His name was Temuchin, but most folks remember him as Attila the Hun, and he had about the greatest life any male guy type person could imagine.
He rode horses, kicked ass, took whatever he wanted, conquered half the known world…
…and died on his wedding night, having just married a gorgeous teenage girl, and popped a gasket while in flagrante delicto, so to speak.
Exit Temuchin, Scourge of God.
I also seem to recall some sort of scandal in New York a while back, in which an overweight politician was merrily humping away at his frisky young mistress in a bar he owned, after hours, atop the piano, when he suddenly went belly-up, so to speak… and trapped his companion under his large and ungainly corpse until the morning crew came in to clean up and open the place… although this COULD be an urban legend.
The wife and I were discussing this matter recently, and our divergent attitudes on it kind of made me think.
Me? I figure that dying in bed while having mad passionate sex with a gorgeous woman is about the best way there is to go, really.
My wife agreed that this might be so… but she couldn’t help but see things from the girl’s point of view. How must that feel, to know that someone actually DIED while having sex with you?
Once she mentioned this, I will admit it gave me pause for thought. Man. How MUST that feel? One minute, your partner is howling and screaming and thrashing like a mink in heat… and… suddenly… their eyes get REAL big–
–they go “Gak,”–
–and then they quit moving. Eyes staring. No breathing.
Dead.
And the more I thought about that, the more of an impression it made on me. What WOULD that be like? To know that you were so terrific in bed that you actually KILLED someone?
My dear wife and I discussed it further, and the more we did, the more I realized that there would probably be a wide dichotomy between the way GUYS regarded this phenomenon, and the way WOMEN would.
Women tend to be a lot more matter-of-fact about sexual matters. LOVE can make a woman crazy and/or stupid, but sex? Pffffffft.
The woman in question would instantly come to the conclusion that the guy was out of shape, too old, or had some kind of weird John Ritter hidden heart defect. The woman would not in any way take the credit for killing the guy. In fact, she’d probably go out and kill two or three more before she really began to have it sink in that she was running around killing people with her twat of death, you know?
Guys, now, guys are different. I mean, we already regard our penises as a kind of mystical object, filled with mystery and power, the staff of life and the lever of joy, you know? Guys are obsessed with their dicks.
If a guy was furiously ravishing a howling, willing woman who, suddenly, got all bug-eyed in mid-orgasm, said, “Gak,” and died, it would take our hero about three seconds to realize and take full responsibility. “Jesus Christ on a rubber raft, eatin’ Doritos,” he would say, “I have killed this poor woman with my DICK!”
And, despite the fact that his lady friend probably died of a coronary or some other nonsexual biophysical event, he would obsess. The incident would haunt him. It could well make him crazy, on a variety of levels. Every time some attractive woman looked at him and smiled, thereafter, he would think, “Do I dare unleash my Cock Of Death? After all, I don’t know if I can CONTROL it…”
I mean, first and foremost, how long would our hero actually have to wait before his libido overcame his conscience? How long would he hold out before he finally subjected some poor, unsuspecting lady to his Weapon Of Mass Destruction, so to speak?
Perhaps not. Perhaps he would, instead, choose to relieve the pressure in a safer and more solitary manner.
…unless it occurred to him that this, too, could be dangerous. I mean, if there’s no one else to soak up the impact, could it, like, boomerang back on him? I mean, masturbation is having sex with YOURSELF, right? What if he blows his hand off, or something?
Meanwhile, across town, a woman is pondering the fact that she has an Attack Womb, a Vagina Thanatosa, only having come to the realization after having offed two or three Mr. Goodbars in a row. What’s SHE thinking about this? Is SHE agonizing over the demands of flesh vs. conscience?
Well, yeah, possibly. Or perhaps she’s just thinking about certain bosses, old boyfriends, and that creep who used to live next door…
