A bird in the hand

When it comes to the complex world of human sexual expression I'm no Alfred Kinsey. But even I understand that one of the fundamental differences between men and women lies in their approach to maturbation. Whereas many men are so comfortable with their one-handed habit that they're happy to knock one out on the early bus to work, it seems that women attribute much more significance to the act. Some still take classes in it, squatting over hand mirrors to explore their inner-sanctum. OK, we can laugh at the earnestness of it all, but at least the homework's fun.

For some inexplicable reason, women who wank are still seen as taboo-worthy, at least where movies are concerned. Remember the great shuffle kerfuffle when Natalie Portman let her fingers do the walking in Black Swan? There was an awkward silence in the cinema where I saw Darren Aronofsky's ballet drama, not least in the seat next to me. Note to self - think twice before taking your mum to the pictures.

So here's hoping that Ana Catarian Bezerra becomes something of a folk-hero, for standing up her (self) love rights. The 36-year-old Brazilian suffers from a chemical imbalance that can trigger severe anxiety and hyper sexuality. As an OCD sufferer, I can fully empathise. But when my chemical imbalance kicks in, I spend twenty minutes making sure that the gas hob is switched off. Ana's manifests itself in frantic bouts of fingering.

Unfortunately, not everyone in Ana's accountancy firm was comfortable with her sticking her hand up her skirt every few minutes to relieve her anxiety. She told the press "I got so bad I would masturbate up to forty seven-times a day. That's when I asked for help, I knew it wasn't normal." Well, maybe if she was a fourteen-year-old boy.

As a result of her debilitating dexterity, Ana ended up in a legal battle and even had to go to court. I'm guessing no-one badgered the witness, since she was probably busy doing that herself. Now she's receiving professional medical help and has been prescribed with a 'cocktail' of tranquillisers. The good news is that she's now down to eighteen wanks a day, and has full legal protection every time she gets the tingle in the office. She's also allowed to watch porn on her work computer to help her along.

It'll be interesting to see whether the plight of this modern-day suffragette inspires a bunch of copycat cases. If so, we're looking at the biggest threat to workplace productivity since Facebook. And if someone in the cubicle next to you develops a similar condition that requires regular release, just remember Ana's struggles and try not to point the finger. Unless she asks nicely.

Long overdue

I'll be honest, the last time I willingly set foot in a library, the book I took out had a big ladybird on the front. So I'm pretty sure things have changed plenty since then.

For a start, libraries are a lot less busy than they used to be. Probably because reading isn't the popular pass-time it once was. The majority of people won't even pick up a book unless it's got Katie Price or one of the Loose Women on the dust jacket.

But one service libraries offer that keeps those swing doors flapping, is access to the internet. It's easy to forget that in this 3G world, many people don't even have dial-up. They also don't spend their time worrying that they're not getting the full download speed from their fiber-optic broadband.

When they need to set up a direct debit, order Christmas presents or catch up on You Tube footage of kittens falling asleep, they can head along to their local library, and for a small fee, enjoy all the wonders of Windows 98.

There is a catch though. Not all the things that people like to use the internet for are conducive to an open plan environment. For instance, it's tough to take matters into your own hands when you're three feet away from the woman who works in the dry cleaners, trying to pay her gas bill. Don't be judging - a recent study found that 25 per cent of all internet searches were for pornographic material.

If you're confident enough to go trawling for adult material in a public space, you might want to cross the Atlantic and get yourself a library card in Brooklyn. Because according to the protections of the First Amendment, New Yorkers are perfectly free to check out the latest bukkake compilations in the city's public libraries.

A report in the the New York Post explains "Under US law, all libraries that take federal funding only must install filters on publicly used computers to block content containing illegal obscenity and child pornography, and New York City officials say they comply to the letter."

Unsurprisingly, the self-appointed moral guardians aren't too happy about this, with Catholic League President Bill Donohue telling journalists "It's not like a Playboy centerfold anymore -- it's far worse." Likewise, some library-goers were turned off by the idea of people being able to access porn in public. One woman explained that she'd seen an elderly man watching footage of a threesome - he'd thoughtfully tried to block onlookers' views of the screen, "but I could still hear the voices" she said.

With government cutbacks threatening the future of our own library services, local authorities would do well to take a leaf out of Brooklyn's book. And as long as users remember to keep the noise down when they take something out, where's the harm?

One hand in my pocket

Let's face it - no-one's particularly proud of their little moments of self-pollution. The moment a man finds himself with time on his hands, it's not too long before he's got something else in his hands. And then a few moments after that, a sense of shame and disappointment sets in.

Obviously, guilt about the sin of Onan is nothing new. Since the dawn of time, man has been spilling his seed and then berating himself for having such poor impulse control. I might even go so far as to suggest that the reason porn production values are so low, is to ensure that familiar sense of self-loathing after fifteen minutes of exposure. It's been designed to look bad, so there's no chance you'll feel good.

But it turns out that maybe it's not just a knee-jerk reaction to jerking, that leaves us feeling like we're lying in the mental equivalent of a damp patch. Let's not forget, after all, that we live in a world of ADD, SAD and OCD. There's nothing that can't be diagnosed.

So next time you find yourself working from home, before you draw the curtains for a few minutes of contemplation, be aware that you may be suffering from POIS (Post-Orgasmic Illness Syndrome). Seriously, it's a real thing. And it's leaving men feeling deflated and sickly after the event.

Dutch researchers have conducted an in-depth study (in a darkened room with a big pile of DVDs, presumably) into the phenomenon, in an attempt to understand why some men have developed a "mysterious flu-like illness after they have an ejaculation". And before you scoff, we're talking genuine symptoms, not just a clump of sticky tissues - feverishness, runny nose, extreme fatigue and burning eyes have all been noted.

Apparently, POIS has been well documented, and reports date back to 2002. Initially, physicians suggested that it was all psychosomatic, but the Dutch study has come to a more troubling conclusion. Many men are allergic to their own spooge.

Marcel Waldinger, sexual psychopharmacology professor at Utrecht University, led a study of 45 men who'd been diagnosed with POIS. 33 of them were subjected to a skin-prick test (settle down) using a diluted form of their own semen, and 29 of them showed a positive allergic reaction.

This all sounds extremely worrying for any man who occasionally enjoys quality time with himself. But there's a glimmer of hope. Waldinger has also developed a hyposensitization therapy on two of the subjects, finding that gradually increased exposure to their own man-fat significantly reduced their POIS symptoms.

Scientific post-rationalisation aside, only a male doctor could determine that the cure for a masturbation-related illness would be more wanking. But if nothing else, at least you've got a great excuse next time your other half catches you knocking one out. Just tell them "A grapple a day keeps the doctor away".

Cast-iron defence

OK, I want you to picture a courtroom.

Our wrongly accused defendant has taken the stand, sworn the oath and sweated his way through a rigorous cross-examination.The prosecuting attorney has done a pretty good job of besmirching our hero's alibi, calling witnesses' testimonies into question, and outlining his potential motives.

After a hopeful start, this is starting to look like an open-and-shut case. Then the door of the court opens, and the defence attorney's plucky assistant creeps forward, holding a small envelope. He hands it over and our hero's lawyer glances at its contents.

The lawyer then walks around the desk, picks up Exhibit A (the bloody knife - sheathed in a plastic evidence bag), and throws it at the defendant. Instinctively, the hero raises his right hand to catch the projectile, causing a gasp of realisation to ripple through the packed courthouse.

He couldn't have done it you see - because the forensic expert's testimony confirmed that the killer was left-handed, based on the angle of the stab wounds that were inflicted. With a bang of the gavel, our hero is released into the loving embrace of his wife, free to pursue a life of religious fulfilment.

As movie clichés go, this is the oldest one in the book. If there was any veracity in these legal thrillers, southpaws would have been rounded up and imprisoned years ago since, according to Hollywood screenwriters, they're about three thousand times more likely to commit murder.

And yet, in a bizarre case of life imitating sort-of-art, Paul Reubens is claiming the 'left-handed' defense for the time he was arrested for getting a little too 'hands-on' in a grot-cinema back in 1991.

The incident pretty much ended his career as Pee Wee Herman, the falsetto-voiced man-child who occupied a strange place in popular culture throughout the 1980s - somewhere between children's entertainer and Krueger-rivalling nightmare figure.

Ruebens was fingered by police in an 'adult theatre' for taking matters into his own hands - making him and his 'Pee Wee' the subject of a media frenzy. His TV show was dropped and a range of toys and merchandise swiftly removed from branches of Toys-R-Us. Although he kept working, his popular character was shelved indefinitely.

Reflecting on this difficult time in a new Playboy interview, Paul has spoken out about what might have happened had the case gone to trial. "We had... an expert from the Masters and Johnson Institute who was going to testify that in 30 years of research on masturbation the institute had never found one person who masturbated with his or her nondominant hand. I'm right-handed, and the police report said I was jerking off with my left hand. That would have been the end of the case right there, proof it couldn't have been me."

Well, you never saw that on Perry Mason.