A good hardworking chap, even one with an ugly pot belly, fancies himself to be wonderfully athletic between the sheets. And if too much cholesterol has interfered with the blood supply down south, he will make the walk of shame to the nearest pharmacy to get the magical blue pill. Trust a man to wade through a storm on his way to the counter.
And isn’t this the situation with the Kenyan gentry? “A man has to do what a man has to do,” they’ll say, at the prospect of high-voltage romps.