Everyone loves a good perve.

I'm probably going to anger the single men's union with this little slice of male trivia, but it was bound to happen at some point, and we have a lot worse to cover yet in the world of dudedom before the writings done - my eventual ejection was inevitable. I'm over it. Besides, I think something needs to be said and ground rules need to be laid over a little thing called "perving", in order to make sure both sexes are playing by the same rules.

It's probably not a newsflash to anybody (at least it shouldn't be), but guys absolutely love to perve. Absolutely. Love. It. Love-it.

We perve at the supermarket, we perve on the train, we perve at work.

I've always said that if I ever lose interest in exercise I will still go to the gym because the quality of perving is phenomenal. And before the lady-readers start to squirm, let it be said that we catch you doing it too. We're glad you like it. You're welcome.

Whether it's at the gym, in the street, or at the bar, every single guy, and some un-single guys will leer at women, will comment on women, will talk trash about women. We're simple creatures, and it's natural. What's un-natural, and we do it only for you, is to contain ourselves and be discreet about enjoying your curves. That kind of etiquette is evolution in action. Right on, Darwin-baby.

I guess if I had to define it, I would say that the act of perving is something that happens between groups of the same sex where all simultaneously gauge their levels of lust for an individual outside of the herd verbally. Assume for the minute that we're talking dudes (I've got more experience with it). One dude has his eye caught by a giggling, squirming, perfume wearing lovely, and the banter begins. He brings the attention of the committee to a particular asset...a well-filled bra, a deliciously curved torso, a booty that can only be referred to as a badonkadonk (oh how I love a good badonkadonk)!

Bring on the perving:

"Duuude....check out that booty..."

"Oh my, that is nice."

"Phwaaaah...check her out, dude, the brunette. Deelicious."

"My goodness I love her. I love her. Do you think she loves me? I love her..." inevitably followed by: "HOW COULD YOU JUST WALK INTO AND OUT OF MY LIFE LIKE THIS?!"

Hearts are lifted and broken in course of a brief exchange with your mates, and she's oblivious.

Why the hell do we feel the need to express our appreciation for a member of the opposite sex? It doesn't fulfill any purpose. You could even say that on an evolutionary basis, by alerting the herd to your intention to court a member of the opposite sex, the perver is only reducing their chances of smackin' that booty by increasing his competition!

We do it because it's the next best thing. We do it because we don't stand a chance. We do it because we're all thinking it, and we even do it in some cases just to get a laugh.

And there's nothing wrong with it most of the time. It's just banter. Some could argue about the negative social ramifications of this kind of banter, but I hope that it's just dudes being dudes, chatting about what they all have in common. Sometimes, though, perving gets sick.

I would never claim to be chaste, or a role model...or even a morally sound individual sometimes...but I do think that perving has to have its limits, and without attempting to contain an animal that, by it's very nature, will always be a private conversation between mates, I do think that even perving has limitations to its social acceptablism(?)

A couple of weeks ago I was at a house party with a co-worker and I kissed her. I kissed her a lot, to be honest, but it was just one of those things that happens. We drank a lot, we spent all night making out, and I walked her to the bus. Nothing has happened since aside from a briefly awkward Monday morning (which I like to think I diffused elegantly with an email saying simply "Haw haw, we kissed"). The details are best left to another conversation, but what is relevant now is what happened when I told the wrong person at work.

"Soooo...Lauren stayed late at the party with you, huh? Did you smack that? Did you grab those big juicy melons? Did you get her kit off? Go on, you must have!"

"Unnhhh...no dude. We were really hammered."

"I know! Something must have happened. Don't gimme that we're just friends shit, you were both there for ages, surely you tried something?"

"Well yeah, something. We kissed. Actually, we spent all night making out, it was pretty wicked. I definitely grabbed her ass, it was sweet. I seem to remember her wearing red knickers...but I didn't get her kit off, we just snogged a bit."

"OH dude! You shoulda pushed it. I woulda been in there for sure. I bet she has such a sweet, shaven, waxed burger. Oh dude, you should totally smack that."

"Ugh, dude. You need to get laid."

This is the point where it becomes repulsive. What if I really hit it off with this girl, and six years later I have to deal with the fact that my mates know what shape my girlfriends pubic hair is in? Or maybe worse.

And fuck - who calls a vagina a "burger"? Shudder.

Don't get me wrong, I certainly say some things that I wouldn't want my lady friends to hear, I wouldn't say around my mother, and I wouldn't want the subject-lady to know about. I say some bad shit, but I like to think that I keep it somewhat kosher.

Everything that's said in the course of perving, whether it's meant to be complimentary or not, it's all trash talk. I mean, it is possible to make comments about the opposite sex that are suitable for Disney, but where's the fun in that? It's gotta have some bite, after all, otherwise the next thing you know you're buying baking soda and repainting the backsplash in your kitchen. (Know what the backsplash in your kitchen is? Ha - loser.)

Maybe I'm getting old, maybe I'm getting a conscience...maybe I'm getting respectful. Probably not. Fuck that shit.

I dunno. I just don't think that line of questioning is cool, especially being that I work with this chick. Also, how does he know I don't actually really like this chick? Maybe I'm sitting here thinking "Oi, stop talking about my girl's burger, you twat, or I'll end you."

I'm certainly guilty of discussing a passing cutey's "big chubby booty", or discussing the bouncability of a lovely jubbly or two, but as derogatory as these things are, I like to think that there's an underlying insinuation of at least a minimal level of respect. It's like the difference between Stuff or Maxim magazine and videos like "Cum Dumpsters IV: the Gargle Bites Back". It's the difference between appreciation and frustration. The latter sounds like rapist-type-shit.

In my own personal experience, dudes are not comfortable discussing with their mates the intimate details of their lives, unless it's piss and shit, obviously, that stuff's funny. And farts, farts are basically top of the food chain. But when it's girls, I don't want to know. I don't want to hear how many fingers you got stinky, I don't want to know what positions you used. I don't even want to hear her moaning through the bedroom wall, because as cool as that is, I know you're on the other end of it and that's gross. Discussions between dudes about sex is something that should only be done in jest, or in bragging.

Examples include:

"Oh dude, I slapped that ass so good last night. God damn!"

"So, I was doing your mom last night and she farted. Tell her to sort that shit out for me dude."

"That's right! In bed by ten, home by twelve. Right on!"

This is good perving.

I can hear the women of the world judging us and clucking their tongues right now, even me, and I'm a good guy! They think we're disgusting and rude, and some of them are becoming lesbians this very second, I can HEAR it!

But! There is something that you dudes should know. Women are not innocent either. Women talk about REAL shit! They talk about shit and mean it, and they tell stuff! Read this very slowly: Women talk about dudes NAKED! They tell each other how big it is, they tell each other how long it went on for, how good it was, and what positions they used! They probably talk about how many times, or if, they came!

Not cool. Not COOL! I like it to be a surprise for a girl when she unwraps my junk! And if your friend wants to know that badly, tell her I've got a 9 o'clock spot she can help me fill, she can find out for herself.

I feel as though there should be a certain level of implied confidentiality when you get to see someone naked - kind of like confessional in the Catholic Church. Actually, a lot like confessional in the Catholic Church. I like to think that the fact that I have genitals is a cheeky secret that only me and a handful of women (many of them with lowered expectations of their sex lives) know, and I'd like to keep it that way.

So I'll make you a deal, ladies: you stop giving away the closely guarded secret that is my massive donkey-dong, and I'll make sure to titty-twister any dude that steps out of line with their sexual banter. Unless he's bigger than me of course, or you're Shirley from EastEnders, 'cause then you probably need whatever attention you can get.

We on?

Kelly

Kelly was the only set-up date I've ever had, and I don't regret it at all, even if it didn't work out. She had reddy-brown hair and loads of freckles. She was giggly and a little shy, tall, and about a year younger than me. Tall and shy are two things that don't often appeal to me in the opposite sex, but we had a lot in common and she had a brain and good taste in music.

I was introduced to her at the Calgary Stampede, by a friend who insisted that she was "perfect for me!!" That day couldn't have been very spectacular as I don't remember a thing about it. Nonetheless, we exchanged numbers and started spending time together and learning more about each other.

She lived at home with her parents, and was doing a degree in psychology. She worked for a children's summer camp when she wasn't at University, and had the personality to pull it off: goofy, always up for a laugh, and able to find fun in anything. It was endearing.
We did a few cultural things, we went out for Vietnamese food, and went to movies. I met a bunch of her friends, and one day I even went to her kids camp to meet the other counsellors and the kids. It felt a bit like the teacher introducing her husband to the school-kids. Kelly spent the day explaining their inside jokes and making me promise that I was having fun and didn't think their kiddy games were stupid. They weren't, they were cute and quirky.

I remember meeting Kelly's family, although we hadn't dated that long, maybe a month. It was inevitable as she lived with them and in fact, I think one of our first dates was the time we watched Beetlejuice on DVD in their basement on an old, flowered couch - one of those classic date ideas designed purely to create an opportunity for a bit of heavy petting. One night Kelly's mum cleared out and we made scones together. Everything with Kelly was fun.

The first time Kelly and I slept together, was also memorable, because Kelly was a good girl and didn't take these things lightly. We were in my bed, naked, and were having a hell of a time. In the moment, she stopped, and asked me very seriously if I wanted to take it further.

"Well...I think that's up to you." Thinking just like a dude, that it meant nothing to me, and it was only her putting on the brakes.
"No, it's both of our decision." Which basically meant "If we do this you can't just break up with me, this is important to me."
"You're right, of course it is."

We did, and it was unexceptional.

Shortly after we started dating Kelly moved out of the family house and moved a little closer to the University. She took over a friend's lease and shared the place with the two guys already living there. After we got her settled in we made dinner and watched a film.

After the film felt like a great time for another shag. We went straight into it, and things were going alright, but after a couple of position changes I realized that things were funning down* a bit here, and in the end we just stopped. Nobody came, we didn't tire out, we just kind of...stopped. She asked if I was tired 'cause we'd used so many positions, and I think that's how I fobbed it off in the end, but it wasn't true.

That's when I knew we were done.

I spoke to my two chief advisors - my housemates - one day when I started to think that things weren't going anywhere with Kelly. They were both pretty surprised, because they both openly had crushes on her. Len, in particular, adored Kelly, but he had a fetish for freckles. The only response I got from them, though, was surprise, as dudes don't really give each other advice on relationships. Their opinion on the matter was "Hunh".

It came at an awkward time because my birthday had only just passed, and it was her birthday exactly a month later. She was good to me, too - she bought me the Bob Dylan box set (5 disc!), as our mutual love of Bob Dylan was something we'd bonded on quickly. She also got me a book of poetry because I had told her earlier that I was trying to find some more authors I liked. Naturally I wanted to do something nice for her birthday too. Instead I now had to break up with her.

It was hard. There was nothing wrong with the relationship, but there wasn't a lot right, either. Those are always the worst, but I didn't want to lead her on and smile when I didn't mean it.

We had gone for dinner, and I knew I had to do it at some point. We were sat in the car, parked up against the curb outside my house, and I knew I had to say it.
"Kelly, I don't think we should see each other any more. It's not that there's anything wrong here, but I just don't feel the way I should and I don't think we're going to go anywhere. The last thing I want to do is lead you on."

What I got in response was a brief, awkward, and short acknowledgement. It didn't seem to be something she wanted to particularly discuss, but it did end with "....so that's it?", which kind of rang like "Is that your final answer?", and it was.

What more can you say? Besides, giving this small speech took everything out of me, and I don't know if I had the breath to say anything more. Try looking into the face of someone you've become close to, kissed, and been naked against. Hers was a smiling face full of freckles, framed with curls. Hurting her was difficult, but staying with her would be selfish and destructive for both of us.

About a year later I saw Kelly for the first time since that night. It was really good actually, as we were both fairly deft at disarming an awkward situation. My housemates were excited to see her too, which relaxed things a bit. We were at our regular bar in the city centre, and she had come in with work mates. It dropped in the conversation that she was dating someone else, and had been with him for a while now, and living in Montreal. It was going good, and I was glad for her. Nonetheless, she looked good and it made me wonder if I had been too quick to make up my mind and move on. In consolation, though, I would have moved to the UK the following year anyways, and she hardly would have left all her family behind for good to come with me. Don't get me wrong, I'm awesome, but that's pretty heavy, so at least I don't have to wonder.

*Funning down (verb): a term used to describe a reduced joviality in the general atmosphere of an event. Often occurs late at night after far too many drinks before people start passing out. A decline in general levels of enjoyment.