Monday, 21 June 2010

Sebastian Horsley: Sodomy and Saint Sebastian

An obituary of Sebastian Horsley, one of Soho's last true bohemians and a self-confessed "cunt", reminds Fagburn that he used to write a sex advice column for The Observer Magazine, but this was unceremoniously dropped when Horsley indulged his readers in a little anal sex one Easter Sunday morning.
"This was too much for several readers, including one father who wrote: 'My 11-year old daughter knows where to find the horoscopes in the magazine. Then I find my peaceful Sunday morning reading has to be abandoned for a rather unwelcome series of questions ... and all this appears under a running head of "Love".'"
Reader's editor, Stephen Pritchard, explained; "Several people had written to complain that it had gone too far in discussing anal and oral sex in graphic terms. They felt - and I agreed with them - that it was inappropriate in a magazine that is essentially family-friendly."
As a tribute to Sebastian Horsley, Fagburn reprints his answer for posteriority.
"First, my dear, I wish to make clear that I am an expert on anal sex by virtue of my inexperience. While I have buggered women and been buggered by them; been buggered by men and buggered them - I haven't really experimented.
The anus is quite a delicate subject for both sexes. We all spend our lives denying we have one. Women use the lavatory? For the Byrons among us, this discovery is a fate worse than death. The ultimate horror is that the ethereal, the beautiful and the divine are inextricably linked to basic animal functions. In one of Mr Swift's poems, a young man explains the grotesque contradiction that is tearing him apart:
'Nor wonder how I lost my wits;
Oh! Caelia, Caelia, Caelia shits!'
It is too much. Nature mocks us, and poets live in torture.
That love has pitched his mansion in the place of excrement is not our fault. As you know, human beings respond to almost any erotic stimulus. It was only while people still felt that God was watching them that they directed their impulses exclusively towards certain parts of certain people. In everybody the anus is at least as capable of sexual excitement as the lips.
It is time for you to educate your man. Here's what to do. Arrange a dinner at a restaurant riddled with standards of living. Wear a black dress and paint your lips vermilion. After a few glasses of wine tell him you have a surprise for him. Then get this magazine out. There. Now start reading this column to him. Are you doing that? Good. Give him a wink. Blow him a kiss.
See. Wasn't that easy? Is he smiling or has he legged it? I see him laughing. You are home and dry. To take your man seriously, make him laugh. Have fun both of you."
Thanks for all the fun, Sebastian...

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