in the cave by pulling the wicket across.

 

I tried to get in. I pleaded with him. No chance! He'd barricaded himself in!

 

"Adam, don't leave me to sleep alone... I'm not the Devil... I promise...! It's getting dark, Adam, and I can't sleep on my own... I'm scared."

 

Not a word! He didn't even answer.

 

I squatted outside. I waited... Then I had this strange feeling, here, in my throat...*

 

"What was that?!" It was pain... It was the first time I felt "pain".

 

I tried to cry a bit... because maybe that would make me feel better.

 

Not one tear could I shed... And I feel this big lump inside me, as if my heart's about to break.

 

The moon disappeared... The night turned dark... You couldn't even see the stars... Suddenly a zig-zag flash of lightning split the sky... A crash of thunder! And it rained... A torrential downpour... I'm so desperate that I don't even bother trying to find shelter.

 

Another flash of lightning. Lumps of ice start falling too. What was that?!

 

I'm absolutely frozen, and shaking all over. I can't feel my hands any more... or my legs. I start groaning: "Ohhh."

 

The wicket gate moves. The man looks out.

 

Oh God, I feel terrible... He picks me up... carries me into the cave... rubs me with leaves... rubs me all over. He calls to me: "Eve..." I am unable to answer. Even my tongue's gone to sleep. He calls to me again, shouting: "Eve! Eve!" How nice my name sounds from his lips!

 

He's upset... He kisses me. He hugs me. He breathes on my face... He licks my face. He's crying. The man's crying!

 

Gradually the warmth brings me back to life. With difficulty I manage to move my fingers and arms. I embrace him too.

 

I feel something  pressing against my belly...

 

"Holy God, what's that?! Is it a living creature?!"

 

Adam moves back a bit: "I don't know," he replies, embarrassed. "The same thing happened the other day, when we were playing and I lifted you up in my arms. That was the reason I chased you out!"

 

"But why? What have I got to do with that object* of yours which turns into a shoot* and sticks out?"

 

"But it only sticks up when you arrive... Especially if you're laughing... And what's more, for your smell too."

 

"So it's got a thing about smells and laughter...? It wouldn't be a sickness, would it? A disease? Some kind of malignant growth?"*

 

"No, it doesn't hurt. Far from it! But it disturbs me... It gives me this sensation of heat, all the way up to my head."

 

"Heat in your head? In that case, it can't be natural. Do you think this has anything to do with the Devil?"

 

"Yes... I think so, Eve... I think that thing down there is the Devil himself, in person... the very one... Disguised in beauty!"

 

"Oh, don't let's exaggerate... I wouldn't say it was that beautiful. It doesn't even have eyes!"

 

"Well obviously the Devil must be blind!"

 

"In that case, why does it spring up for me, if it can't see me?"

 

"It must be because love is blind."

 

"Love? Where d'you get a word like that from,Adam? Love...? I've never heard of that before."

 

"I don't know... It just popped into my head... On my lips, all of a sudden... It started when I got that sudden huge urge to hold you in my arms... to roll in the grass with you. I wanted to say: 'My love!'"

 

"Me too... The same things... happened to me. Shall we try another cuddle?"*

 

And so once again we found ourselves embracing and playfully caressing each other.

 

"There, you see how that Devil's springing up again... Where d'you think he's going to hide?"

 

"Leave him be, Eve... I want to see where he thinks he's going..."

 

"Oh God! He wants to hide down here... Hold me tight...* I can hardly breathe..."

 

"I don't want to offend you," says Adam with difficulty, panting, "but I'd swear that this Hell is hidden in you..."

    

I feel myself turning pale.

 

"And, Adam, I think I know where that place is... Because I can feel precisely the fires of Hell!"

 

"We owe obedience to the Angel of God who told us: 'As soon as you recognise this Devil, you are to cast him down into Hell to be punished!' So let's punish this wicked Devil, let's punish him!"

 

Outside the sky was split by lightning... Great gusts of ind came hurtling down to bend and intertwine the trees which, just like us two, embraced each other among the sighs... Even the waters of the sea were boiling. Even the animals fell silent.

 

Only the two of us, moaning, almost animal-like.*

 

Oh God! Oh God! If Adam's Devil is finding as much crazy joy as I am, with my Hell... he'll go crazy!*

 

I am completely caught up in it...* I'll never be able to explain to you how it felt...* the butterfly feeling...* The encounter...* The transport...*

 

What a wonderful idea you had, Lord God, to give Adam a Devil, and me the depths of Hell. What a miracle you have performed, my Lord... You are an eternal Father! Oh hallelujah, Lord! And again, amen!

 

PROBLEMS?

 

And here we are, after a million years, still asking ourselves: "Is it really the devil?"

 

We're so full of fears, and lack of confidence in our bodies...

 

Many of us have sexual problems. But let's not get downhearted... Everyone's got problems... Film stars, porno stars, plumbers... terrorists... kings, princes... Think of Prince Charles of England, who wrote to Camilla: "I'd like to be in your knickers, I'd like to be your Tampax!" Even Presidents of the Republic have sexual problems... our own in particular...*

 

Yes, we are full of problems, and, truth to tell, we know very little about sex... In theory maybe we know everything, but in practice somewhat less.

 

So our little show seeks to be a source of information... Without being presumptuous, we see it as a "lesson in love".

 

I'm a mother... I've raised three children - one I made myself, and the other two I took ready-made... And if there are any mums with their daughters here tonight, I'd like to put their minds at rest... I know precisely how one should speak with young people, with how much delicacy, with how much respect and sensitivity... And not only with young people, but with adults too.

 

Our backdrop here is a picture of an Earthly Paradise, which Dario painted because it is the most fitting place in which to locate our little talk.

 

So here we are for a nice bit of group therapy, so let's get on with it.

 

"Sex, almost an unknown quantity." That was the heading on a letter which appeared in a newspaper, in which a gentleman from Bologna complained (Note 1) that our society teaches our children nothing... Yes, of course, at school you learn biology, but questions of sex are never gone into in depth. The family's even worse: the mother's nervous, and the father's not got sufficient confidence to bring it up... So our kids arrive at the age of 18 or 20, and not only do they not know where, but they don't even know what (and here he uses the anatomical term) the clitoris is.  They meet a girl, they get engaged, they get married... they're wild about each other...* but they find that they can't satisfy their partners sexually, and so the relationship breaks down."

 

This gentleman is absolutely right. I did some open rehearsals for this show, before the first night, in various schools and universities, and I discovered that this is exactly the case: men know that there's a hole down there. But that's all they know. They haven't got the firs tidea of the structure of their partner's sexual parts, of the possibilities that they offer, even at the gymnastic level, let alone spiritual... And the same goes for girls.

 

What does 20-year-old girl know about female sexuality?

 

What did I know at the age of 20? Nothing.

 

As you can imagine, I too have had my moments of confusion... And my particular sexual problems started well before the age of 20, when I was still young... For me sex was something mysterious... I knew that it existed, but nobody would ever talk about it.

 

Don't talk about it, don't look, and don't touch. That was the absolute rule. To such an extent that at the boarding school where I went, in Gorla Minore, the nuns insisted that we bathed with our nightshirts on.

 

I swear!

 

Why?

 

MY MOTHER

 

I would have liked to talk about it... Get a few things explained... But who with?

 

The obvious person would have been my mother... But I didn't feel easy with her.

 

My mother was born into a petty-bourgeois family... Her father was the town engineer in Bobbio, and he'd had 11 children. An engineer he may have been, but he was as poor as a church mouse... They were only rich in dignity and prejudices.

 

My mother was a wonderful woman... Upstanding, a teacher, a fervent practising Catholic... and voting too! She never talked about sex with us, her daughters... As far as my mother was concerned, we were made like dolls... We ended here. (She points just below her waist level)

 

For my mother, sex equalled obscenity. To give you an idea: We had to call our bottoms "backsides" and our front bits "front backsides". Weird, eh?

 

Then, every now and then I'd be sitting there doing my homework...  I was a very good girl... And my mother would arrive with one of those looks that mothers have at serious moments, and she would say in a voice... such a voice... It was like the voice of God! "Beware child! Men want only one thing - that thing there!"

 

Oh, but she never said what thing!

 

My mother didn't prepare me for life... The only things I ever knew was what I found out from a friend of mine... A randy little devil... Twelve years old. I hadn't seen her for a bit.

 

"I'm very tired."

 

"Why are you tired? What have you been doing?"

 

"I've been making love."

 

"Love?! Who with?"

 

"With my cousin... He's 10... He's obsessed with it!"*

 

"What did you do?!"

 

"Well, we didn't really know how to do it... All we knew was that babies come out of tummies... So he got his thingummy and pushed and pushed! I had a sore belly-button for ages!"

 

What with my mother's "Beware, child" and my friend's sore belly-button, I was terrified.

 

God help any boy who came near me... I used to throw stones at them.

 

"Go awaaaay! You'll never have it!"

 

"What?"

 

"I don't know!"

 

But when I started high school... the boys... they were insatiable, they were besotted, unstoppable...* They leapt on me, and put their arms around me, and kept groping me...*

 

Then they tried to kiss me...

 

I don't know about you, but I have a terrible memory of my first kiss!

 

He grabbed me... Whack, he pushes me up against the wall... My brain goes into a flat spin... Then he started groping me all over, with those twenty-four hands that boys seem to develop... And then, with his tongue... Splat... on my neck... And Splat again, in my ear.

 

"Stop that! Your tongue's more like a food mixer...! I'm full of bruises, and I'm going to catch cold! Stop it!"

 

Then, at a certain point, didn't he just want to put his tongue in my mouth?! And me a vegetarian!"

 

"Get your tongue out, because otherwise I'll bite it off and give it to the cat!"

 

And there I am, with my hands still on my belly-button...! Then, another thing that I didn't understand... Whack!  He pushes me up against the wall (She repeats the previous movements) Slurp... slurp... slurp.. And he pushed his lower bits against my lower bits and I thought: "I wonder why this boy always goes round with a cucumber in his underpants?!"

 

I'm telling you the truth: I wasted a lot of time because of that mother of mine!

 

Anyway, then an aunt of mine... who was left-wing... a timid sort...* not because she was left-wing... she really didn't fine...* A teacher, like my mother, but evidently more open-minded... decided one day that it was time that her nieces,* little girls of twelve and thirteen years, were better informed, so one day she brought us all together in the kitchen... round the table... All of us, little girls of twelve and thirteen, and she shows us an anatomy book, and in particular a picture of a female sexual organ in sections, each part coloured in delightful colours.

 

I instantly took it for a geographic map, and when my aunt asked: "Do you know what this is, girls?" I said:

 

"Yes, auntie, it's Florida!" At which point she got very angry! "You stupid girl, this isn't Florida, it's your front backside!" ...Which, I have to say, rather alarmed me!

 

From that day on I've always called my front backside Florida... and my back backside California!

 

MY FIRST ENCOUNTER WITH THE OPPOSITE SEX

 

I was nine year sold, and I saw a male sexual organ... In fact I saw seven, all in a row... Drawn on a wall. You know how boys are, they go round with a piece of chalk in their pocket, and whenever they get the chance... Zap... they draw willies...* which is their emblem, their thingummy...* And then, underneath, two sircles... I used to look at it and think: "That's a weird kind of bicycle!" Anyway, then when I realised there were seven of them, I realised what they were, and I said: "But they have they dressed up the Seven Dwarfs and palombaro,* on a bicycle?"

 

The second time, I was with my friends. We were coming back from school and we met the local dirty old man... This is something that happens to all women. (She breaks off) If it has not yet happened to you, don't worry, it will!

 

Where is the local dirty old man usually to be found? Hanging round the gentlemen's urinal.

 

And what is he wearing? A mac, even in August.

 

We're walking by, and he goes: "Hey, girls!"

 

"Ehh?"

 

"Look over here!!"

 

And zap! he flung his raincoat open. God what a fright! He was all dressed in black, and it stood right out...!* It looked like the head and the plucked neck of a turkey! To such an extent that I asked my friends: "Why does he go round with a turkey in his underpants?!" What a horror! Men, you should beware, don't let anyone see it too suddenly... because they might get traumatised!

 

I was so horror-struck that from that day on I stopped eating chicken!

 

The third time was when I was 18. Nowadays people ask their children "What would you like to be when you grow up?" But not in those days. You obeyed your parents, and my mother told me: "You should find yourself a nice secure job as a nurse." Forgetting that for me a drop of blood and dying were more or less the same thing... So they send me to Milan, to the big city, to the Princess Yolanda Clinic... The doctors made no distinction between the first- and second-year students. There were a lot of us. I was there, sweeping up,* and Professor Semenza arrives. When he sees me he says: "Miss, would you bring me immediately, to Room 31, the wherewithals for a catheterisation." I felt very flattered. I even gave a little bow... I felt terribly proud. I go to the ward sister, who gives me a tray with a parrot* and other mysterious objects on it. I go into the room, and find that the patient is a young 20-year-old, who's had an appendicitis operation... And I find the Professor fiddling with the boy's sexual organ. I stopped in my tracks, and the Professor said: "Come over here! Put down the tray, and hold this!"

 

I didn't dare say: "Look, I don't much about this kind of thing..."

 

So I took his thingummy between two fingers, a bit anxious and nervous... I wanted to die... I looked out of the window! The poor Swiss boy... seeing me holding his thingummy...* 18 years old... got all steamed up... And, in short, had an erection... And if you ask me, the best he ever had in his life!

 

You may laugh, but think of me, poor girl, stuck there with that turkey neck!

 

Anyway, when I felt that... kind of tail thing swelling up... I shouted: "Help! It's alive!"

 

The Professor realised what had happened: "Alright, Miss. Put it down. You may leave..."

 

As I was going out, he said: "Miss, I'd advise you to transfer to the paediatric wards... That way you can get used to them gradually!"

 

Then I grew up... And, as happens, I fell in love... And I made love... Oh, what a silence...! I’m sure I'm not the only one here who's ever made love... And I ended up pregnant... And here too I'm sure I'm not the only one! I ended up pregnant.

 

All my mother's fault. If she had only explained... Instead of holding my hands here (She points to her navel) I'd have kept them down here (she points lower).

 

I ended up pregnant. But how had I ended up pregnant? He and I... He being Dario... I had thought I wasn't going to mention his name, but then I thought, he might as well be up here with me, seeing that he's the main one responsible...! Anyway, the two of us were convinced that in order to get pregnant, you had to reach "that moment"... I imagine you know the moment I mean... at exactly the same second! Only in that was can the egg be fertilised. Otherwise if I didn't and he did, even ten times over, I would be OK.

 

You are quite right to laugh at this huge ignorance, but don't forget, I was the poor girl with the "front backside" and the "back backside", and Dario, even though he was doing a degree in architecture, didn't know anything either... But nowadays, on the threshold of the year 2000, do you think that girls are really better informed? A number of students did a questionnaire in a high school, for a women's magazine, and the question was: "What method do you use, not to get pregnant?" Some of the girls gave correct answeres, but others gave incredible answers. (Note 2) Some said: "So as not to get pregnant, after you have sex, you should have a vaginal douche... works best with Coca Cola and lemon!" Is there any girl in the audience who thinks that a vaginal douche is sufficient...? No! You make love, you do your vaginal douche, and meantime, them, they're already arrived at their destination, happily ensconced, in fact, when the douch arrives, they have a shower and start singing (Flamenco-style) "Taratat-tumu-tum-tum!"

 

Others said that you get pregnant "through kissing" and others "through oral sex"! Because the scoundrels said (because the scoundrels made them even more embarrassed, and told them: "But talking to you very closely?"** And when the poor girls, embarrassed, explained what they meant, they told them): "Don't worry; you only need to gargle!"

 

ABORTION

 

As I was saying, I ended up pregnant...

 

You'll be wondering why on earth I'm talking to you about something so personal.

 

Let me say straight away that it's very hard for me... But, as you know, these are bad times in Italy. They're about to re-open the question of the 1976 law which legalised abortion, and I believe that one real-life example is worth a thousand ideological speeches.

 

When I discovered that I was pregnant and knew nothing about pregnancy, I almost went out of my mind.

 

I really wasn't expecting it. I was frightened.

 

I don't think this would be the right place to go into all the difficulties in which we found ourselves... immature and unprepared in every sense. And certainly not in a position to bring a child into the world.

 

If only I could have talked about it with my mother... But I was scared about how she'd react... That the pain would be too great. The shame, the dishonour... And it's still the same nowadays, otherwise there wouldn't be so many babies dumped in dustbins to die...

 

In those days it was risky having an abortion - both you and the doctor could end up going to jail.

 

I solved my problem in the worst possible way: I went to a woman who did abortions at home, with makeshift implements. She had no medical training. She performed the abortion... without anaesthetic.

 

It went wrong; I almost died. They had to call a doctor...

 

This is the worst memory of my whole life.

 

I don't know what hurt more, the operation or the humiliation at how I was treated... as if I was a prostitute.

 

I ask you men to love your women; don't make them pregnant unless you're ready for it.

 

On TV and in public debates you hear people saying: "For you women, having an abortion is like going to the bank..."* No, gentlemen! It's a terrible moment.

 

If they would just stop arguing about whether to legalise or ban abortion, and began providing people with a proper sexual education about contraceptives and family planning, abortion would no longer exist...

 

All we women are against abortion.

 

Abortion is a tragic, painful experience for everyone.

 

This is something the Pope doesn't know, but we women do.

 

RELATIONS WITH THE OPPOSITE SEX

 

Menstruation

 

We've looked at the path of the young adolescent male as he becomes a man. And what about girls? What's the first change? The day your first period begins. When a girl gets to 12 or 13... maybe her mother, or an elder sister, or a friend will already have prepared her... But how many girls find themselves in the middle of their first period, knowing nothing about it?

 

This happened with one of my girls, when she was 10. She came home, all red in the face, furious,* and crying: "I've been in a fight... They punched me... Then one of the boys kicked my bum... Look what he's done to me! Call the carabinieri!" And at that point I thought: "I'm really stupid!" I should have thought ahead and prepared her for it, because then it took me a couple of months to calm her down again.

 

****

 

Me, I knew everything about the menstrual cycle... from my girlfriends... I waited, anxiously, and a little scared. God, what was it going to be like?

 

The day on which I became a woman was very important for me... Very emotional, but at the same time a disappointment!

 

I imagined that there'd be a party... I don't know, something like a first communion. A solemn moment! God, I was coming out of puberty! From that moment I joined the world of women... Women as bearers, feeders and raisers of children! I imagined that it would be like a baptism, and they'd take me to church, and there, around a big platform,* there'd be a whole service, with hymns and the organ playing... And the bishop would have sprinkled me with holy oil... and touched my belly with holy water... and then he'd have given me a little slap... on my front backside. And then, afterwards, I imagined that everyone would hug me... and my mother would be crying, and my father would have a lump in his throat. Poor simpleton, I imagined that all the women in my family, and also the women from the block where I lived, would have gathered round me... would have enclosed me in a circle... of tender affection!

 

And then they would have begun singing:

 

     Hosanna, hosanna!

     The little girl's become a woman!

     A cause for joy and elation,

     She's started her menstruation!"

 

And they'd all give me sanitary towels, of pure linen, because in those days we didn't have absorbent towels, with my initials on them, and a bottle of Karinzia for personal hygiene, and a refreshing antiseptic spray.

 

And then there would have been a solemn collective oath of solidarity between women... Not to steal each other's husbands... We'd have sworn always to help each other practise adultery, and to keep our lovers* in turn when any of us had to go with our lovers. And we'd have sworn to lie through our teeth to get alimony after the divorce.

 

But nothing! Nothing like this happened! "Mum, I've..." "Good, here's your towel, you put it on like this and this."

 

All that happened was that my mother told me: "As from today you're a young lady, when you sit down, keep your legs together!"

 

I shut myself in my room... and I cried.

 

Then I looked down at my little round belly, my pubes, my Williams pear and my Regina apple... and I looked at my feet... What a disappointment... I hadn't yet sprouted high-heel shoes!

 

If you take the Bible, there's page after page on the impurity of the menstruating women. And did you know that, today, people still have the belief, or the superstition, that... if a woman makes mayonnaise during her period... it'll come out wrong? It's not that the egg's* too cold... or the oil too warm... No! Are you crazy? She's menstruating! So they even ask an 80-year-old: "Are you menstruating?" We're not even allowed to touch flowers during our period, in case they die! Geranium-killers!

 

Amazing powers, us women!!! The menstruating super-monster! Tampax!

 

VIRGINITY

 

Another problem where there's a lot of confusion: virginity.

 

A nightmare!

 

I don't know why, but women who are no longer virgins seem to feel the need to tell virgins terrible stories about "that moment": "He, with his battering ram... has to demolish you hymen.... Yaaaa!" And then the blood.... In Sicily, the sheets hung up to show the blood. Let's hope they* don't do it any longer. Me, when my time came, I expected showers of blood... the whole room covered in blood.... which I'd then have to clean up afterwards! "However shall I clean it off the ceiling?!"

 

Then I discovered it was all a lie. It's a simple fact of nature, and if it's done with love, it's nothing... What's more, I should remind you that 20 per cent of women either don't have a hymen, or have one so thin that it breaks of its own accord.

 

And at this point we ought to have a minute's silence for those 20 per cent of women who, for centuries, were accused of not being virgins just because they didn't have a hymen.

 

And anyway, the idea that it's necessary to make a girl bleed is a madness.

 

And anyway, you menfolk, nobody obliges you... TRAC! What is it? The taking of the Bastille? She's agitated...? A little go today, a little go tomorrow... In Bergamo a woman came up to me and said: "You did well to say "a little go today, a little go tomorrow", because my friends are making fun of me... I married on the 5th of December... Then a little go today, a little go tomorrow... until, finally, the 18th of May..." She took a little while, but she was spared the trauma.

 

Just think, in sex-education cartoon films in Denmark, they recommend to junior high school girls that they solve the problem themselves, by breaking their hymen with their finger-nail. Another culture, needless to say.

 

My relationship with the opposite sex was, for some time, a "service" relationship.

 

"Gentlemen, now I will reveal a secret to you: during our early sexual experiences... we women feel... nothing."

 

Now, I'm sure that some of your womenfolk will assure you: "Oh but I did, really, a lot..." But believe me, it is as I said.

 

We feel nothing because we are young, inexperienced, we don't know our own bodies, and we don't have a relationship of trust with men... So, what do we women do when, at the start, we make love and feel nothing...? We pretend!

 

It's not difficult... "Ah-ah-ah!"

 

Just groan a bit, and the man always falls for it.

 

Men are so sure of their own splendour, their own sexual potency, that they don't even think "Is she pretending with me??!!"

 

Why do we pretend?

 

In order not to let on that we know nothing about it... So as not to disappoint, to act grateful: "You're fantastic!!"

 

Now that I've set you menfolk wondering, let me provide you with the key to discovering whether your partner, during sex, is simulating, or is really reaching... that horrid term which I can't stand... ORGASM! What a dreadful word! I find it arrogant. "She's all orgasms!"*

 

It could mean anything except what it really means... It could be the name of the bogey-man: "Behave yourself, child, and eat your supper, because otherwise the Orgasm will get you!"

 

What's the key to discovering whether your partner is reaching orgasm or not...? Watch closely, because at that moment... her puils... TAC...! dilate...!

 

Yesterday a lady came to my dressing room and asked: "Is it really true that your pupils dilate?" "Yes." "Just as well that my husband's not here this evening!" 

 

***

 

Women, beware, becauseas from this moment, he knows... So if you're making love and you feel nothing... Keep the lights out...! Total darkness... eyes closed! And just hope that he doesn't whip out a torch at the last moment! "Open your eyes!"

 

And that's not the end of it: when your women reaches organsm, and is at the height of pleasure... her toes... TAC...! stretch!

 

If your partner's toes are like this (She shows a floppy hand) ...nothing has happened!

 

So, you men, now I see you... Your next sexual relationship: the eyes! the feet!

 

As I was saying, at the start, a woman feels nothing...  Then the relationship develops... On the other hand, if this doesn't happen, then you get frustration... neurosis, deterioration of the relationship, and instead of reacting and finding out what's happen, we cry.

 

 

****

 

Then there are other women, who live a whole sexual life without ever reaching the apex of pleasure, orgasm.

 

They don't talk about it with anyone... One day they might pluck up courage and go to the doctor, and he ruins them for life: "Madam, you are frigid!" The poor woman goes home: "I'm friggid." With two g's.

 

Now, if we have any of these women in the audience, you should know that there is no such thing as frigidity. It's just timidity. A series of ancestral blockages... taboos... lack of understanding of our own bodies... Lack of trust in our partners... In short, orgasm is a cultural fact.

 

A LESSON IN ORGASM

 

The Kinsey Report - a famous inquiry of forty years ago - assures us that 45 per cent of American women fake orgasm during sex... 45 per cent! And with the passing of the years, this percentage has increased. Now it's 60 per cent.

 

American sexologists have studied the problem,a nd they have come to the following conclusion: if a women succeeds, for at least three years, in faking credible orgasms, by the end - a miracle! - she'll reach orgasm!

 

They've opened gymnasiums, like for aerobics... where they teach women to act out the extire sexual act, and orgasm in particular.

 

As soon as Fininvest heard of this, they filmed these lessons, and produced a special set of programmes which will shortly be going out on all its channels.

 

I  have been lucky enough to see the films of these lessons, and I can give you a preview. It will enrich your imagination and your future love affairs will be extraordinary!

 

Let's imagine these lessons.

 

We're in a gym, with about thirty nubile married women in leotards, each squatting on her own mat... Then we have the orgasm teacher - an orgasm graduate - also wearing a leotard, standing on a smmall platform, and conducting the proceedings. Subdued lighting. Slow, sexy dance music... (Background music. Groans and moans)

 

"Ladies, you must relax. Stretch out languidly on your mats... Turn over onto your right sides... Imagine you have your partner in front of you... also lying on his side... Embrace him languidly... Keep your eyes half closed... Kiss him... Give a little moan - "Mmmmmm..." As if to say: "Mmmmmm, what a lovely ice cream!"

 

Breathing is very important in making love, especially if you're not feeling anything! Your breathing should be relaxed but deep... like this: "Ah, ah!" No, that's a burp! Think about it, darling! Speed your breathing up slightly: "Ahohohha... Haohah..." Not too fast, you'll get dizzy and pass out!

 

Move slowly onto your back, and pull your partner on top of you. Hopla! Careful, girls! This is the most important moment. He's on top of you, and he's about to take possession of your body... He's about to penetrate you! There, he's penetrating you! Make him feel at home! "Ahahahaha!" Welcome him with a celebratory moan: "Oho Oho Oho!" As if to say, "Come in, darling, would you like a coffee?"

 

"Ah, ah..." A short groan...* No, not like that, you'll frighten him, and then it's goodbye erection! Open your mouth as if gasping for air...

 

Hey, the brunette there, I see you're not joining in...! What have you got in your mouth? Chewing gum!

 

Concentration, please...! Passion! The act of making love is not a gymnastic exercise. Coitus is a work of art! (She repeats the groans and moans carried out thus far)

 

Obviously, you can't moan and breathe the whole time, otherwise he'll become a lazzarateeo! Every now and then you should drop in a word or two: "Oh no... it's too much!" They like that! But you can't sigh:* "Oh no... it's too much! There, at attention...* Soft, soft, don't hold your head like that, as if you've got a stiff neck... You have to bang* your head and count up to six... One! Two...! You can't bang your head on the pillow and keep quiet... You have to whisper, which gives a terrific effect: "I'm dying! I'm dying! I'm dying..." Don't make it too dramatic, though! Smiling: "I'm dying! I'm dying! I'm dying...!" (She resumes sighing and groaning) "Ahaaa... ahooo..." No, that's the wolf...! One, two... Ahaaa... Mhmmmmm! Call on your mother... That's always a handy one... Shrilly - "Oh, mamma!" Or (In a lower tone of voice) "Oh mamma!"

 

Best check he's not an orphan, just in case you traumatise him!

 

The religious touch...* Six times, crescendo: "Oh God! God! God! God! God! Gooood...! Holy Virgin!"

 

Keep it up, we're almost finished... Raise your hips! One! support yourself on your heels... Shoulders properly positioned... At this point you start moving your hips: "You're wonderful! I'm dying... My heart's going!" Don't lose your balance... Don't overdo it with the hips... Silly, with a thrust like that you'll disembowel your partner... leave him crippled!* Count to eight: one, two, three - not out loud!! Seven, eight, stop! You suddenly stop, you open your eyes wide, and whisper: "Who are you?" - Don't sound too puzzled, though... otherwise: "What do you mean, who am I? I'm Antonio, don't you recognise me?" And off he goes!

 

Free your arms. Try the backstroke like you're swimming backwards.

 

Now we're coming to the final rush! Here you can go to town: "No, no, no...! Yes! Yes! Yes!" Give us under!* Sobs, groans, shouts, full blast with the masochistic-hedonistic-libido! Ahiuah! Ahiuah! Oh o...!"

 

 

Final closing yell! "AHAHAAA!" No, that's an ambulance siren! "Aha, aha, aha." One, two, "Ahaa", one, two, "Ahaa", one, two, "Ahaa!"

Orgasm achieved! (The music becomes louder, accompanied by moans and groans)

 

***

 

Now, watch out, you women: the next time you make love, don't start laughing when you say: "Oh mamma!"

 

MEN WHO SNORE

 

We modern people are the first in the history of the world to puzzle over the problem of our own pleasure. When people used to work 18 hours a day, they certainly didn't have the energy to develop their sex lives: they were tired out, they ate their suppoer, and straight to bed... Tran! Tran! Tran! Then Grgrrrrr! they fell asleep... This also happens nowadays, even though we actually work a lot less. A lot of my friends complain that his is all they get -  TTrun! Trun! Trun!, and then Grgrrrrr! Without even so much as: "Did you enjoy that, darling... Would you like a coffee?"

 

Nowadays, the exhibition of the extent of one's pleasures has become a status symbol, the wife, a fianc*ee, three lovers, and men often boast about this "pleasure".

 

There's an English actor who claimed to have had sex three thousand times with three thousand different women. Three thousand! Where's the pleasure in going at it like a machine... Like a mechanical rabbit? (She pants and breathes quickly) "Aha, aha! Thank you, madam! Aha, aha! Did you enjoy that...? Aha, aha! What's your name...? Aha, aha... Excuse me if I don't kiss you, but I'm just snatching a sandwich... Aha aha!"

 

It's more like forced labour!

 

It's like making love with the whole of Milan Central Station during the rush hour!

 

"Excuse me, oh I'm sorry... and don't push... I'll get to you in a minute... Could you hurry up, I've got a train to catch. Clip my ticket! Toot-toot!"

 

THE TRUTH, THE WHOLE TRUTH, ABOUT MEN!

 

Men like to boast in the bar, about things like that English actor... "Between two o'clock and five o'clock today, nine times...!" And then you get the man who does it twice a month... who feels impotent and goes off and kills himself... Don't get discouraged, men, it's all lies! Because when you catch them at it... on their own... naked, in bed... it's quite another thing.

 

They suffer from: temporary impotence through excess emotion... premature ejaculation through hyper-excitation... blockage of ejaculation... and fear of the vagina with teeth!

 

Really, it's true, I swear it! There are some boys who worry terribly before their first sexual encounter: "What happens if, when I penetrate her, she won't let me have it back?"

 

I'm talking to the girls now: if you ever find yourselves with your partner in a situation such as I just described... impotence, premature ejaculation, etc... you absolutely must not make fun of him, you mustn't say: "You're impotent, get out of here, idiot!" No! As far as we're copncerened, it's all emotion and love.

 

I believe that for a young man embarking on his first sexual relationship... his erection... is a big problem. So watch out, because sometimes a partner's behaviour - making fun of him, passing comments - can give a male a complex for the rest of his life.

 

There is temporary impotence, which then, with the help of time, trust and experience, can be got over. But sometimes one finds particularly sensitive males who carry on suffering from this problem.

 

A boy comes to see me... With all the shows that I've done on women's condition, my dressing room often becomes a kind of analyst's surgery - women, mothers, children and husbands come to confide their problems to me... Anyway, this boy said: "Can I talk to you for a moment, I want to ask some advice...? Seeing that you're a mother..." "No problem. Go ahead." "Signora Rame, I have amazing erections!" "...I'm delighted to hear it... But what's the problem?" "The trouble is, I have them at the wrong times! There I am, doing an oral exam in Greek, and Trac...! Then, when I need it, it's dead! So I have to give it a serious talking-to, three days beforehand: "Look, please, I love her, so get up, will you!!"

 

***

 

I would say that flaccidity of the male member must be an unbearable moment.

 

My son, who has run the whole range of sexual problems, considered this problem, in his book, and suggested... for guaranteed penetration... one of the Kama Sutra positions: the "scissors" position. I won't go into explicit detail here, because I wouldn't want my mother to be turning in her grave... However, I owe you at leat an outline explanation.

 

Scissors... You all know what scissors look like...

 

Well, supposing two pairs of scissors love each other, how will they get together...? With the male in the topmost position... It appears that in this position... the wretched thing... manages it if you give it a hand... put it in the right place... At that point, seeing that it may be a bit silly but it's not completely stupid, when it finds itself there, it says: "Hey! Where am I?! Oooh, that's nice and warm..." It opens one eye, and says: "Aha!" And then... Need I say more?

 

You know, it really is terribly bad for men, this business of having to dominate all the time! And we're the ones responsible, their parents and grandparents! When a little boy of 5 or 6 starts crying, what do we say? "Don't cry, you're not a little girl, you're a little man!" No, that's wrong. "Don't cry, because you're getting on my nerves!" And not because you're a little man... At 10, you're a little man, you're a little man... At 12, you're a little man... And as they grow up we make them feel that they have to be virile, strong, made of steel!

 

But why? It's lovely to cry... We women cry every five minutes! And anyway it's really lovely for a woman, to have your boyfriend, your husband, your lover, you son falling apart and crying in your arms... It's lovely to be able to cry and get things off your chest.

 

So, you men, as from this evening, cry! In fact, you can start now, if you like.

 

And one result of this is that men, particularly in public, pretend that they have no sexual problems.

 

For example, no-one goes round saying: "I'm a premature ejaculator!"

 

It's all kept hidden under wraps, like some horrible gorwth.

 

To such an extent that there is a serious sexual affliction, which is very common among men, but which is kept secret. Hardly anyone talks about it, even in university textbooks of sexology.

 

****

 

Everyone knows that there's such a thing as frigid women... which, as I said, is something that doesn't exist... But did you know that men can be frigid too?

 

There's a whole load of frigid men... and they don't even know it.

 

Now watch out, because I'm not talking about impotence. I'm talking about the complete lack of pleasure. The man has a regular erection, and ejaculates, but he doesn't feel anything. He gets no pleasure out of it.

 

"I don't understand... everything was going fine... I was getting worked up... I even had a terrific ejaculation... only I got no pleasure out of it... in fact I felt disgusted!"

 

This fact of male frigidity is a serious and tragic problem, and I'm convinced that one of the reasons for all this sexual violence is precisely this fact of "not feeling anything".

 

If a man gets true pleasure out of making love, it would never occur to him to take as woman by violence... to rape her... Why on earth would he want to...? He knows that pleasure grows only in a relationship that is calm and relaxed, of intimacy and gentleness.

 

How is this problem to be overcome? I would say that it requires a lot of trust in your partner, and much listening to your own desires, and a lot of calm. If you don't relax, how are you ever going to experience pleasant sensations?

 

But did you know that a non-existent biological reaction has actually been invented to cover up the fact of male frigidity?

 

It's called "post-coital tristesse"... The ancient Romans talked about it, and you still find it in sexology textbooks today.

 

In short, they claim that it's natural for men to be miserable after they've made love.

 

"Oh God, what have I don?! That was just animality! I repent! Sex is a base and lowly thing. I promise you, Mum, I won't do it again!"

 

But what on earth...?!?

If a person has experienced full pleasure, he's bound to feel brilliant!

 

"God, that feels wonderful! Light, all fizzy... my brain lifting off. I'm getting brilliant ideas... For sure, when God created the world, he must have just been making love!"

 

A man is miserable only if he hasn't got pleasure out of it.

 

And things are made worse by the fact that he thinks that he's the only one to suffer from a lack of pleasure.

 

IMPOTENCE

 

In addition to temporary impotence, there's ongoing impotence.

 

Past the age of 45 - sorry to have to give you the bad news - the statistics say that one man in eith becomes impotent...

 

Present company excluded, of course.

 

There are various forms of impotence: organic impotence, in other words the physical disability... Then there's the impotence that comes from overdoing it:* playboys, beware! (Note 4) Then there's the impotence which makes us laugh because we Italians are a humorous lot: impotence of notification of guarantee...* Otherwise known as "Clean Hands Impotence"... God exists...! At least they're punished there!

 

Then there's a more tragic impotence, namely redundancy impotence, (Note 5) in which the manual or white-collar worker who is affected by job insecurity no longer succeeds in making love.

 

Obviously, for men it's a tragedy to have to say goodbye to sexual relations, to their virility... So those who have the money have operations, which are tragic and a bit grotesque.

 

If we have any impotent men in the audience tonight... Oh goodness no, we never do, do we...! Maybe you have a cousin... or a friend... I can inform you that there are injections that you can have... Ask your doctor.

 

I've taken a close look at these operations: the first, in the United States, but then available in Europe too, consisted of transplanting a solid prosthesis into the male penis... so that it was always like this! I can imagine these men going around a bit nervous... Very useful for making love... but imagine if you're at a funeral! So then some said: "I've had enough. Get rid of it!" Apparently it stopped some of them skiing - they couldn't manage the curves any more!

 

Then science progressed: they transplanted a stuffed prosthesis which was "erected" by a subcutaneous little tube, which connected to a little pump... All it needed was (She mimes) "What's the matter, darling?" "...A cramp.* Alright, darling, let's go..." Such love-making...! Ten hours at a stretch... Until the poor women could take it no more!

 

Then they went one better: they found a system by which surgeons could insert into the penis a prosthesis connected to a sophisticated apparatus which guaranteed "service on demand".

 

Now I come to a term which I positively loathe: scrotum! Now look, with all the respect that I have for men... the word scrotum... worse than "organsm"... And it's all very well for us women to laugh, but just think what we've been stuck with - "vulva"...! One evening a lady came up on stage and told me: "Frankly, I'd prefer a Volvo!" Not to mention "Uuuuterus", which is horrible. And "ovaries"? A very chickeny sort of term, if you ask me... You see a beautiful, elegant woman... "Goodness, she's got ovaries for goodness sake...!"* But scrotum beats them all. It sounds like the name of some horrid insect. "Aha! A scrotum! Squash it!" Beneath the skin of the scrotum... two buttons are placed. The left one for an erection, the right one for diserection... without the lady even noticing... In fact they don't even tell their wives... They'd be forever fighting over the buttons!

 

This is an amazing system... The only drawback is... that when you press the button for diserection... it whistles: "Wheeee..." So, when you've finished they recommend: turn on the radio, or the TV, and failing that, make a train noise: "Tooot-tooot!"

 

(You can imagine the scene: he's just finished... he hurries off to the bathroom... turns on the radio... the television... and failing that, makes a train noise: "Too-too-tooo!")

 

Another system involves using silver wire: silver is a very malleable metal... It stays as you put it. The only trouble is that these men can no longer travel on aircraft... They go through the metal detector and "Riiiing....!" So they all travel by train!

 

A few months ago (Note 6) they invented another system. Revolutionary! True genius!

 

The research and testing of this new apparatus was carried out by American Medical Systems. The first trials in Italy will take place on volunteers at Modena, where there is a large research centre.

 

The remarkable thing about this system is that the male member becomes erect by means of a tele-command - th at's right, just like what you use for the TV, but just one channel! Obviously, you can't go to bed stark naked with a tele-command.* "What are you doing? You even want to watch television whiule we make love?!" So they miniaturised it... into the form of a suppository... and where is it put...? Need you ask!

 

The doctors are very reassuring: "Don't worry, it's ultra-sensitive..." "Darling, I love you..." A little squueze. "I love you, I love you, I love you!" Three little squuezes. The obelisk of Rameses IV!

 

 

Three important things to remember: 1) that your batteries are well charged; 2) that it doesn't fall into enemy hands; 3) avoid sudden shocks! In comes the bank robber: "Hands up, this is a raid!" TAC! The obelisk again! And your telecommand ends up in your mouth!

 

MY SON AND HIS INSECURITIES

 

As we see, men suffer too.

 

I found this out with my son; as I watched him grow I was able to observe all the phases of the disaster.

 

When he was a boy he fell hopelessly in love every quarter of an hour... But almost always unrequited. Then one day he comes home and says: "Mum, I'm thinking of getting married!" "I think we should talk about this." He was fifteen years old. I've always tried to talk with my children, even the most difficult, risqu*e things.. I've tried not to make the same mistake as my mother. We talk about it... She was called Cesira,... which wouldn't have mattered...* But she was a 34-year-old widow... and didn't want him! The poor boy... Nervous exhaustion... He began losing his hair. It's called Alupecia, a psycho-somatic condition brought about by frustration, insecurity and anxiety... If you see young men around with bald patches on their heads, please be kind to them, even if you don't know them: "Hello! You're looking good! Would you like a coffee?" Because they're going through a very bad period...

 

Jacopo, as I was saying... had bald patches on his head, juvenile acne multiplied fifty-fold... A tragedy... Nobody wanted him... To such an extent that I was even prepared to pay! At a certain point he says: "Mum, I'd like to prepare myself for the big encounter; I shall find a kindred spirit... Is it alright if I read Wilhelm Reich's Sexual Revolution?"  "Yes!" (If you say no, it'll just be worse, because he'd have read it in secret.) "But look, it's a very serious book... So if there's something you don't understand (In a strangled tone) ask your mum, because your mum will explaim!" You see, we mothers every now and then go off our heads, and when we're a bit embarrassed we get these strange tones of voice!

 

One day I was preparing the minestrone... I have a wonderful relationship with vegetables... when they turn out* Tac-tac-tac... I don't use anything electrical... I prepare the minestrone for a whole month, and put the stuff in the freezer... So there I was preparing the minestrone (She mimes cutting up the vegetables) when my innocent boy arrived and asked: "Mum, how do women masturbate?" I cut my finger!

 

Because Dario and I have always been very scrupulous and attentive in explaining the sexual act to our children... How babies are born... beginning with butterflies... And we've always seen ourselves as grade-one progressive parents... But it had never even occurred to us to talk about masturbation.

 

"Darioooo! Come here... Your son needs to talk to you!"

 

 

Dario arrives... And do you know what he told the boy? "That's not the kind of question you ask your parents." I could have throttled him! Then he made matters even worse. "Ask your girlfriend!" The whole block knew that he couldn't get a girlfriend!

 

He couldn't get girlfriends, despite my efforts to turn him into some kind of Schwarzenegger.

 

Because we mums, when we're young, spend endless afternoons taking them places: we take them swimming, we take them to tennis, we take them dancing, piano lessons... "The little mountain climber...*" But the little wretches* don't want to do anything! "Go daaancing! Look at Fracci!"* I wonder how many mums recognise this.

 

One day I told him: "Jacopo, you're too timid. You should prepare yourself for life, it's a wicked world... Dialectics is all very well, but... He was 6 years old at the time...!" In short, I signed him up for judo! The poor kid... He really didn't want to... "Come on, Jacopo, if anyone comes up to you... Tac! Send them flying..." After ten days I had to take him home. I went to pick him up. "Where's my son?" There he was - he was the one doing the flying! Even the girls were beating him up!

 

Swimming: he couldn't be bothered.

 

Skiing: he broke two legs on the first day... Nobody breaks two legs at the same time! Just as well he didn't have three!

 

You'll grow up with rickets,* no muslces... "I don't care!"

 

However, every cloud has a silver lining, as they say.

 

When his call-up papers came round... he was already under-weight, but when the pink card arrived ( I don't know why they make it pink... it should be black...) there was a clear month to go before his medical. So I told him: "Jacopo, you're not eating for a month!" "But Mum, I won't be able to stand!" "I don't care. Sit down!"

 

I went with him, to the military barracks in Como, holding him up round the shoulders.... If I'd have let go, he'd have fallen down! I handed him over to the doctors... and left the barracks in a flood of tears.

 

God, if he'd had to do military service, it'd have killed him.

 

The diagnosis was fantastic: 1 metre 87 tall; 49 kilos... severe malnutrition.

 

Excused service. Hooray!

 

We had a party... a big lunch... which he ate and vomited up again.

 

So, sexually speaking Jacopo was not up to it during his adolescence... Then, one day he came to se eme and said: "Mum, I get premature ejaculation!" He no longer asked his father anything! Anyway, almost all boys have this problem... and some adults too, as I can assure you.

 

I didn't know what to advise him... "I don't know, honey, I'm a woman... (I asked around a bit... Then, a mother's love... I spent sleepless nights working out a system which might be applied to sexual relations). I finally hit on a system: maths. "Yes, maths. This'll solve your problem! You need to get your mind off it. So you start making love, and you immediately get your brain working on complicated sums, 7 x 9 divided by 5 x 22... You'll see, you'll do it!"

 

"OK, mum, I'll try."

 

On the day of the great encounter, the whole family (With her fist clenched in the communist salute): "Be bold, Jacopo, come back a winner!" In those days we always used to give the clenched fist salute; now we no longer even have our hands.

 

He comes back: "How did it go?" "7 x nine... Mum, I've finished!"

 

That applause was from the premature ejaculators!

 

This experience also created another problem... He always failed in maths... because every time they asked him anything, he would think about how he used sums to help him hold out... so he got an emotional block and couldn't answer.

 

I talked about this with our plumber... a handsome fellow, forty-odd... who'd been in France and Germany and had seen a thing or two.

 

"For serious cases like your son's, maths isn't enough. He should use the car crash routine." "Car crash?!" "Yes, a big crash on the motorway during the summer holidays with twisted steel, injured passengers, screams, shouts, ambulances, firemen trying to get mangled bodies out of mashed-up motors. Your son should try it, signora. I'm sure it'll help him hold out."

 

It worked. Jacopo managed to hold out for a good long time. It seems that the girl in question was "beatified" 18 times. The problem was that at that point my son could no longer get the car crash out of his mind... so it was goodbye orgasm.

 

"How did it go?"

 

"A disaster, Mum! Too many dead!"

 

Then, being a creative type, he thought up another system all by himself: "Mum, I've found an amazing system: when I feel that I'm getting too worked up, I contract the muscles of my lower stomach... and I can hold out! I've done it!"

 

He got cystitis!!

 

What's more, this was the period of feminism... Girls were going a bit over the top, and if a man so much as dared have premature ejaculation, they'd get in a vile mood and shout in his ear: "You're a dirty male chauvinist...!" And they'd slap his thingummy. So my son always had a red foreskin!

 

And you'd see the boys, on demonstrations (Singing and covering her lower parts with her hands) "Avanti o popolo..."

 

Then, in the end, he found a gentle girl... who knew just about everything about sex, and delicately showed him that a sexual relationship is not a match of Games without Frontiers... and that if you get their first you don't win a prize, but they call you "Stupid!" And she solved his problem for me.

 

And then I discovered that this business about premature ejaculation is not a sickness at all; it's a fact of nature!

 

Chimpanzees, which are the animals closest to us, copulate in seven seconds.

 

I swear it, I'm not just saying that to defend my son.

 

They're very fast. It's a law of nature.

 

Obviously, because in the days of the jungle there wre wild animals around. If the animals stayed in that position for too long, down on all fours, like rams with sheep: "You're lovely... Did you like that...?" Then the tigers would come and eat them!

 

The premature ejaculators got eaten the same as the others... but at least they'd already had their pleasure and got their beloved pregnant.

So it's natural for us to be very fast too, because when all's said and done we're only apes after all.

 

But they should explain in school that it's something normal... and that with the passing of the years, and a bit of practice, you improve things!

 

And they should also tell boys at school: "Watch out, because once you've resolved the basic problems of timing in coitus... sometimes you may have trouble with impotence."

 

Once Jacopo had overcome this problem, his hair grew, his acne disappeared, and he was a lovely boy. Except that he started giving himself airs at home! He knew everything... He was the only one who had it!

 

One day, he was about sixteen... we - Dario and I - were about to leave on tour... With this weird profession of ours, our kids often came with us, but on this occasion we had to leave him at home with his grandma - the one with the "backside" and the "front backside" - and his little sisters... He was with a girl... decidedly a virgin... and I realised what might be about to happen. I was a bit worried, so I said: "Jacopo!!" - children can usually tell just by a mothher's tone what's about to happen. "Jacopo! Come to the bathroom, I must talk to you...!" I always held my audiences there! Me sitting on the toilet, and Jacopo on the bidet. "Now be careful, Jacopo, don't do anything silly... This girl is a virgin for sure!" And he told me: "But Mum... I know perfectly well what to do!" "Oh yes, what's that? What will you do?!" "I'll only do..." (A bit embarrassed, because we trust each other, but he has to show some respect, because I'm his mum) "I'll just do the... chiavino."

 

"What's that?"

 

"I learned it from my adult friends... You only put a little bit in..."

 

"You're stupid! What d'you mean, just a little piece? How do you expect to stop? What are you going to do? You're going to measure it first? Put a string on it, and a bell? A little bit! Do you or do you not know that the hymen is at the start of the female sexual organ...?"

 

"No, Mum! The hymen's a bit further in."

 

"What do you mean? The hymen is at the beginning..."

 

"No, Mum... It's at least two centimetres further in!"

 

"Are you saying you know more than me?" And he said: "You've forgotten, Mum..."

 

At that point I got extremely angry.

 

He brings a scientific textbook, and shows me a diagram of the female sexual organ in section... I didn't recognise anything that belonged to me... "I haven't got anby of that..." All I recognised was... I don't know... an ear. "Look, I don't have ears down there!"

 

"Alright. I'll phone the doctor... I have to know before I set off!"

 

I phone. He's not in. His wife answers... A woman like my mother... Straight out, agitated as I was: "Ciao, Iole... Where's the hymen?" Silence at the other end... I thought: "I've killed her!" Then, with a voice full of doubt, she says: "Do you mean the river?" "I'm sorry, excuse me... I'll call again later." And I told my son: "You know where I'm going to go, to find out about the hymen...? I'm going to my local party branch." (In those days I was a member of the Communist Party.) I'm going to my party branch, because my Communist Party will be able to tell me where the hymen is!" (To the audience) Why are you laughing... I had a lot of faith in my party. Leaving aside the fact that if the Communist Party had spent more of its time talking about hymens and a bit less discussing U-turns... we wouldn't be in the mess we're in today!

 

I headed off down the road at a run, talking to myself like a lunatic: "Because the hymen... I know where the hymen is... that stupid boy..." I fling open the door of our party branch. There's Comrade Giovanna doing the accounts... always in the red...! I blurted it straight out: "Giovanna...! Where's the hymen?!" She looks at me for a moment, and then says: "He went that way!"

 

She'd understood "Hymie", who was the first dissident comrade in our section.

 

Then, in the evening, I talked with my doctor: "At your age you still want to know where the hymen is...? However your son is right. The hymen is a little further up." I say this because if there's some boy here who has in mind to try this... chiavino... technique... be careful! Stop in time! Remember that your sexual organ does not have shoulders...  Put a bolt on it!

 

In short, there's a huge amount of disinformation, and most of us confront the problem with agitation and anxiety. Calm! That's what you need. Calm!

 

ZEN

 

What can we do to improve this situation?

 

First of all we need a bit of Zen.

 

What does Zen have to do with sex? Quite a lot.

 

Zen, as you know, is an Eastern philosophy... And you don't need to go to India to find someone to teach you... these days there are more Indian gurus in Bagnacavallo than in Calcutta!

 

Zen recommends a certain position for love-making, a particular position in yoga... known as the Lily postion.

 

First of all, you have to stand, naked, on one leg only, hands together, elbows raised... If you have four arms it's even better... Especially when you've got your arms round each other.

 

Yes, both of you, man and woman, standing on one leg, with the other leg folded up and the foot resting on the knee. Then she places herself with her head down and her leg folded up her back and resting on her pubes... a glass of dry Martini, a slice of orange, a drop of gin and a rose... so as to make him feel at home. I'm joking...

 

The Indians of Tantric Yoga and the Taoist Chinese discovered that the sex, if experienced properly, is an extraordinary way of unblocking our psychological armour,* our anxieties, to make us less aggressive, and more sociable and tolerant. But you have to find a way of living it well.

 

As Confucius used to say: "Sex is the American Express card of life."*

 

Zen teaches us to "liberate" ourselves (in  a loving embrace... forgetting our everyday worries), and to concentrate only on what we are doing. (For us Westerners it's difficult to accept that "not thinking" can be good for you...) How many times have we been making love, "I love you, I love you, I love you... Oh God... Nutella!" For us Westerners it's difficult to detach ourselves from our everyday problems. Except for Neapolitans, who, albeit with rather ri4squ*e language, seem to have the hang of it. They have a saying: "O cazzo nun vuol penzieri!" In other words, "the prick doesn't want thoughts!"

 

So I've explained Zen in three words!

 

THE CLITORIS

 

I could see that Jacopo's sexual life was improving by the day... One afternoon... I was preparing my usual minestrone... and Jascopo arrives in a good mood, shouting: "Mum, Mum, I've found the clitoris!" I have to say, I didn't understand... It's a term which isn't part of my culture, of my everyday language... How many people are born and die without ever having said the word "clitoris"... You don't often find yourself at lunch saying: "Signora, how's your little girl's clitoris..."

 

I didn't understand, so I said: "Oh yes? When did you lose it?" He went right off the deep end. "But Mum, you tell me to trust you, and to confide in you, and now you're making fun of me?!" "Not at all! I didn't understand!" However, when I realised that this had been an important moment for him... because we women have to admit that it really is hard for men to find it...! When I understood, I applauded him: "Well done, well done!" It's not easy to find such a tiny part of our sex.

 

There was a boy that I knew, he came to see me. He said: "There's my girlfriend's phone number. Phone her and tell her that she's a little shit!" "But I can't... I hardly know her... But anyway, why? What's she done to you?" "What's she done to me? She won't cooperate. I can't find that part of your body; there we are, naked in bed, making love... I'm giving it my all... She's like a snake. With her mouth set, she hisses: "You can't find it, eh?! I don't give up, though. I carry on, and she's cold. She looks round the room, and she's going: 'No...! No...! Cold...! Freezing...!'"

 

Girls, you should help your partners.

 

For them it's a big drama, finding your clitoris... even those who, like my son, had studied sex in books and knew everything about Florida... geographically speaking.

 

Theory and practice don't always go hand in hand.

 

What's more, some of the books have fairly hair-raising descriptions.

 

Let me read from one of these erudite texts.

 

"Start from a position between your breasts... Then trace a perpendicular line towards the navel, continuing in a straight line downwards." Don't laugh, you'll make me go wonky! "From here continue in the direction of the pubes." We're getting closer! "Pass through the dark undergrowth." A scary place! "When you reach the top of the Mons Veneris, begin the descent on the other side..." This puts me in mind of Tomba doing a slalom. "Within the valley formed by the large lips, you follow the slight upward slope at the centre of the Canyon: the clitoris is there!"

 

You'd never find it!

 

You've heard me say "il clitoride" and "la clitoride". I know it's gramattically incorrect to say "la" clitoride, but a few years ago there were some feminists who declared that they'd had enough of calling it "il" clitoride, preceded by the masculine article, as would be gramatically correct. "This is our stuff...!"

 

A few fanatic extremists suggested changing the gender of other parts of the body: la nasa, la occhia, la puba, la cula... But then the movement took a downturn, and people dropped it.

 

Everything that you should know and that not even your gynaecologist has ever told you!

 

(A large panel is carried on-stage, with painted flowers suggestive of the female sexual organs: orchids, etc)

 

I'm glad that the ladies in the audience have recognised themselves. You should know that at this point I was supposed to be projecting a slide of the female sex in section, magnified five hundred times, so as to continue my lesson, but Dario was insistent: "You can't! The female sex in section is already pretty horrifying when it's small... If you magnify it five hundred times, you'll block the erections of the males present for the next two months!" He drew these flowers for me, because, as you know, flowers are the symbol of the female sex. There's even a song: "What a pretty pansy you have... give it to me, give it to me..." They don't want pansies, though... They want Florida!

 

Right, I shall try to make myself clear.

 

Here is the female sexual organ.

 

As the poet says: It's the mother of all delights.

 

It's a corner of heaven placed between soft thighs.

 

It's placed beneath a tuft of curly hair. Even girls who have straight hair miraculously have tight curly hair down there. Now there's a mystery. The universe has a sense of the sublime.

 

Like a rose, the female sex is surrounded by soft petals...

 

The poets have given splendid names: the little temple of love, the fabulous wood of paradise, the fresh and sweetly-scented rose that appears in summer.

 

Simple folk have also invented poetic names for it. Parpaja-topola - a very old term which means "butterfly mouse"... Fragrant apricot... Little plum... Little peach...

 

then there are the rude names, but I'll spare you those.

 

CLITO-CLITO-CLITO-CLITORIS

 

At this point, at the risk of appearing pedantic, I'd like to talk to you in a language that is less poetic and more technical.

 

In fact I'm going to sing it out in rap rhythm.

 

A Hymn to the Clitoris

 

Zen, Zen, liberate yourself in Zen

Don't think,don't think,

Forget work, bills and the electric to pay

And come and let yourself go!

And come, I want to take you by the hand, close by

Let's go and look for the magic garden.

 

Zen, don't think, don't think,

Zen, let yourself go.

There, there's a garden* called "parpaja toparola"

There, there's an enchanted wood

Let yourself go

Among sweet swoonings

Among sighs and groans

Even your toothache will pass, if you have one!

Between soft thighs and the lower parts

There she is, there she is

Yes, it's the Arab phoenix.

Go, go, go, look, look and you'll find it!

Calm, relax, slip further down...

There it is, there it is, there it is...

I swear that it's there!

It's placed well hidden beneath a curly tuft.

It's lovely! It's lovely!

You'll find heaven,

You'll find the myth,

You'll find the clito-clito-clitors!

Between two soft mounds

Swelling and ruby-red

There, haf closed there are two tender lips.

Don't get distracted, if you want to find it. Stop, stupid! Go back to the start!

You've missed the fine centre of creation.

It's here, it's here, it's here' it's here!

Well don! Correct! Here it is,

The divine clito-clito-clitoris!

Yes, it's there, it's there, it's there!

Then, if you lower yourself gently, gently into the soft channel

You'll be amazed, out of your mind...*

Yeees! There's the G spot...! Yeees, the G spot...

And you think it's nothing? Surprising? Yes!

That's how it is... That's how it is...

Clito-clito... The G spot! Clito-clito...

the G spot!

 

Let's get to the point. Where is it situated, this part which, when stimulated, enables women to reach orgasm? My husband swears that it's here (She points to part of one of the painted flowers) This is where you find the clitoris... which 90 per cent of men don't know where it is, and the remaining 10 per cent haven't yet found it!

 

The clitoris, in case you don't know, is the exact reproduction of the male sexual organ. We women have a penis in miniature... We have a... little willy... and we should be happy with it!

 

As well as this little willy, we have another erogenous spot inside our vaginas, which is the fantastic G spot. The whole world talks of this G spot, but few have found it... Da Costanzo speaks of the G spot three evenings yes and three evenings... yes.

 

What is the "G spot"?

 

G... The G stands for Grafenberg... the professor who discovered the existence of the G spot in 1944... And nobody ever told us!

 

The professor says: "The G spot is an erogenous zone that is found inside the female sex, and is simply an extension of the clitoris..."

 

And where is this "G spot"...? As you go in... Don't laugh, I can't think how else to put it... As you go in and go up, you find yourself in the first lower third of the vagina... This is not at all clear! However, Professor Grafenberg helps us, and says: "Imagine a clock within the vagina - not an alarm clock, a wrist watch, maybe - with the hands pointing towards the navel and indicating five past eleven. The G point is there."

 

Now, I just know that the next time you're making love... your man will whisper in your ear: "Treasure... Do you mind if I put my Rolex up you... It's just gone eleven, and I want to find your G spot!"

 

 

For God's sake, women, we should be really proud... What wonderful things we have: the labia major, labia minor*... a clitoris... the G spot and we even have ejaculation!

 

Yes, really, ejaculation!

 

There's an English feminist group which is calling on women to retake possession of that too. The group is called "Female Ejaculation for a Socialism with a Smiling Human Face".

 

But watch out: you can't expect him to find your clitoris and your G spot all by himself, especially the G spot, which up until 1968 we didn't even know we had.

 

Men couldn't even find water in the sea, let alone the G spot, which up until 1968 even we didn't know we had!

 

However, girls, if you don't give them a few directions, these boys will never learn.

 

You shouldn't order them: "This way... That way..." Be delicate.

 

You should take the situation in hand.

 

In fact, you should take their hand to the situation. You can't expect men to come out of their domination neurosis. Their minds are too stuffed.* You're going to have to teach him everything.

 

But in order to be convincing with them, you're going to have to be the first to free yourselves from inferiority complexes.

 

THE MALE SEX

 

Girls, once you've explained everything to him, about yourselves... overcoming your timidity, gaining confidence, you're also going to have to find out what are the important points of the male sex.

 

We've sung the praises of the female sexual organ... It's lovely... Really handsome...! I mean, when it's there... at rest, curled up in itself...* It's not particularly out of the ordinary... but I fell friendly towards it, I feel like I want to pull it, like the cat's tail! But when it rises up in all its strength... When I was younger I really used to think it had a bone in it...! It's lovely! Then you put a wig and a pair of gold-rimmed glasses on its head... An intellectual of Forza Italia!

 

I don't mean to be mean to intellectuals of Forza Italia... It's just one of those jokes that I can't resist. Kind of pops out... because when I'm talking about the G spot there's a tension... so I came up with that joke one night in Rome, as a way of easing the tension. A gentleman got up and started heading for the exit, and his wife called after him: "Come back, come back! She's not getting at you...! You don't wear glasses!"

 

Men are always getting worked up about the size of their thingummy. Gentlemen, I assure you, it is of absolutely no importance. The important thing is how you use your sex. For example, making your woman laugh is sexually more important than the size of your penis. What's more, a man of smaller proportions will satisfy his partner famously, because he'll put himself in it...

 

At this point I was supposed to be showing a slide of a male sexual organ in section, to show you the male erogenous points, but once again Dario said: "No, you can't do that! I'll make you these giant ninepins."

 

(Pointing to the big ninepins at the side of the stage) There they are...Tehy are the exact reproduction of the Lilies of Nola and the Candles of Gubbio and Catania, which are carried round the city on feast days... which is nothing more or less than the phallus-worship ritual of the Dionysiac festivals of ancient Greece... We've got six of them, because my husband says that they bring luck.

 

Probably nobody as ever told you this, but he too has a clitoris... La clitoride... I'm sorry... Il clitoride... And you ought to know where it is... If you don't know, shoot yourselves... Anyway, it's up here (She points to the top of one of the large candles) ...Ask a policeman!*

 

Not only does he have a clitoris, but he also has a G spot, and even men don't know they've got it. Thjeir G spot... If it hadn't been for a certain lady by name of Elisabetta Leslie Leonelli, who discovered it... who must be a great researcher... and who has written a book entitled "Cuddles and Caresses"... Their G spot is here... (She points to the bottom of the candle) at the base of the penis, inside it... When I discovered where it was, I thought: "Mother Nature is out of her mind...! Why did she have to put it somewhere which is so difficult to reach... Couldn't she have found somewhere more comfortable and accessible?" It's at the root of his sex... on the inside.

 

Signora Leonelli swears that if you find this point too, you will hear the howl of the coyote!

 

Now, don't spend the whole night looking for the G spot.

 

With all the above, I'm not saying that technique is the most important thing in a love-making relationship, but if you want to take part in the Tour de France, at least you have to know how to ride a bike.

 

Please, don't get me wrong.

 

I'm for feelings having pride of place.

 

In particular, for a woman, the "before" and "after" of the sexual relationship is important.

 

Men are so preoccupied with the size of their thingummies, and its consistency, and how many times they do it... They don't realise that for us it's much more important to have attention, gentleness, a caress, a pressing...* a Ferrari...! I'm joking!

 

At this point we come to the central topic of this evening's little talk, the sexual relation as such. I would say that all Italians, not to mention the French, are extremely good in foreplay, in love games, in flirting and so on, but when it comes down to the face to face busiiness, particularly for men who are a bit fragile, with the odd difficulty... this is my advice... Abandon any ulterior motivation - making yourself look good, seducing, achieving pleasure... Relax. Sex is not a hula hoop competition. The face is strained,* how many times have we seen our partners with their faces looking strained? Why is this? Because the mind is awake, active, anxious, seeking for orgasm, wanting it absolute, wanting it thunderous, wanting it total. No, instead it needs a lot of calm. Begin by relaxing all your muscles... Well, not all of them... Breathe deeply, feel your partner, listen to every centimetre, hand in hand, listen to the warmth of the body, the beating of the heart... smell the scent of your partner's hair, always assuming it's been washed... in total contact. Listen to your pulses. When you are in perfect syntony, you can begin the dance. Yes, it really is a dance, like a waltz, but there aren't pre-arranged steps. And in order to dance well, you must concentrate, lose your anxieties, your fears, let everything go, but particularly all you emotions. There you have Zen, explained a bit better.

 

Women, no doctor has ordered you to wriggle around like loony ducks. Take it comfortably, it's meant to be a pleasure, not a typewriting exam... And it's not a hula hoop competition either.

 

You can even stay quite still, and play at breathing in time together, one after the other. Or blowing into your partner's ear, or his neck, or make love under the shower, and spray yourselves with water everywhere, and cover each other in foam, like a cream tart,* the back, or stroke his hair, or massage each other's feet. (Obviousdly, if you're going to massage each other's feet while you're making love, you're going to have to choose a suitable position, otherwise you risk fractures, slipped discs and heart attacks.

 

Then, if you really are in syntony, you can begin to dance. Yes, it's just like a waltz, except that there aren't pre-arranged steps.

 

It's a kind of telepathic assonance. You move with little movements up and down, and sideways and circular movements, seeking the maximum contact with all your partner's body, you try to establish a common mutual rhythm. It really does become a dance. Your body moves of its own accord, taken by a mysterious rhythm, scanned* by the liquid movements and quiverings with which she transforms the interior of her sex into a delirious amusement park.

 

In order to follow the dance, you must stop thinking, you must enter another state of awareness.

 

You must abandon your anxieties, and let your emotions run free, without fear.

 

There you have Zen again!

 

Then, in the end, your orgasm will reach biblical proportions.

 

In short,  something that will require an intervention by the neuro-delirious squad of Niguardia!

 

But remember, that it's not easy to get there.

 

I wish you luck on your journey...! And if you find I was right, send me a postcard: "Dear Franca, it was right, what you said!"

 

Now, let's be clear, I have nothing against sex for sex's sake.

 

And if you want to dress in borchie,* exchange clysters,* collect shoes and used underwear, love each other, make love by hurling yourselves arm in arm down the aquaplane toboggan at Riccione, in threes, or sixes, or twenty-eights, go ahead. Just as you can very well cultivate particular hobbies, such as stroking each other with your feet, with your mouths, your noses, your armpits...

However, in my opinion there is nothing to beat a loving embrace, be it homosexual - and this subject would take up an entiree evening on its own... as long as it's love.

 

The idyllic embraces of bodies.

 

The disempowering* undulation of hips.

 

The yell of pleasure which unhinges* your spirit.

 

Nirvana finally in sight. The bold contact with the overwhelming* force which created you and which gives you life at every instant.

 

This truly is great.

 

For this reason it's worth putting up with the wearisome suffering queues at the ticket windows of life.

 

However, technique and understanding are also important.

 

Not to know anything about your own body and that of your lover certainly does not help you to understand each other.

 

For example, many women are thrown off course by the idea of the strong, untouchable, indestructible man.

 

But men are very fragile creatures, they need to be mollycoddled and treated gently.

 

And their thingummy is very delicate too. Hypersensitive. If you slap it around like a punchball, they won't say anything, because they don't want to show themselves up, but deep down inside they're suffering. He really doesn't like you rubbing it against the zip of his trousers, or stretching it* like a sock.*

 

IMAGINATION, BOYS!

 

There are also things that girls don't like. For example: leaving aside the lack of delicacy, girls don't like men who have little imagination. In particular, for a man, the art of love-making often goes no further than an obsessive plunging like a sink plunger... which may be very enjoyable for him, who suffers from plumber's syndrome... but isn't too special for us.

 

Watch out, you men. You should be sensitive. It's fundamental. Only if you listen and succeed in following along with your partner's desires will you be able to give her pleasurable sensations. So calm down. She's not a pinball machine.

 

So much for men.

 

And for a lot of women and girls... when they get their high-school diplomas, they should also be given a textbook entitled: "Florida... and its surroundings. Instructions for use."

 

IT SINGS!

 

While we're on the subject of not knowing things...

 

There's one important thing that I want to tell you, and it's very important. I'm referring to sexual gymnastics.

 

I knew about this gymnastics from when I gave birth... but I never imagined that one could... it's amazing to say it... use gymnastics with one's own sexual organs, during love-making... In short, vaginal gymnastics. Truly horrible, eh?!

 

In Scandinavian schools they teach this kind of gymnastics to both boys and girls in junior school.* Why is this gymnastics important? For men, it avoids them getting problems with their prostate glands at the age of about 48 or 50, and the associated operations... In fact, the stress of all your disappointments, overwork, pleasures and sexual relations end up there, in your prostate.

 

As regards women, the female sex is a miracl;e of genetic engineering. There are these muscles which we don't use, and the fact of their non-use leads to their progressive weakening, and is the cause... this isn't very poetic... after menopause, of urinal incontinence, which affects about 50 per cent of women.

A problem which is still, nowadays, dealt with surgically.

 

On the other hand, for more than 50 years it has been known that muscular re-education is capable of relieving incontinence within a few months. The problem is that nobody ever told us this.

 

They've also discovered a strong correspondence between atrophy of the pelvic muscles and frigidity.

 

Obviously, difficulties with orgasm have not only muscular causes, but also psychological causes.

 

However, many women have achieved orgasm only after having begun exercising the aforementioned sexual gymnastics.

 

it is worth noting that vaginal exercising can hel in difficult cases to achieve pregnancy... it's a mechanical aid for the sperm on its way to its target: "Come on lads... keep it up...!"

 

These muscles are also important in love-making. An adult friend of mine came to see me - not some inexperienced girl - and she was crying and heartbroken.  "He's dumped me! It's all my fault, because I don't know how to do it."

 

"What don't you know how to do?"

 

"I don't know how to caress his sex!"

 

"Well, don't despair... You know how it is when you make the dough for tortelli? Don't use the hammer and the little spiky wheel, though... unless he's a masochist."

 

"No... I don't want to boast, but I'm rather good at that! No, I don't know how to caress him with my sex. There we are, making love... "Enough!" he shouted. "Your sex is paralysed, atrophied!" "Atrophied?! Oh God!" "Yes, it doesn't breathe... it doesn't caress me... it doesn't speak... it doesn't sing... It's dumb!" And off he went. Excuse the indiscreet question, but you're my best frined... Does yours sing?" A moment of embarrassment... "If it does sing, I've never heard it... Let's find out more."

 

Our friend, a certain Rosalina... an impressive brunette, all heart, sex and experience... gave us a lesson.

 

For sure her Florida sang. Probably gurgled...* In her youth she must have held public meetings with her sex, given the number of men who were crazy for her!

 

"You women," she shouted, as if she'd been a man,* "you have little training* with that area of your body. It's an abandoned zone. You have Biafra between your thighs!"

 

An alarming thought! I was under the impression I had Florida!

"That's the reason why your men betray you! You have to exercise it! Contract it! Relax it! A lively trained Florida is like the steps* to Parnassus... It contracts, it writhes about...* It relaxes, it goes up and down! The mime abilities of the female sexual organ are very varied."

 

"Mime abilities?" I immediately thought of Toto, Fernandel.

 

"Yes, you understand me right: its mime abilities. You can make it expressive... make it look astonished... amazed... laughing... melancholic! Oh my God! It's moving, it's seething!* You can create internal movement as easily as you can with your hand... You can kiss, or even suck a man inside you! The good thing about these muscles is that you can exercise them anywhere; it's a gymnastics which you can do, which nobody can see you doing. Try it now. Don't be shy! This is sexual liberation! Come on! Give it a go!"

 

I said: "I don't feel a thing!"

 

But my friend, the one with the problem, told her: "Tell me! Tell me what I have to do!"

 

"Put your brain in it!"

 

And sure enough, I saw my friend take her brain and put it right there... She concentrated... and our friend told her: "Breathe deeply... contract your muscles...!"

My friend with the atrophied Florida... concentrated heard, and all of a sudden she began shouting: "It's moving! I can do it! It's talking... In a while it'll sing!" And off she went, down the road, throwing off her clothes as she went, going back to her man. (Turning to the audience) And now it's your turn.

 

Not right now, madam... We hardly know each other. Young and no-longer-young alike, you should exercise at home, continuously. Wherever you are... On the tube, at the dentist.

 

Watch out, though, because your male will find hismelf wrong-footed...He's no longer leading the dance. His "in-out" becomes a dilettantist banality compared with your orchestral possibilities as soloists on the harp and the well-tempered clavier!

 

Faced to face with a prehensile Florida, the male may feel himself grasped in the coils of an 8-metre anaconda. When you try you first "internal caress" on him, he's liable to flee in terror.

 

Don't give him a heart attack from the fright! Remember that 90 per cent of heart attacks during sex are caused by vaginal pneumatic shock!

 

Any man who makes love with you... As long as he doesn't take fright... will go out of his mind, and will come seeking you out on all fours and miaowing!*

 

I'd like to end this evening with an old medieval story, a fablieux of Provencal origin which we have translated into the language of the Mistero Buffo. The title is: "The Story of the Three Wishes".

 

***

 

THE STORY OF THE THREE WISHES

 

The story goes that there were two young people in love, who loved each other so much, so very much, that they spent all their time wrapped up in each other, embracing, and enjoying a love that was naked, quite naked... And they were covered only by their arms and legs and hands and open mouths, kissing each other all over, passionately, in a mad passion.* But benath this great joy there lurked an anxiety, a lurking moment of fear.

 

"Will the same thing happen to us as to so many other lovers that we know? They too were taken with love, with such an infatuation to smiagolare for all etyernity with the full moon in all the nights of this world. But at a certain moment all this passion suddenly evaporated... And now they hardly know each other."

 

These two lovers decided to go and ask advice, guidance, so they went to an old wise man who promptly uttered the following opinion: "My children, if you wish to remain in love for all eternity, you're going to have to imagine every day new forms of love, most fantastical!"

 

 "Every day?"

 

"Yes, every day."

 

"Oh, so that's it?! Alright, we understand... Thank you, old wise man. Every day a love which is all different and fantastical!"

 

And off they went, entwining in themselves in couplings so complicated that they ended up unable to extricate themselves. They made love upside down, and doing somersaults.* He invented love-in-a-basket: he sits her, his beloved, in a big basket without a bottom, squatting with her legs hanging down, apart, outside the basket. The basket is hung up, held by three ropes to the main beam in the ceiling.Then the young man spins the basket round and round. The ropes tighten up, the basket rises up a yard or two... There he is, naked, all excited, with his rod up, and he stretches out beneath the basket, which has no bottom, so that from below emerge his beloved's buttocks.

 

He lets got the basket, the ropes untwine, and the basket comes down, turning like a corkscrew, and he gets right up inside her... and she's like a whirling top.*  The basket spins faster. The two lovers shout together, enjoying themselves like crazy. Then there's a great crash! Splat! The ropes break. God, what a crash! Basket, legs and backsides in one single muddled heap. Yells of pleasure like at a quartering.* In the end, he was obliged to walk bent double, and she had to sit in a bowl full of ice for a week on end, shivering. But one should never give up and say "that's it".

 

Once again they had to imagine new and fantastical ways of making love.

 

So they went and sat on two swings, facing each other.

 

Him on this side, her on that, and they launched themselves off, and she offers herself wide open... "Ahhh! Aha!" They meet. God, what a clash! Sgnach! Howls of tigers and lionesses! Beasts that are half-wrecked* but so happy!

 

And they didn't stop there! They tried many experiments in sex: they made love underwater, in the sea, then embraced in a flooding river, among fireworks exploding all over the place. Arm in arm on a galloping horse. Finally, utterly worn out,* they go and sit to take the air on a river bank.

 

"What do we do now?"

 

They had no idea... They were emptied!

 

At this point they see something writhing around among the stones on the river bank. It's a fish, a golden fish, writhing all over the place and shouting: "Help! Help! Save me! A wave threw me up on this bank, and I can't get back into the water. If you help me and save my life, I'll give you a fine present!" The two lovers  took the golden fish and threw it into the river. "Thank you, my children!" squeakeds the fish, leaping above the water. In order to show my recognition for your generous help, I want to give you a gift: you will have three wishes, which will assuredly come true." And off went the fish. "This wouldn't be some kind of hunchback joke?" asked the girl. "Well, I suppose we can only try... Golden fish, I would like to make love with my beloved without ever having to say enough. For this reason I need "appendages" to sprout all over me!" And Plam! A miracle! The boy sprouted a member  right on his canappia. "Wonderful! More, I want more!" Plaf! He gets another on his navel. "More, more!" Two new members, on each knee, two on his buttocks, and  also in place of his fingers... and two big members in the place of his big toes... and in place of his other toes, a row of smaller bigolini. "That's enough, thank you! At least for now." And off they go, making love. "It's brilliant!" he goes. "Yes, yes, it's like being at the funfair, she pants, all sbirola. But there's one thing, I feel like an egg in a frying pan taken by thirty cockerels.* In short, with just one butterfly mouse, I just can't keep up with you. I feel as if I'm rolling round in a forest of mushrooms. To keep up with you I need as many butterflies as you have birilli."

 

No sooner said than done. The second wish came true. The girl sprouted a fine fanny on her forehead, and another two in place of her ears.  How graceful! On each buttock she sprouted a little forest supplied with all the labia majori and minori of huge pleasure. She sprouts two of thes fannies under her armpits, and another on her navel... And even on the palms of her hands... And two little fannies under the soles of her feet. But this is a great scorpacciata! Off they go, in style! This is truly making love! Oh what a lovely sound of shouting! Shudders, falsetto sighs...  smiccionamenti... rolling around, intertwined and panting like animals. And the wild animals go: "But what kind of animal is that?!" After a week, as with one voice, they shout: "That's enough! Let's stop for a breather!"  "I'm hungry," she croaks, thoroughly whacked. "Me too!" he croaks,* all out of breath. "But how can we go out and do the shopping...? Look at this..." she says. "How am I supposed to go out among people with a butterfly mouse in the middle of my forehead and another two sticking out where my ears should be? And I don't know how I'm going to walk with these two butterflies under the soles of my feet! Not to mention the fact that I'd have to put knickers on my hands to cover these two little butterflies like stigmata." "And me too," he says, "with all these birilli in place of my toes and on my fingers. What kind of clothes* will I ever be able to put on? Not to mention this nose* on my forehead, which sticks itself up rudely* at every woman that passes in the neighbourhood."

 

All of a sudden, for the first time, he, the boy, stood back and took a complete look at his beloved. He fell about laughing: "Ha! Ha! Excuse me, but you don't look too good with those fannies all over you! You look like a sieve!"

 

"And you don't look too clever yourself, with those thingummies sticking out all over you...! Oh, what a fright! What do you think you are, a floating mine?"

 

Both of them burst out laughing like crazy... But this laughter gradually turned into desperate sobs. "Look at us! We're two monsters!" "You know what I say?" he says. "Let's use our third wish to get back as we were before!" No sooner said than done. The appendages* and the excess of butterfly mice disappeared, and finally the two of them embraced, contented.

 

And at that point the old wise man, who was passing, stuck his head in the window: "You stupid, silly people," he shouted. "What is this mess that you've created?!"

 

"But it was you, wise man, who told us that every day we should imagine new ways of making love!"

 

"Yes, but I didn't mean that you had to invent a Kama Sutra like besotted people with two hundred positions intertwined in a heap of butterflies and appendages and get yourselves locked in with multiple keys! Oh stupid people! Love is saved by the renewal of the tenderness of love. The wonders of the fantastical is to refind together, both man and woman, new and different ways of offering yourselves to each other in gentle feelings."

 

"How stupid!" she said. "We got it all wrong. I think that this business of discovering new feelings is a far harder undertaking that that of getting ourselves tricked out with a hundred butterfly mice and a hundred appendages to renew enjoyment continually."

 

And they both went off, walking down the riverbank, hand in hand, and then the girl says: "How beautiful the sky is... and the setting sun!" They looked at each other tenderly... they gave each other little kisses on the nose... They smiled happily and said: "This, yes this is feeling! This is love!"

 

(The lights dim)

 

Ends