You might think spitting on your hands and rubbing them on your dick is the cool and appropriate way to prep for anal sex based on that porno your dad had saved on his computer when you were back in seventh grade. It’s not. Especially if you’re the one being penetrated because then you just spit on your dick for no reason, which doesn’t make much sense. Maybe it does, I guess I’ve got to ask a bottom (Answer: “Jeff, you are an idiot. You know that it makes no sense, I don’t know why you even thought it valuable to ask me.” So, yeah, it doesn’t make sense).
If you’ve ever tried slipping it in the pooper — and you sly dog, you, I know you have — it’s no glass slipper-style perfect fit. This doesn’t necessarily mean it’s unnatural. Plenty of people find oodles of enjoyment from anal sex, and I’m sure it’s much higher on a list of Google searches than “Anton DeBary” (have you taken “Magical Mushrooms, Mischievous Molds?” Professor Hudler, I expect to be in your first lecture PowerPoint from now on …). I’ve stuck in the butt roughly 2.5 times. Maybe that’s not enough to tell if I like it, because I hated olives for about 16 years, but now I single-handedly put the clothes on Danny Wegman’s kid’s backs with how many olives I get from the Wegman’s Olive Bar. Well, actually, since I just eat all of the olives I get while I walk around the store I technically don’t buy any, so if Danny Wegman’s kids are shirtless, I will take the blame.
So, yeah … 2.5 times. 0.5? The 0.5 wasn’t the accidental “I’m not sure which way it is to Grandmother’s house,” or crazy-fast, crazy-wet hole-hopping accidental (which I don’t believe, but Jess attests can happen). It was 50 percent of it gotten in, and 50 percent of it was hastily evicted, kicked to the curb like some Goldman Sachs exec. Sometimes you realize that it’s just not going to work. Well run around to the front door and golden parachute into the pink abyss because you’re not missing much.
Yes, that’s right; I am not a Facebook fan of going the wrong way up a one-way street. Well, it’s not that I don’t like it, I just prefer the comforts of the front door, so call me Bob Dylan if you want, cause it ain’t me babe (it was a Dylan song … Johnny Cash covered it). Don’t get me wrong, if you (the you, who is a female who is about to engage in sexual acts with me, you) want some anal then zip-a-dee-do-da I will be up there as soon as I can run from my house to Jason’s and back after charging some lube to my credit card. Initial research by a very skilled field reporter who ran from my house to Jason’s for ketchup (which mind you isn’t directly behind the counter and is not (often) a necessity for a pleasurable sex experience), shows that this can be done in the duration it takes to microwave a couple of mini-cheeseburgers. So, basically, tell me you want anal and by the time you take off your heels and dress, I will be spitting on my hands and rubbing my dick because I’m over my credit card limit and got denied at Jason’s. And because spitting on your hands and rubbing your dick is the cool and appropriate way to prep for anal sex, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.
So you’ve got your lube (Necessity. The ass is not self-lubricating. Go crazy. Use that lube liberally. Wash your hair with it. Pour some on your feet. Gargle. Just use it.), you’ve got your partners (Necessity. Need someone to take the pictures), your consent (Necessity. You can’t spell “Yes! Anal!” without “Yes!”) and your anal sex playlist is in full-swing. Oh, yeah, and you should probably have a condom. While chances of pregnancy are very low (can’t count out those Michael Phelps super-sperm … Fact: 8 percent of people who use anal as birth control get pregnant!) you can still exchange unwanted gifts. Namely, STI’s.
So, “Ignition (Remix)” by R. Kelly is blasting and you’re ready to slide on in. Wham, bam, thank you m’am, you’re in! Hopefully you eased your way in because there is no such thing as anal tears of joy. This is the path less traveled (inward) and it’s probably uncomfortable, so don’t go crazy, Peter North — although I have seen the hilarious scenario of girls saving their virginity by only giving it up via the butt. In one of my anal sexcapades I never even put it in the baby-making tunnel, just the poop-making one. I’ve also heard the incredibly un-hilarious scenario (from my current roommate on one of our first days at Cornell … what an ice-breaker) of a guy pulling out a girl’s sphincter. But that’s only un-hilarious if you don’t enjoy poop everywhere and the image of your penis as a successful throw in a ring toss game. No, that is not at all enjoyable. Hope you’re still enjoying that salad at Terrace.
The point of this column: Don’t be an asshole when it comes to the asshole. Anal sex takes willingness and patience (CONSTANT VIGILANCE!!). You might have to try it a couple times before it works, so this isn’t a one-night stand kind of deal. Don’t push: both for anal if your partner doesn’t want it and too deep and too fast if you do engage. This isn’t going to work if your partner’s not relaxed and comfortable trying it, so start slow — one finger, two finger, red finger, poop finger. Have you come to grips with whether or not you want something up your butt? The ass has a bunch of nerve endings so you might find the experience quite pleasurable. According to a conversation with Harvard and Yale’s respective sex columnists, Lena Chen and Claire Gordon, guys should even be up for a little anal play too. Do you miss the days of rectal thermometry and want a trip down memory lane? Go for it then. The ass isn’t new and unchartered territory. But here’s what it is in my opinion: a shit show.
Original Author: Jeff K.