Going to an all-female Catholic high school can have a lot of surprising influences on one’s sex life. While I hear tell that Catholic schoolgirls are supposed to be slutty (and while I did keep the shockingly unattractive pleated skirt in a sad hope for future role-play), I spent most of my formative years in piles of similarly plushy pubescent girls while we mouth-breathed and had Feelings about the latest pep rally. Though there was the occasional foray into the sort of eroticism adored by Twilight fans everywhere (tender touches, stolen vodka, really terrible poetry), they were merely Sapphic oases in what was to be a desert of brownie-eating chastity.
Interestingly, all that time we spent having what I recently described to my horrified roommates as “erotic basement back-stroking parties,” and not actual sex, left us a lot of room for imagination. One need, for example, look only as far back as freshman year of high school to get an idea of what we all thought good sex actually entailed. Since I was considered the “sexpert” (read: baby gay) of the group, a friend and I did the others the service of writing a steamy Ron/Hermione S&M foodporn and then distributing it among the salivating masses. Recently, I stumbled upon this story. The sort of sex described in this story is not actually sex that human beings safely have. Plants, perhaps. Certainly some kinds of pie-eating salmon. And I will just leave it at that.
Maybe I’m doing myself an injustice, though. After all, in a world where the best sex-ed half of high school kids get is “Don’t have it,” how can we expect people to trip through puberty automatically knowing how to split a knish? As my good friend Bo recently pointed out, the vast majority of kids these days get their sexual info from Sex and the City and Yahoo!Answers. Therefore, in honor of the forthcoming spring break (where bad decisions loom like silicone perfectly encased in spray-tan), I bequeath unto you some helpful reminders of things that really should have been taught in high school health class.
The Wetter the Better
Someday, when I am $60 richer, I am going to buy out the entire lube section at Babeland and methodically test them out one by one. I will become a connoisseur. Perhaps I shall even market my own Travel channel show (Kate vs. Lube, obvs). Because some of that shit should be in Ripley’s Believe It or Not. The Cycle of Lube usually goes something like this: Uncap Lube — Gingerly Dribble — OMG Buttermilk Falls — Begin Sexytimes — WHERE DID THE LUBE GO. And start again.
The day I find water-based lube that does not magically escape into the ether, I will give the best hand job of my young life. Until then, I suppose the trick is to just overuse. It’s water-based (and should be, if you’re using condoms), and it will come off your sheets. Live a little. Please. Particularly in tender regions.
Man, I Feel Like a Person With Nerve Endings
On that note, anyone who uses numbing lube on anything but their cervix pre-IUD is just begging for tissue tearage. Seriously. Just like the pain you feel when sticking a fork into a toaster impels you to remove said utensil, sudden pain at a dick in one’s ass is not something to be ignored. Discomfort is all well and good, but trust me: You want to be clued in if the vibrating Hot Wheels takes a wrong turn down Permanent Damage Highway.
Staph Infections are Forever
I know, I know. When you’ve just finished up the sort of marathon masturbation session that leaves one hand tingly for the rest of the week, it’s hard to remember hygiene. But vibrating dildos are not like jack-off socks: you cannot just spray them with your junk-juice and bury them in the hamper until the next round of single-player Super Fap Brothers. They need to be sterilized. Like, on a weekly basis. Silicone toys can be boiled in water for up to 10 minutes, and most plastics can be washed effectively with soap and water. Cheap mixed-silicone products or jelly rubber toys? They’re porous, can’t be effectively sterilized and are therefore witness to way more action than your YouPorn shenanigans. Invest in the proper materials, folks, and your nether regions will thank you.
You Can Get Pregnant. Sorry ’Bout It.
Three (3) of my close friends lost their virginities right out of high school. Zero (0) of them used a condom. Whether it was because they subscribed to the pull-and-pray method (one of them) or whether they were just really fucking drunk (another one), they all seemed to adhere to this idea that pregnancy couldn’t happen to them. They were nice Catholic schoolgirls! And for the third, who happened to lose her virginity to a girl, the idea of contracting the herp from vag-badgering was downright absurd. Spoiler alert: no matter which gender you’re slurping, you can suck down an infection or two along with that pleasure fluid. Get tested. Often. Gannett can do it for you in like thirty seconds. And while you’re at it, get a more effective method of birth control.
I know getting good, reliable sexual health advice can be difficult. When in doubt, look to the pros: I seriously worship at the clits of the ladies of Babeland, and Good Vibrations ain’t bad either. If you’re an actual real-person adult and have a relationship with your doctor that extends beyond demanding Yazmin prescriptions, talk to her too. I’d love to think that someday, high school health education would include talks about safe sexual practices beyond condoms on bananas. But if my wishes were pies, I’d write a hell of a lot more Ron/Hermione oviparity porn.
Kate C. is a senior in the College of Arts and Sciences. She may be reached at [email protected] Ball You Discreetly appears alternate Thursdays this semester.
Original Author: Kate C.