Well, kids, it’s that time of year again. And as a graduating senior, I find that everything I do is tinged with that bittersweet pre-nostalgia. I’ve already thought with sadness about all the hookups I haven’t had, all the places I never made out, all the threesomes with two hot-ass gay boyfriends who never ended up calling me back. Where else but this fine, self-hating campus would people incessantly comment on my columns in disbelief that The Sun’s readers engage in even the most vanilla of intercourse? Where else could one feel constantly undermined by the very presence of the Olin stacks, their looming stature a daily reminder of the possible (and as yet unsampled) pleasure of the Dewey Dick-Decimal System? If undergraduate experience is a Statler salad, it’s almost three o’ clock — and I’m down to my last Big Red Bucks.But fuck that. Sex tears are for bad romance novels and foodporn involving onions. I want to talk about rimming.Disclaimer: No, I have neither received it nor given it. But in this modern era, when spanking and light bondage have become what Dan Savage calls “this generation’s blow jobs” and the Internet allows for “Tracey Turnblad m2f cosplay iso fellow toddler-player” types to find true love, the art of the rim job has still remained stigmatized. When I went to a sex toy party back in October, the “goddess” in question — who was otherwise quite open-minded and perfectly happy to tell anecdotes about her handcuff mishaps — blanched when she pulled out the banana-flavored lubricant.“And this is Climax Kiss in Tropical Tease,” she explained, before her expression contorted. “Though I don’t know why you’d need it — ass-to-mouth is never a good idea.”“Ew,” the rest of the audience chorused obediently, while my best friend Morgan and I traded disbelieving glances.To be fair, Jules had had quite the healthy amount of wine at that point. She was also speaking to a group that had vocally opposed any idea of possible fun in giving blow jobs, so perhaps she’d peeped her captive audience as “tell-not-show” types. But still. If even a person paid to be sex-positive can’t give it the old Analingus College Try, we might as well just call up Sarah Palin to ask for tips on how to pull off the Patriotic Zamboni position.A quick “rim job” Google (’sup, Uris computer lab) bequeaths results that are not quite so shriek-inducing. Yes, there’s the obligatory South Park clip — which is where I, at the tender age of nine, first heard the term — but there’s also a metric fuckton of poor straight guys who stumbled upon it and want to convince their girlfriends it’s a finger-lickin’ good time. Violet Blue, Porn Expert (but not, as I inadvertently implied a few columns ago, a porn star), describes rimming as full of potential: “It can be delightfully nasty, or a deeply tender act that two lovers share.” Somehow able to hear the shrieks from Trillium all the way in Internet-land, she continues, “Know that for every person who recoils, there is a person who wholeheartedly enjoys giving or getting a rim job.” Take that, tortilla-tonguers.I know what you’re thinking. Slurping up the microbial remnants of someone’s urine is one thing, but number two is certainly another (fecal) matter indeed. And, trufax. There’s certainly a chance that your rim job will net you a healthy case of Hepatitis A, anal herpes or anal warts. Cleanliness is next to ass-licking godliness, as we know, but even gratuitous shower scrubs, while certainly appreciated, are unlikely to protect you from a case of butt-herp. Just like with carpet-crunching, a dental dam is a cheap and easy way to stop germs from getting all up in your gums. However, Morgan’s Informative Sexy Book collection includes experts Em and Lo’s Sex: How to do Everything, in which the fearless heroines go to an array of bemused doctors and demand to know how harmful unfiltered ass-to-mouth bacteria will be.The answer: you’re probably worse off eating suspect Taco Bell lettuce, as far as E. coli and the like goes.I know, I know. New sex acts can be scary, and there’s nothing more Freudian than a fear of returning to the anal stage. But if there’s anything I’ve tried to promote in my columns this year, it’s sexual bravery (within reason, and with consent). So if the last erotica you read involved more creeping in the back door than politely playing with the knocker, maybe it’s time to break out the saran wrap.And before I go, some last orders of business (thank you, Jesus, for scatological humor). A big, genuine thank you to Tony M., who withstood spunk-fountains with only a minimal reddening of neck, and Dani N., who calmly read aloud about clit piercings in the midst of Libe Café like it was pain-kink story time. Apologies to Michael S. for drunken Rulloff’s harassment and to Brendan D. for that whole crusty kraken thing. And, of course, my endless, unbounded affection for Finn, Morgan, Roommates, Half-Girlfriend Who Never Did Get a Pseudonym but Not For Lack of Trying, and countless other love zombies.And to you! In fact, I’m so grateful to you, I’m offering you prophylatics. It’s like sex-positive Christmas! The good folks at Paris Intimates have bequeathed me with a font of really very fancy condom-and-lube packages, along with one free gift certificate for their adult toy section. If you want to spice up that Slope Day, hit me up at [email protected] Otherwise, I’ll be the one tossing contraceptives off the railing at the Senior Week Booze Cruise.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.