Eight phrases men use to describe ejaculation that are just lovely

THE male climax, an enduring obsession of men from adolescence to senescence, is described by them in such lyrical, poetic and respectful ways. Here are a few:

Going off

A beautiful phrase usually reserved for the point where meat passes from edibility, but also used in lovemaking. ‘We’re trying for a baby, so I’m going off up her again.’

Blowing one’s biscuits

Unfathomable that these captivating words aren’t employed in more seductions. ‘Can I tempt you with champagne on the balcony as a prelude to blowing my biscuits over you?’


Famously used by classics scholar, prime minister and great lover Boris Johnson, who said wasted public money had been ‘spaffed up the wall’. If only he’d done it more himself.


In English a headbutt, in American English the male climax. ‘She knew then, from the enraptured expression on the face she adored so much, that he had nutted.’

Shooting one’s wad

How marvellous it must feel to be the fortunate recipient of such a shot wad. How blessed to be shot with a wad. No wonder women love to talk to men about sex.

Spunk up

‘Reader, she married him. And on their wedding night so beguiled with Jane’s beauty was Mr Rochester that he spunked up almost before he had taken leave of his breeches.’

Throw a load

A versatile phrase that could be used while fly-tipping building waste in a lay-by or in an act of sexual congress where bodies and minds come together as one.


Can it really be true love if he has yet to jizz? Is not the moment of jizzing the moment a bond eternal between a couple is sealed? But not if, immediately afterwards, he says ‘I’ve jizzed’?

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Baffling, surreal sequence of random, unrelated and bizarre images turns out to be perfume ad

A PUZZLING parade of strange and terrifying non sequiturs interrupting a television broadcast has turned out in the final shot to be an advert for perfume.

The dizzying torrent of dissociated, jarring images included a man burying a jacket, a woman lost inside a flute and a burning car driving across a swimming pool, none of which are related to scent in any way.

Carolyn Ryan of Bedford said: “I’d been watching I’m A Celebrity moments before, but suddenly I seemed to be wildly hallucinating.

“Brief fragments of fever dreams flitted past my eyes. A lion roaring in a suburban kitchen. Two golden Cadillacs, nose down, flanking Dua Lipa while she screamed mist. A man in a tuxedo readying a razor blade salad.

“Was it an acid flashback? Had rogue broadcasters broken in, transmitting a series of subliminal messages designed to drive men to madness? Had I sat on the control and switched over to BBC4’s showing of Un Chien Andalou?

“Then the image settled on a bottle with the caption ‘Prometheus. By Dior’ and I realised the entire deranged phantasmagoria was trying to sell me 50ml of liquid that smells nice for £120.

“How did we end up here? Why assault our senses like this? What the f**k has any of this got to do with perfume?”