By Andy Mannix
By Caleb Hannan
By Olivia LaVecchia
By CP Staff
By Aaron Rupar
By Jacob Wheeler
By Olivia LaVecchia
By Aaron Rupar
I'm a 31-year-old attractive single woman, and I recently went on Match.com and found a guy. Our emails and one phone conversation went well and he seemed kind and was okay-looking in his picture, so I met him for drinks. It was disappointing, to say the least. He looked 15 years older than his picture and was socially awkward to the point of sheer misery. He told me he didn't want to eat cheese because he "had the craps," announced to the waitress that this was our first date, yawned when I talked about my job, and said, "I could tell you were really into me the minute you walked in the room."
Standard bad date so far, right?
Here's the bizarre part: On the phone he'd said, "The most beautiful sound in the world is applause. I hope I can hear you clap for me sometime." He is a music teacher, so I thought he was referring to applause after a performance. But when we met in person, he asked me to clap for him, for no reason, in the restaurant! I asked him why, and he said he just really loved the sound of clapping. I ignored his request, finished my drink, and said it was nice to meet him but I didn't think this was going to work. I shook his hand good-bye in the parking lot and at this point he asked again for me to clap—but now in a whiny voice, literally begging me to do it. The worst part? I did it, just to shut him up, before speeding away in my car. I'm simultaneously creeped out and intrigued.
Have you ever heard of a clapping fetish?
Clap Off The Clapper
I get letters every day from people asking if I've "ever heard of" a particular sex act, fetish, kink, or hang-up before. The assumption, I guess, is that the thoroughly skanky author of this thoroughly skanky column has heard of everything. And that's fine; I've heard of and, er, done quite a lot. But the folks who send these EHO letters aren't seeking confirmation that they're not crazy—or in COTC's case, that this really happened—but some form of absolution, as if my having heard of whatever it is they're doing, were asked to do, or refused to do makes it—whatever it is—a little less bizarre.
But almost invariably I haven't heard of the sex act, fetish, kink, or hang-up the authors of EHO letters ask about. Like this clapping fetishist COTC encountered—I've never heard of that one before. I don't doubt COTC's story for a moment because, hey, if it can be named, performed, swallowed, or worn, someone out there has a fetish for it. So while I can't offer COTC absolution for the sex act she performed—yes, it was a sex act—in that parking lot, I can offer her the next best thing: bragging rights. Not only did you stump me, COTC, but this is a bad-first-date story you'll be dining out on for the rest of your life. Congrats!
I had a kinky inspiration in the shower when I noticed the force with which the shaving cream came out of a new can. Orifice and body-cavity invasion turns me on and I was inspired to insert the tip of the shaving-cream can into my urethra, pinch it shut, and press the button. I felt some burning. On removing the tip, a narrow ribbon of shaving cream exited my penis.
Pleased, I repeated this a few times. Do you know if what I am doing is dangerous? Have you ever heard of shaving-cream penis enemas?
No, CD, I haven't heard of shaving-cream penis enemas before. But then I've always been lucky in love.
As for the health risks presented by shaving-cream penis enemas, I would ring up one of my medical guest experts if I weren't 1) on vacation, 2) writing this column over margaritas at Phil's in Saugatuck, Michigan, and 3) unwilling to scream, "Are these shaving-cream penis enemas going to kill this motherfucker?" into my phone, putting everyone else at Phil's right off their chips and baked-Gorgonzola-with-dried-cherries dip. Sorry.
Here's my layman's opinion: At the very least, you risk irritating the very sensitive tissue that lines your urethra; at worst, your friends and relatives are going to snicker all through your memorial service. ("Didja hear? Uncle Walt gave himself one too many shaving-cream penis enemas and his bladder freakin' exploded!") But tragicomic exit strategies are a known risk of orifice, body-cavity, and Iraq invasions.
I identify as 100 percent gay. Sometimes I surf straight porn sites to see fresh faces. I ignore the girls and focus on the guys. However, I've discovered that I get turned on by looking at pictures of cute men eating pussy. Not by pussy, just by the men eating it. Have you ever heard of this before? Is there a secret subculture of gay men who get off on other guys eating pussy? Or do I have unique tastes?
You Gonna Eat That?