By Jake Rossen
By Jesse Marx
By Michelle LeBow
By Alleen Brown
By Maggie LaMaack
By CP Staff
By Jesse Marx
I'm a woman in an LTR. Recently I had a discussion about anal sex with my guy. Knowing that I was a little nervous, he was GGG and let me experiment on him first. Well, it worked out great, and we both found pleasure in anal play. However, last time I was fingering him, I felt something different than normal. Instead of soft flesh, I felt something rough and uneven inside him. It took a moment, but I realized it was probably a shit! He didn't realize what was going on and wanted me to go deeper. I kept pleasing him, without going deeper, until he came, letting him enjoy the moment. But now I don't know what to do: Was that actually a shit in him? Is that normal? How should I handle a situation like that if it happens again?
Wary About Butts Now
Shit? You think? Right up there in your boyfriend's butt? Are you sure, WABN? I mean, it could have been a Braille dictionary you felt up there--they're pretty rough and uneven. Or an almond croissant. Or a twice-baked potato. Or a meteorite. I mean, the world is full of rough and uneven things, WABN, and frankly it's disturbing that you would assume it was shit you encountered in your boyfriend's ass. Or are you the type of girlfriend who always assumes the worst where her boyfriend is concerned? Do you never give him the benefit of the doubt?
Look, lady, anal play is swell and there are rewards for men and women willing to explore their rear ends. I speak of the kind of blue-state pleasures that can only be derived through the expert manipulation of 1. the butt's delicate nerve endings, 2. men's prostate glands, and 3. women's mysterious clitoral "wings" (the exposed bit of the clit is not the "man in the canoe," ladies and gentleman, only the top of the man's hat). The deliciously naughty sensation/reputation that comes with bursting the whole butt taboo is not to be underestimated either. But it's still an ass you're playing with, WABN, and barring radical elective surgery and a lifetime of changing colostomy bags, shit comes with the territory. This isn't something anal-sex fans celebrate (save for a few sickos), just something they come to grips with. So, yeah, that was shit you encountered, WABN. Get over it.
So how do you handle this situation if it happens again? Repeat after me: Anal play--from JV fingers to varsity-level "Louisville Pluggers"--requires the temporary suspension of disbelief. It's a hole; a pleasure center; an entry, not an exit. When mature anal-sex fans encounter an unwelcome reminder of the lower GI's primary function--a rough and uneven lump, a sudden release of gas, a spreading santorum slick--they regard it as a sign from the anal-sex gods that the butt-sex portion of the program is canceled. So the next time you encounter something rough and uneven in your boyfriend's ass--or if he ever encounters something rough and uneven in your own--don't keep digging around in there. However much your boyfriend may be enjoying the moment, the anal action is over. It is not disrespectful under the circumstances you've described to say, "You're not clean, sweetie," or, "There isn't room in there for me," or the simple and effective, "Occupied!" Suggest a quick break, maybe a shower, and laugh/wipe it off.
Have you heard about "the Pirate"? This is when you're getting a blowjob from a girl and when you're about to come you ejaculate in her eye. Then you kick her in the shin. The result is the woman squinting her eye and hopping up and down on one foot, holding her leg and screaming, "ARRRGH!" How many people are into this?
The Pirate. A Hot Karl. Donkey Punching. The Dirty Sanchez. Icy Mikes...
Not a day goes by that I don't get at least one question about a sex act that exists only in the imaginations of adolescent boys. I assure you, JOW, that no one has ever attempted "the Pirate," just as no one has ever performed a Hot Karl, delivered a Donkey Punch, or inserted an Icy Mike. They're all fictions. To demonstrate how easily a disgusting, fictitious sex act can be invented and disseminated, I've made one up myself: "The Louisville Plugger." It's too disgusting to describe even here. If anyone out there would like to know what the Louisville Plugger involves, send an e-mail to firstname.lastname@example.org. I will e-mail you a description--hell, I'll send you a diagram. Then we can all sit back and see how long it takes for the Louisville Plugger to start coming up in conversations in gay bars, frat houses, and letters to sex-advice columnists.
I read your column about the scared-of-her-evil-scientist-fantasies girlfriend, and I felt compelled to add a non-sex-therapist woman's perspective. I agree that the sex therapist doesn't have anything helpful to say--see a therapist, overanalyze your feelings, blah, blah, blah--but it's possible that no amount of sex-fantasy role-play is going to help this man with his underlying problem. He's not happy with the amount of sex he's having. I think the sex-researcher-fantasy guilt is an excuse, plain and simple. I know because I've made similarly lame excuses. The mundane truth is that some women don't have high sex drives, at least compared to their horny boyfriends. If this relationship is the best he's ever had, he should compromise with his girlfriend and work on other ways of getting off.