February is the month of love and romance and what could be more romantic than an upside-down kiss? Or, as it’s more popularly known: the Spiderman Kiss.

I don’t do role-play very well. I have a very pragmatic nature and struggle through enough difficulty playing the role of myself on a daily basis. When I’m called on to pretend I’m someone else I usually fail miserably.

For example, I was once alone in bed with a lady who was enamoured with creatures of the night. At a crucial point of our intimacy she whispered in my ear: “Hello, Mr Vampire!”

I shrieked, jumped out of the bed, turned on the lights and struggled to find my crucifix whilst asking, “Where’s the vampire? Where’s the vampire?”

Similarly, playing doctors and patients has resulted in equally embarrassing outcomes.

Patient: “Doctor Ashley, do you want me to strip off so you can give me a thorough examination?”

Dr Ashley: “Errr. Ok.”

Patient: “Are you going to examine me with your special tool?”

Dr Ashley: “What special tool? Oh! You mean my penis. I probably won’t use that. It might be construed as unethical. What are your symptoms?”

Patient: “I have urges.”

Dr Ashley: “Well that sounds more psychological than physiological. Perhaps you don’t need to undress.”

Patient: “And I’m very hot [Patient points to exposed crotch] down here.”

Dr Ashley: “Urghh! You’ve not got a disease, have you? Trust me, I won’t be using my special tool down there until we’ve got the results back to confirm that you’re not infectious.”

Consequently, role-play has never figured as a large part of my love life.

I wear a hard hat whenever doing any building work around the house. However, rather than using this accessory to establish the fantasy role of a rugged construction worker, the most frivolous urge I get is to sing YMCA.

Dressing up as a pirate, my main topics of conversation were not the anticipated clichés of, “Let me shiver your timbers,” or “Swash my buckle, you saucy wench!” Instead, I marvelled at the loss of depth perception that comes from wearing an eye-patch.

Playing James Bond style fantasies has worked well to some degree. I can do a fair Connery impression when saying, “My name is Bond: James Bond.” I look superb in a tux. And, even when I’m not playing the role of James Bond, my weapon is usually somewhere close to hand. But this fantasy always fails when I splutter laughter as my partner announces her first name is Pussy.

Strict teacher and naughty schoolboy fantasies invariably falter when I ask to see the strict teacher’s lesson plan. Military officer and tortured prisoner fantasies seldom get past the first recitation of my rights according to the third Geneva Convention. And the spanking headmaster and contrite schoolgirl scenario seldom goes beyond the initial half hour of conjugating Latin verbs.

Which is why it surprised my wife when I bought the Spiderman costume.

Of course, it would probably surprise anyone to discover that an adult has been out and bought himself a Spiderman costume, but I have never been able to understand why this sort of dressing up is frowned on. On a daily basis I see men walking around in football shirts, usually displaying the name and position number of their particular team’s hero. Is there really such a great difference between them wearing a football costume and my wearing a Spiderman costume? Admittedly, I think the rolled up sock has caused some consternation to passers-by. I’ve heard some people say it attracts women if you have a rolled up sock in your pants. However, through a process of trail and error, I’ve discovered it is only effective when you put the rolled up sock down the front of your pants.

And, being honest, I’d bought the Spiderman suit to go with the inversion bar.

The inversion bar was my son’s idea. For those of you not up to speed with this piece of exercise equipment the inversion bar, when used with anti-gravity boots, allows a person to hang upside down.

“Why?” I asked my son.

“It’s a health thing,” he explained.

“Is it really healthy to dangle upside down?”

“It gets the blood flowing to your brain,” he pointed out.

I nodded agreement at this point. The blood is already flowing to my brain so I had no real need to dangle upside down. But I can understand why that might be necessary for a teenager. I spent a day drilling the wall, inserting anchor bolts, wearing my hard hat and singing YMCA. When the bar was finally fitted and secure I admired my handiwork and thought: “This is my chance to be Spiderman. This is my chance to experience the Spiderman Kiss.”

The Spiderman Kiss is possibly one of the most erotic moments from the contemporary cartoon/movie genre. Spiderman is in an alleyway, dangling upside down, when his love interest, MJ, pulls his mask from his lips and kisses him.

It’s best not to mention her questionable ethics here. The woman is called MJ and, although that form of address is suspiciously reminiscent of the term “BJ,” MJ (I’m sure) is short for Mary Jane. And MJ doesn’t go round kissing every man she finds dangling in an alleyway—she’s a respectable young lady and has been saving herself for a man in red and blue skin-tight Lycra who just got physical with half a dozen rough guys—so her morality is beyond reproach.

I donned the suit, put the rolled up sock in its proper place, and told my ever-patient wife we could try the Spiderman Kiss.

Words can’t describe the excitement she showed.

Words can’t describe the excitement she showed, mainly because she wasn’t particularly excited and thought the whole idea sounded pretty lame. But she told me to go and hang myself and said she would be along later if there was nothing interesting on the TV.

I won’t bore you with the details of how I got upside down. It’s not a natural position for any human who hasn’t been bitten by a radioactive spider. Even under those conditions I’d venture that, like kissing women with Lycra obsessions, the whole experience is something of an acquired taste. The blood does rush to your head but it doesn’t seem to go to many other important places.

I could feel my eyeballs turning pink underneath my mask.

And I didn’t get to experience my Spiderman Kiss on that first night.

Something interesting came on the TV and my loving and wonderful wife chose to turn the volume up so she could hear her programme over the cries of, “Did someone call for a friendly, neighbourhood Spiderman?” and “Could someone please get Spiderman a stepladder and a defibrillator?”

Nor did it happen the following night. Nor the night after. In truth, my loving and wonderful wife has seen me suspended upside-down only once. On that occasion she retrieved the rolled up sock, put it in the washing basket, and left me to dangle. But this month is February and that’s the month that appeals to the romantic in all of us. I intend to spend every night this month dangling from the inversion bar waiting for my Spiderman Kiss. And, even if that kiss doesn’t happen, it gives my wife the opportunity to tell all her friends that her husband is most definitely “hung.”

Ashley Lister
February 2008

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