By Skippy Stalin

I am one who has always considered himself schooled on the female form and the female mind. As someone who is unacceptably ugly in all but the worst social circles, it pays to be a student of such things. I constantly attempt to adjust my facial hair in such a manner as to make more comely. Currently, I am styled much like Johnny Depp would be…After a disfiguring industrial accident.

Alas, all this does is provoke flirtatious (yet viciously married) record store clerks and cosmeticians to hold my elbow and speak teasingly to me in ways that they must know will provoke only hours of uncontrollable masturbation as I visualise them rejecting me. So it is, and so it always shall be.

But these are other stories for other days.

I was always of the opinion that the more psychically impaired a woman, the better the sex partner that she would be. All my life, I held firm to this belief. In fact, it was as close as a religion as I have ever come.

The logic seemed sound. Any woman unable to hold to even the loosest of social mores surely would hold none in the boudoir, no? It was logic that seemingly passed the threshold of scientific certainty. Verily, I considered myself the Sir Isaac Newton of Poontang.

It was a perfect theory. And, as with many such theories, it was too perfect to be true. However, I’m not what one would consider an intelligent man, and these things often take years, if not decades, to become clear to me.

Of course, there were detractors throughout the years. Several of my Associates in Science had engaged in relationships with such women. One such fellow conducted an experiment in his apartment with decidedly nasty results. Another had married his experiment. Immediately after their engagement, his finance sat upon my lap, ground her ass into my turgid crotch and whispered, “I want you” into my ear. Were it not for my demented sense of loyalty and the amount of hashish I had consumed that afternoon, I would have conducted my own experiments that day and spared myself years of awkwardness.

But, as is true with most things in my life, it wasn’t to be so.

Instead, I began the longest lasting romantic partnership of my life. There was little insane about it. Indeed, my partner, was nothing if not more rational than I. One would be wise to surmise that experimentation occurred, but not in the psychiatric sense. In many ways, it was to be the happiest time of my life.

Then I was presented with the Great Experiment that Would Forever Qualify My Theory.

Being someone of an older generation, I did not grow up with the Internet. In fact, I was 28 years old before I even owned a personal computer. To be sure, I was told that the Net was widely populated with “Psycho Bitches.” But I never seriously considered that this would be the proper forum for my research.

In my first five years on the Internet, I made the acquaintance of several ladies, some in person, some relegated to the Net. Some carnal, some not. Indeed, my greatest night of sexual debauchery came from such an acquaintance – one for which I shall always declare “Libre Quebec, Libre,” despite my intense loathing for Quebec’s people and all they stand for.

But that was but one weekend. Nothing that a Serious Student of Science would base a Serious Study on, now is it? No, all proper Men of Learning would mock me for this. It would be more than two years before the Great Experiment in Psychotic Sexuality would begin.

I didn’t know immediately that I stumbled upon the Perfect Subject of Study. But it would soon become very clear, so riddled was her life with husbands, boyfriends and suicides. From her telling, anyone who had even parked beside her at a red light would go on to commit suicide. I can verify this, as I myself made at least one attempt during our acquaintance. The Subject had something about her that made death itself preferable to her company.

Upon my recovery, I knew that she would be perfect for my experiment.

Alas, the Subject’s life was littered with sundry husbands and boyfriends and these had to be disposed of before the experimentation could commence. This, as you can imagine, took some time. Again, another story for another time.

The consummation of the experiment occurred on a Friday night in an undisclosed city, neither hers nor mine.

The responses of Subject were…mixed. Subject stated following the experiment that she had experienced four (4) orgasms during the initial 24-hour period of experimentation. The Subject reported this to be greater number than during another similar period in her experience.

However, the subject was unresponsive to oral stimulation. Having tried to bring her to orgasm in such a manner on no fewer than five (5) occasions, I was rebuffed after no more than two (2) minutes on each occasion. In my experience, it takes at least twenty (20) minutes to bring a normal female to climax using the Oral Method. This is, of course, excepting subjects from Quebec. For whom three (3) minutes are adequate, providing anal stimulation is introduced.

I can report from my studies with subject that Sexual Experiences With the Mentally Ill are…adequate. I’ve had worse, yes. But I’ve also had better. I will say that the oral sex provided by Subject was exemplary, three (3) times out out of three.

My limited experimentation has demonstrated that sexual relations with the Mentally Ill are no better, though, no worse than with the general population.

While I am a proud man, I’m not so proud as to refuse to stand up and say when I’ve been wrong. In fact, I’ll publicly declare that sane women are just as good at the carnal arts as their logically impaired counterparts.

While I have resolved that Insane Women are no better at the Carnal Arts as their Sane Sisters, I have decided that the matter should be resolved by day to day relations.

In this, the Sane win hands down. My Sane sexual partners have had, generally, no more than one (1) Major Crisis a month. In my experiences with my Insane Partner, there has been no less than six (6) Major Crises in a single conversation. What these Crises are is best left to the imagination. Such crises tend to subtract from time devoted otherwise devoted to already mediocre sex and having anything approaching a substantial life.

Accordingly, it is resolved the mentally well women are more useful than their insane counterparts. If only slightly.