It is an exquisite torture. The build-up they call it.
Typically it hits Darwin in October. Sandwiched between the end of The Dry and the
beginning of The Wet. The humidity skyrockets. The air is clammy and dense,
visible. Every action promotes a lather of sweat: no mere glow, but a torrent.
As the heat increases thunderstorms build, looming over the landscape. The sky seems low and enormously tall at the
same time. Lightning crackles. Impossibly, the humidity increases. You can
hear the water vibrating in the air, your veins and your head. Poised to
condense, to bucket down, to
explode. The very air is delirious.
Thoughts stymie, fester. Actions become animalistic, driven by moisture and
electricity. The madness increases. Fullness wells and the desire for the
relief a downpour would bring is unbearable. The sky darkens and by late
afternoon the expectation of gushing rain is palpable. Imminent. And imminent. And imminent.
Not a drop falls. No torrent. No relieving shower. Not even
a smear.
Night comes with no relief and as the tropical sun rises
early the next morning it begins again. Mad. Frustrating. Unspent.
It can go on for weeks.
Suicide rates skyrocket in line with the humidity. Wardrobes fill with mould. Tensions rise, until some time in November, or in bad
years December, the monsoon finally hits. The build-up breaks and the land is
flooded with sweet, fresh rain.
A friend of mine once described his relationship like the build-up. The levels of desire were high, building as the day wore on, but there was no activity in the
bedroom. Or in any other room for that
matter. No amount of talking about the monsoon, or the benefits of a downpour ever seemed to result in rain. Tensions were escalating.
He had been given some advice by a close friend of his:
keep a sex diary. Record just the facts. Perhaps the frustration was clouding his judgement. Log what happened or didn't. Who did what
to whom or didn't. No colour or embellishment. A weather
station. A wet-bulb thermometer. A
rainfall gauge.
So he did.
Eleven days nothing. Two days at first base then 19 days nothing. It
went on for a couple of months.
He told me that the experience had taught him important
lessons, however, which I can share with you.
Communication is critically important. Be sure and check the fine print. If someone says they will be rooting like rabbits come the weekend, then perhaps they mean rabbits struck with myxomatosis. Or chocolate Easter rabbits: sweet but inert. The only messages worth listening to are embedded in actions. Marketing without sales is a bankrupt proposition.
In cases where chemical assistance is required, Viagra is a
fantastic and very effective drug. But like all drugs, it has its limitations.
The most critical of which is that if you don't take it, it is very unlikely
to work. Leaving it in the foil does offer certain economic benefits, but these are offset by efficacy problems (even of placebo effect).
I could say the same about paracetamol and headaches.
The most important piece of advice he had for me, however,
was that if you ever feel you have got to the point where you need to keep a
sex diary with your boyfriend, there is an important thing you must first do. Move on. Seriously! Men who live together and don't have sex are
called flatmates.
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