The Meaning of the Toothbrush

Fuck hearts. Fuck a box of chocolates and chubby, little cupids. Fuck the color red and it’s bastard offspring pink. Fuck a goddamn engagement ring or checkbooks with both you and your partner’s names on it. Fuck a tattoo of your partner’s name on your nalgas. Fuck meeting his parents and fuck the first phone call. The most important symbol in any relationship is the toothbrush. You know how santeros can read your past in cowery shells and fortunetellers can augur your future in tea leaves? I can divine the prospects of a relationship from a motherfucking toothbrush. Tengo un don bien fuerte.

There are two ways to address the toothbrush issue in a relationship. Each signify something vastly different The first is The Passive Aggressive Method (or the PA Method, as I will refer to it in the rest of this article). The second is The Let’s Talk About it Baby Method (the LTAB Method). There are subcategories within each method. So when someone has left their toothbrush in your apartment all you have to do is refer to this article to figure out what your future will be with that person.

The Passive Aggressive (PA) Method

It’s never advisable to be passive aggressive. When I act passive aggressively it is usually because I am insecure about what I am doing or I’m scared of the ramifications of what I am doing or because I’m scared of the person I am doing whatever I am doing to. Sometimes I’m passive aggressive because I just don’t want to deal with confrontation. The problem with being passive aggressive however, is that your message may be misunderstood because you’re not being openly communicative about it. For example, let’s say we live together and you always leave your dirty calzoncillos on the sofa and I fucking hate it. I decide to tackle the problem in a passive aggressive manner by picking up your calzoncillos and hanging them on your doorknob. You might take this to mean that I am helping you clean up after your filthy self. But really it means that if you leave your putrid panties on the sofa one more time, I might just punch you in the fucking chest.

Passive aggressiveness doesn’t allow for the effective communication of your feelings. You may think you’re settling the problem by stealthily avoiding it while dealing with it, but really you’re just letting it fester in your gut until it turns into a big, nasty deal when it didn’t have to in the first place. Way to go you passive aggressive dummy, you just made your problem a lot worse.

There are two subcategories within the PA Method: The Sneaky Tyrannical Oppressive Method, or the STO Method and the Oops My Bad Method, OMB Method. The STO method is the wackest one I have encountered in my life. By sneaking your toothbrush into my bathroom, you are by definition being oppressive and tyrannical. Let me share an example.

Once upon a time in a mystical and fucked up land called New York City, I lived unhappily ever after and sought comfort in random sex with random individuals. One of those random individuals began to turn into “someone special,” into someone I was “seeing.” Definitely not a boyfriend but someone who spent the night at my apartment at least twice a week. Definitely not a boyfriend but someone who I enjoyed having sex with, a lot. Someone who was acutely intelligent, exceedingly handsome, and fantastically charming. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that he was also a certified NUTJOB! Which was good at first because it made me realize that I wasn’t the only crazy person in this world but then I realized that he was on some manipulative/mind control crazy shit. And, to tell you the truth, I was a victim of a good dick. You know when sometimes you just get blindsided by a high quality penis and it’s hard to find your bearings again? Yeah, his dick knocked me on my ass.

Anyway, one day I was fiending for some gooooooood sex. It had been a like a week since me and this dude had fucked and, to top it off, I had had really bad sex with someone else just a couple days before (just a hint guys, if you have to tell me to “say your name” when we’re fucking, that means that not only have I already forgotten your name but even as you thrust yourself in and out of me, I am in the process of forgetting that this night ever happened). So one day I invite this guy over for pancakes, conversation, and sex. We’re talking, the pancakes smell like a dream, it’s summertime and the blueberries burst in my mouth with peppery sweetness, we listen to Led Zeppelin, we smoke delicious weed. Everything is just splendid. As I was flipping the final pancakes and he talked about something or the other, he began to open a package. It was a small package and it came in a pharmacy bag. It was a toothbrush. He walked to the bathroom, put toothpaste on his brush and brushed his teeth. I thought little of it. There were more important things to think about: should I make a peach compote for the pancakes? Should I have anal sex with this man today? Clearly he had forgotten to brush his teeth at home and bought a toothbrush so he could fix his problem here at my apartment, before we got into anything heavy and his bad breath would offend me.

I had forgotten all about it until after he left, after the pancakes were eaten, after I had descended from the lofty peak of orgasm, when I was no longer high out of my mind. I walked into the bathroom to wash my face and stopped in my tracks with a gasp. What the fuck is this doing here? Above my sink, in the toothbrush holder, on the left hand side, in the middle hole: a blue and white Reach toothbrush with an angled head to get at the stubborn pieces of food that always seem to stick where the bristles won’t go, still wet from when it was broken in just a couple of hours ago. I stood there looking at this uninvited piece of plastic in my bathroom with my hands on my hips and my head cocked to the side. Ain’t that some shit…You sneaky, passive aggressive motherfucker.

This is a prime example of the STO Method. The toothbrush in question found its way into my life without my fucking permission, i.e. SNEAKY. The toothbrush in question irrationally insisted on existing in my bathroom without regard to what I wanted, i.e. TYRANNICAL. The toothbrush in question invaded my bathroom and usurped a position in my toothbrush holder against my will, i.e. OPPRESSIVE. The STO toothbrush loudly states, “I’m here, bitch! Deal!” And because I didn’t give the STO toothbrush permission, its presence makes me angry and contumacious. If something is oppressing me, I must rebel against it. And if something is oppressing me passive aggressively, I guess I’ll just have to rebel against it passive aggressively. In this case, I passive aggressively used the toothbrush in question to clean the toilet bowl. He he he.

The Oops, My Bad (OMB) Method is not inherently fucked up like the STO Method. The OMB Method can be employed both sincerely and insincerely. In other words, you could have really just forgotten your toothbrush, maybe you left it in your gym bag which you really did forget at your partner’s house. Or you could say to your partner that you forgot your toothbrush but really you “forgot” your toothbrush and really you left it there on purpose. Either way, when your partner brings it up, you say “Oops, my bad” hoping that s/he will say back, “No worries. Just leave it here.” Or you could make it really look as if it were an accident and bring it up first by saying something like, “OMG. I left my toothbrush here. My bad. How wack of me.” Then, naturally, your partner will say, “oh whatevs, I didn’t even notice it. You should just leave it here anyway.” Even though the OMB Method is not so bad, it still passive aggressively forces your partner into a position that maybe s/he was not ready to be in. If I want your toothbrush in my toothbrush holder, I will find a way to get it there, on my own terms.

The Let’s Talk About it Baby (LTAB) Method

Simple. Straightforward. But not necessarily easy. The LTAB Method also has two subcategories: the Straight-Up (SU) Method and the I Have a Present For You (IHAPFY) Method. Recently the man that I am currently dating (not seriously, promise) helped me to develop the theory of the LTAB Method. Here is what happened.

I was walking out of the bathroom and into my bedroom to cuddle into sleephood with this man. Just as I am about to turn out the light, he asks me if I had brushed my teeth. I said that I hadn’t because I felt bad brushing my teeth when he couldn’t because he didn’t have a toothbrush here. It’s not fair that I get to enjoy the refreshing feeling of just-cleaned teeth while all the food that he ate during the day rots in the noisome cesspool that our mouths turn into as we sleep. He responded by saying that he could use my toothbrush. I said, of course. Of course he could do that. Of course. I slid into bed and pushed my booty into his crotch to slip into dreaminess in a perfect spoon. But I must admit (don’t tell him this, okay?) I didn’t sleep well that night. I kept waking up to listen to him breath, to watch his mouth tick as he undoubtedly dreamed about laughing, or eating, or smiling really hard. What are you trying to pull?

He had brought up a topic that means something. But before I get into what the toothbrush actually means, let me describe both subcategories of the LTAB Method. What this man that I am seeing did was a combination of the two subcategories; it is undoubtedly the SU Method and it has led me to try out the IHAPFY method.

This man brought up the topic in a straightforward and confident manner. He needs to brush his teeth and has spent enough time at my place to ask about the toothbrush situation. The SU Method, especially the way in which it was employed by this man, is highly admirable because when you use it, you totally put yourself out on a limb. Anyone who uses the SU method is a keeper. If you don’t like the person then you have to at least give him/her props for bringing up a tough topic. To many people, sharing a toothbrush is absolutely gross, even with a consistent sexual partner. Which is weird…we can have each other’s genitals in our mouths but not our toothbrushes? So to ask me to borrow my toothbrush is brave because he risked committing a serious social faux pas. I could have been one of those people that takes the toothbrush sharing thing very seriously.

But whether you ask to borrow your partner’s toothbrush or you ask if you can have a spot in their toothbrush holder, by using the SU Method you are actively starting a conversation about the status of your relationship, which is dope because those are not easy to have. Because if you want to avoid the toothbrush conversation while still making sure you have fresh breath, you would just make sure to always have a toothbrush in the glove compartment of your car or in your purse and you would take it out right before you’re about to go to your partner’s house. That way you can fuck and also make sure you have a kissable mouth without having to worry about things getting confusing.

The second subcategory of the LTAB method is the I Have A Present For You (IHAPFY) method. Someone who employs the IHAPFY method has observed that her partner has brought a toothbrush over once or twice but mostly forgets it or that her partner has asked to borrow a toothbrush on a couple of occasions. And then one day as they are both in the bathroom stepping out of the shower she offhandedly says, “oh hey papi I have a present for you” and presents him with the toothbrush. The partner will then smile and say, “thanks” and then they will happily brush their teeth together, having avoided any awkward conversations about relationships, sharing toothbrushes, or which hole in the toothbrush holder will be given to the partner.

This second subcategory is sweet, kind, and thoughtful. It lets your partner know that you are thinking about them, that their oral hygiene is important to you, not just because you kiss that mouth but because you want them to be healthy. It also communicates that you want your partner to be comfortable when s/he is at your house. It is a small token that says, “I recognize that you spend a significant amount of time here and I want that to continue.” Yet, as I am writing this I also wonder if it is a little passive aggressive. What if your partner doesn’t want your gift? I don’t think it’s a big deal though. If you can’t appreciate the fact that I am trying to make your life easier, then you should fuck off anyway.

The Meaning of the Toothbrush

The toothbrush is definitely a step in a relationship. Whether it mysteriously and passive-aggressively finds its way onto your sink or whether it is openly discussed, it means something. It obviously represents the following:

1. That your partner cares about oral hygiene, which is a good thing.
2. That your partner is now thinking practically about the fact that s/he spends a significant amount of time at your place to warrant having a toothbrush there.

But this is what it intimates:

1. That your partner imagines him/herself spending more time at your place in the future.
2. That your partner likes hanging out at your place and, by extension, that s/he likes you.

The crazy thing is that it has any meaning at all. When the man I am (not seriously) dating asked me if he could use my toothbrush, why was I taken by surprise? We have swapped spit, hung out naked more often than with clothes on, had long conversations about bowel movements and farts, and have the most divine oral sex —frequently, ay qué rico. Why is it so weird to ask me to use my toothbrush? Perhaps because it connotes a level of intimacy that I didn’t know we were approaching. It seems as if every time we see each other, we talk about how this is not “a serious relationship.” But hey motherfucker, I think it’s pretty serious that you want to use my toothbrush to clean away your plaque. My pussy in your mouth is one thing, clearly not a serious thing, but my toothbrush in your mouth is completely different. Because if the toothbrush conversation insinuates that your partner wants to spend more time at your place because, by extension, s/he wants to spend more time with you, then doesn’t that mean that things might be turning a little serious? Holy shit...

So the plan is to try the IHAPFY method on this man I am (not seriously) dating. The next time I see him I’ll casually present him with a brand new toothbrush. I’ll say nothing else. Although it may mean that I know he enjoys spending time with me and will continue to spend time with me in the future (a prospect that both of us may or may not find really cool), I only really want it to mean that I care about his teeth. And his teeth are pretty fucking awesome.

A pleasant midweek addition

pa que sepan...

my vagina's not that hairy, at least not right now. but what if it were? you got a problem with that, dickhead? fuck you.

Top 10 Reasons to NOT Have Sex: 6-10

Once again, in no particular order. Once again, exposing a lot...

REASON SIX: Because you’ve done it before with this person. Why not do it again?

Ah, routines. One of the most important reasons why I moved to Puerto Rico was to break free from what my life in New York City had turned into: a restrictive set of ossified routines. I didn’t come here to fall into another set of habits, whether they be for work or play. But sometimes, we find ourselves falling into the most tedious of sexual ruts. And it’s only when we’re in the middle of one (shot-beer-bat my eyelashes-whisper something suggestive-caress my…-shot-beer-flash a smile-whisper something suggestive-caress my…-car-fuck-bed-fuck-sofa-fuck-kitchen-fuck) with someone we’ve slept with before but are not too interested in making it happen again, that we can really appreciate how knee-deep in the shit we actually are.

Sexual routines come in at least two unexciting flavors: first, is the one that finds us fucking the same person just because s/he knows our bodies, or because s/he is somewhat reliable, or because it’s just an easy lay. Second, is the one that finds you fucking in the same position over and over again because you know you’ll get off easily that way or because you know it’ll get your partner off and you want that to happen fairly quickly because you have other shit to do. I know I can’t be the ONLY woman in the world that will hop on top of guy during bad sex because I know I’m more likely to cum when I’m on top. You know when that happens, when the sex is so boring and you might as well be dead because it wouldn’t make a difference to the beast who is sweating on top of you anyway and you decide to take shit into your own hands and at least help yourself to an orgasm, for chrissake. And you know the best way to do that is to ride him, so you do it not because you want to share a delicious orgasm with this sweaty beast now underneath you but just because…just because. And then you turn around and let him hit it doggy style cuz you know he’ll cum approximately 18.7 seconds after he breaches the walls of your yawning vagina.

The first routine I mentioned, although not necessarily as oppressive as the one I just explained, is still a dangerous one to fall into. Why am I having sex with the same person even though I really don’t like them? Is it because I’m not trying to find sexual release anywhere else? Do I think I can’t find it anywhere else and I am settling for someone I know will give it to me? Why am I calling this person who really doesn’t make me feel all that good in the first place? Is it because it’s a Wednesday and for the past ten Wednesdays I’ve shared a bed with this man? Sex without the emotional risk. It sounds fantastic but it can also be quite burdensome.

REASONS SEVEN AND EIGHT: Because you know the other person wants it really badly or because you’ve already kinda, sorta started to.

So I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the word “consent” and the term “consensual sex.” And I’ve come to the conclusion that I have to be a lot more vocal when I don’t want to have sex. I mean, I’m already fairly open with my partners about what I like, dislike, and want to have absolutely nothing to do with. But there are still sometimes when I find myself having sex with someone and it hurts or I’ve fallen out of the mood or we’re doing something that I find uncomfortable but yet I continue to do it. And I’m a a little scared to admit that but I have a feeling that a lot women have felt similarly before. Whether it’s because the relationship is new and you don’t want to disappoint your partner sexually or because it’s late into the relationship and you don’t have the energy to stop all those unwanted thrusts, I think women have sex when they don't want to more often than we admit. And I think there exists in the popular media this notion that this is okay. That one of the things we have to put up with is the unwanted sexual advances of men, whether they be strangers on the street or people you love enough to let rest in your arms. There is clear difference in my mind between rape and this kind of “I’ll-look-the-other-way-while-you-fuck-me” thing. I think. I mean, I know…the difference…I do. I do. But sometimes when I am underneath a man, huffing and grunting absentmindedly on top of me (always it happens when they’re on top of me), I wonder what he would say if he knew just how much I wanted to break that vein bulging out of his neck with my teeth and watch him bleed to death.

I hate doing things I don’t want to do.


I will not fuck anyone out of pity, because his balls are blue, or because maybe he has already tasted the inside of me. I will fuck someone because I want to. And when I don’t want to anymore, I will stop. I think that’s worth posting as a facebook message.

REASON NINE: Because you want him to stay and cuddle.

Never gonna happen. If you’re in some kind of argument or otherwise fucked up situation with someone, just because you give up the pussy does not mean s/he is going to stay. As a matter of fact, with dudes I have found the opposite to be true. They leave because they’ve already gotten the best part, i.e. the pussy. Do I sound bitter? I don’t mean to but it’s just so undeniably true! I really wish it weren’t. Y no es todo el tiempo que quiero hacer mimos después del sexo...de hecho, unless I really like you, I don’t even want to wake up in the middle of the night to your leg brushing gently up against mine. It’s like a cat looking for attention so it rubs its nasty self on your leg when you’re at your computer or eating or whatever. I just want to sleep! I don’t want to be reminded of your stupid presence. And anyway, doesn’t it feel good to tell a guy to fuck off after sex?

(Scene: My bedroom. Late at night. On my bed. Only one lamp is on. The sheets are crumpled on the floor and me and a boy are laying side by side, sweaty and panting. The boy runs his fingers up and down my arm. The condom is still on his penis.)
Me: Uh, that was great. Thanks. A lot. That was awesome.
Him: Yeah…You’re so…
Me: I really wanna sleep by myself tonight.
Him: Oh, word…it’s cool. I can leave. (He reaches for his underwear. Unfortunately he still has his socks on and I HATE that.)
Me: Really? You don’t mind? You’re such a sweetheart. (I turn over onto my side and close my eyes.) Do me a favor and turn off the lights as you leave. The door locks automatically.

But when I really like someone, cuddling is just as spectacular as sex (I fucking mean that, too). Tell me: what could possibly feel better than being spooned by someone wonderful? What is as perfect as curling up and putting your booty into his crotch while he wraps his arms around your chest and kisses your ears while you kiss the inside of his elbows, that clammy spot where his bicep meets his forearm? Ay Virgencita…But fucking him will not bring your booty to rest next to his beautifully exhausted genital area. Even if it does, let’s just say he spends the night, he’s still gonna leave in the morning. And the fact is that to your insecure ass, that’s still not enough. He’s still leaving and you still want him to stay inside of you, to sleep inside of you forever. So when he leaves, at night or in the morning, you will pull the sheets close to your chest and you will feel abysmally alone.

REASON TEN: Because he reminds you of an asshole ex.

Maybe it’s because he’s a Leo and your ex that you caught fucking some other chick at a party was a Leo.
Maybe it’s because he plays an instrument and it’s the same instrument your ex played, the same fucking ex who was inexcusably emotionally abusive.
Maybe it’s because he kisses you the same way as this other dude once did…

It doesn’t matter! If I perceive that there is something substantial in you that reminds of me of a dickhead ex, I can’t have sex with you, I’m sorry. Because then I’ll be making all these unfair comparisons between you and him. I'll start making up all these reasons why everything you do reminds me of him! And even if it's an ex I broke up with amicably, I still shouldn't be making those comparisons. It's a good thing there are billions of people in this world and that many of them are very different from one another because that way I have lots of chances to meet people that don't remind me of the three people in this world I really don't want to be reminded of. Like, please don’t ask me to date a Sagitarius again because I won’t. They’ll just wind up always putting their needs before mine, hell, before they remember that I even have needs. Nope.

Live and learn. That’s what I (try really really really hard) to do.

Top 10 Reasons to NOT Have Sex: 1-5

So I know you're thinking that I must have taken a break last week to turn all Christian and shit because now I'm coming back with a post with a pretty heavy title. But, mis amores, esto no es el caso. I needed a little break. Things got a little deep here in San Juan and I needed to stop and reflect on some serious shit. As I was reflecting, I came to some new conclusions. Ten of them actually. Ten reasons to not have sex. Now, before you get all riled up, be assured that I am NOT advocating celibacy and that none of the reasons that you will soon read will mention Jesus, God, or the Virgin Mary, except when I take their names in vain. What follows is a list of reasons to not have random sex. No no, not even that. It's more like a list of things to ponder previous to parting with your panties for the night. As you know, I like to use the second person in my writing, but I'm really just writing this shit for me. I need to remind myself of the really bad reasons I have convinced myself at some point in my life were excellent reasons to fuck. However, I have grown older and wiser and, needless to say, I will nevereverever again have sex for these reasons (you know I'm fucking with you, right? Soy la más pendeja when it comes to sex; fuck reason, yes?). By the way, these are in no particular order:

REASON ONE: Because you're mad at your partner and you want to get back at him/her.

So your partner is being a major dickface. Maybe he didn't call you when he said he would. Maybe he broke your hopeful heart and hurt your little feelings. Maybe instead of going out with you that night, he preferred to sit at home in his filthy calzoncillos and watch pornography or illegally download ridiculous amounts of music that he'll never have the time to listen to anyway, or something else that is not nearly as fun as grinding hard with you at the club. So you went out anyway and...encontraste a un chico en la disco que sí quiere perrear y, pa colmo, es buenismo. It turns out you don’t need old dickface anymore because you’ve found someone who will pay attention to you, thank you very much. Not only does this dude pay attention, he also pays for drinks. This is wonderful for many reasons: because you’re broke but so angry that you still want to get drunk and be reckless anyway and because you know that if dickface in the dirty calzoncillos knew that some other motherfucker was buying you drinks, he’d be so angry and that is an anger that you could never imbue in him no matter how many names you called him or how many doors you slammed in his face. Never has a beer tasted as good as the free one you are drinking at that moment with his handsome stranger.

You decide, therefore, to fuck him because you know that fucking this dude would piss your partner off royally, even though you will probably never tell him. And so you fuck and it’s awful. You know why it’s awful? Because you feel guilty as all hell. You totally just exacerbated the problem. Sex changes things. Sex changes everything. Somehow this random sex has done at least two really awkward things:

1. It has made you see that the dude passed out next to you was not that hot to begin with. As soon as you came and your mind was lifted from the fog that surrounded you as you sweatily attempted to reach that summit, you remembered that you don’t even remember his name and that you don’t want to. You remembered that there is someone you like so much that you let that someone piss you off and that this person snoring next to you is not that someone. As you settle into the moment of clarity that comes only after you come, you remember that you originally wanted to go out with your partner. And you’re pissed again. And you’re hurt again.
2. It has made it seem as if what you’re partner did to make you mad was not so bad in the first place. This is where the guilt creeps in. And now the guilt is turning the tables without your permission. Now that you’ve had sex with someone else, it is impossible to deal with the problem of your partner as it originally was. You’ve complicated it (way to go, loser). Now you’ll either easily forgive him for something that he should have to work a little harder to get your forgiveness for or you’ll blow up at him, hoping he’ll feel bad enough to apologize when really you’re the one that feels so bad and you’re just dumping your shitty feelings of remorse on him.
   

Whatever winds up happening, fucking someone else to get back at a partner for pissing you off is not cool at all. Instead of being such a spinelesschickenshit who can’t express her feelings because she’s scared of being vulnerable and winds up expressing those feelings in a way that makes everything eight BILLION times worse, I (I mean, you…naturally) should just talk to my (I mean, your) dude about why I’m (fuck, I mean YOU are) pissed off.

REASON TWO: Because you’re sad about someone, you miss him/her and you want to stop thinking about them.

This kind of sex will lead to nothing but further shitty feelings. The kind of shitty feelings that make you cry stupid tears into your stupid pillow. Promise. And you’ll have no one to blame it on but your stupid self. This kind of sex leads to innumerable comparisons between the person you are sad about and the person whose penis happens to be inside your vagina, or your mouth, or your ass. Let’s just say the person you are missing is named...uh...Joe. If you are sad because of Joe and you have sex with someone else this is what is going to go through your mind the entire time: Joe would totally be eating me out right now and it would be wonderful…Joe has the most beautiful eyes…why can’t I be with Joe…Joe’s penis fits perfectly inside my vagina…why can’t I be with Joe…the last time I had sex (what? Oh you want to hit it from behind now, ok, hold on, go 'head) where was I…oh yeah, the last time I had sex with Joe, it was so magical…I like the way Joe looks at me when I’m on top of him… why can’t I be with Joe…Joe’s hands feel like heaven on my skin…Joe makes me feel beautiful… why can’t I be with Joe…You get the picture. I swear, it’s only going to cause you more agony. No matter how good the sex could be at the moment, if you’re sad about someone else, it’ll be nothing more that lugubrious lovemaking. And that’s so inexplicably wack. Because it's a waste: a waste of a condom, a waste of a good penis, a waste of money because you probably spent a lot of it on alcohol, a waste of energy because it took so much of it to not cry while you were fucking and to pretend that you were oSOintoIT.

REASON THREE: Because you went out with a friend and she has found someone to hook up with and/or because your friends (who are also drunk) say you should.

Just because we’re adults doesn’t mean that peer pressure has ceased to have an effect on us. In fact, I have found that when I’m on a manhunt with a friend and she has already captured her prey, I feel really bad about myself. I wind up feeling ugly, fat, unfunny, like I’m a bad dancer, stupid, boring...in other words, completely worthless. I wind up going to the bathroom way too often to check myself out only to realize that I still think I look hideous. Then your friend comes along and she tells you that the dude she found has a friend. You look in the mirror again at your repulsive reflection, noticing that you keep getting more homely by the minute. You say, "fuckit" and go to meet this dude you will eventually be having sex with. After all, your friends have only your best interests in mind, right? Mmmm...Not so much when it comes to fucking. In this case, she’s trying to get laid just as badly as you are and she knows that finding you someone to get you off will only make her own situation easier. And you can't blame her. After all, if you go home with someone else then maybe she doesn’t have to worry about giving you a ride or at least she doesn’t have to worry about feeling bad that she found someone and you didn’t. So, even though she’s your homegirl, she may still be acting out of selfishness. Or maybe not, maybe she truly is being altruistic and really wants to see you happy. Regardless, I need to be making my own decisions about whom I let into my coochie.

So we should never let our friends dare us or drunkenly convince us to fuck someone else. Because sometimes those friends are just looking out for a friend too. It’s THE worst when a friend has introduced you to one of their friends, hoping that you’ll get together but you feel nothing for them. And then you’re at a party and you’re drinking and all of a sudden you feel obligated to have sex with this person who makes you feel…nothing. And then your friend elbows your ribs and whispers into your ear, “OMG! You guys are getting along SO well! I knew you would!” And you just want to say, “No we’re not. Please get me the fuck out this situation!” But by then your friend is already gone and her friend is already unbuckling your belt and kissing your neck.

REASON FOUR: Because you know this dude has an obscenely large penis.

I’m sick of big penises. Every dude with a big dick can jump off a fucking bridge for all I care. Or, no, they can go fuck themselves. Literally. Take your own dick, that you’re so fucking obsessed with, and shove it up your own goddamn ass, if it’s so fucking big. ¡No soporto los bichotes! And I don’t give a fuck what you motherfuckers say. I’m serious. Yo, on the real...I haven’t fucked one dude with a big dick that willingly ate me out. WTF?!? Why do I have to remind you to eat my pussy? Do you ever have to remind me to suck your dick? No. ¡Yo lo hago obligado! That’s like part of the meal. Like rice and beans. Chichaito con Medalla. Peanut butter and fucking jelly! Sexo y una mamada! Bed and head! Esto es lo más basico. Como Sexo 101. Just because you have a big dick doesn’t mean you get to weasel your way out of giving head.

Listen nenas, we need to stop our infatuation with big dicks. Because we are only making dudes with large members more lazy. We’re making them feel like they don’t have to develop any other essential skills (either sexual, emotional, or intellectual). You know what’s better that a dude with a big dick? A dude who loves eating me out. Talk about a needle in a haystack. Estoy segura que hay más hombres en este mundo con bichos grandes que hombres que le encanten mamar. So you know what, I’m gonna play like an anthropologist trying to find the Lost Civilization of the Happy Pussy Eaters. And every time I find a resident of that civilization, I’m gonna make him feel like a king. Because I know that dude will be all about getting me off. If you find a dude with a big dick I guarantee he’s not all about getting you off. What he is all about is talking about how big his cock is. And that’s like the most boring conversation ever:

Him: You know, hehehe, I have a monstrously big dick.
Me: Oh yeah, I have a monstrously big zit hiding under my bangs. Wanna see it?
Him: No.
Me: Fuck off then.

REASON FIVE: Because you are feeling slightly insecure about yourself.

Jesus. This one is kind of related to number three. I guess it’s like Oprah says, “you can’t expect someone to love you if you don’t love yourself.” Or some shit like that, right? Only thing I’m switching it to, “You can’t expect anyone to fuck you well if when you look in the mirror, you wouldn’t even fuck yourself.” When I’m depressed, masturbating is the most awful thing. Because I don’t love myself and so I’m not getting myself off as I would someone I loved. I do it as if I was doing something wrong and then I feel bad about it afterward. Like I wasted time or like I should have called my sister to see how she’s doing and now I’ve convinced myself I’m a horrible sister, you know? On the other hand, when I’m feeling awesome, masturbating is a celebration of me. I use all my toys. I even put on special underwear. The best is when I can take a nap afterward. Those are the most special naps ever. When I fuck someone hoping to climb out of the gutter of insecurity, guess how I feel afterward? Cheap. Ugh. It’s the WORST! And then when I’m having sex with them, I worry about how I look, if my “O” face is hot enough (forget the fact that I’m too busy having NO confidence to actually have an orgasm), I worry about if I’m giving good enough head, if I’m wet enough, if my vagina’s smelly, blah blah blah.

No, I can’t put someone’s penis in charge of making me feel good about myself. Seriously, for as corny and cliché as it sounds, I really have to respect and love myself first before I expect to have good sex. And in those moments, when I ask myself why I'm having sex, if I'm doing it because I want to celebrate myself and I want the person I am with to celebrate with me, it’s not only hard to be honest with myself, it’s tiring. That’s why drinking is not all that great either. I mean, alcohol is wonderful but it can make me forget about things that maybe I should be working really hard on, you know, like building up a self-confidence of steel.

Whew...that was hard. I'm gonna go drink a beer and smoke a cigarette now. Next week: 6-10.

Spit or Swallow?

Dear Dude,
I am not, under any circumstances whatsoever, no matter how drunk, high, or horny I am, no matter how many pornographic movies I watch and wish to learn from, going to eat your cum. No, you can’t win me over with that shit. Don’t rub my knee, say “come on ma, just a little taste,” and try to tell me it doesn’t taste bad because you know what? I’ve tried it. And you know what else? It’s gross. Fucking nasty. Slimier than okra. With the consistency of watered-down mayonnaise. And the taste…ugh the taste. The taste is like one of those shitty pretzels you get at the mall, only thing shittier and more stale: sweet and salty—which is usually one of my favorite flavor combinations but not when it comes to this guys, not when it comes to this.
In a story that I recently wrote, I included the following memory. I’m going to include it here but don’t be mad when my book of short stories blows up and I’m more famous than Junot fucking Díaz and you realize that you’ve already read part of it; it’s only a little part anyway. Once when I was in eighth grade, this massive girl (massive, like a big, fat girl) named Janice came up to me and asked me the following question: SPIT OR SWALLOW? I hadn’t yet been presented with the opportunity to give head but I answered the best way I knew how to: I thought about it hard but only for like five seconds because I didn’t want her to know that I had to think about it. I wanted her to know that I knew. Spitting seemed awkward. Where to spit it? How to do it in a way that didn’t belie the high level of sexiness that of course I possessed at 14 years old? Swallowing seemed like the only logical answer. So I said, “uh, swallow?” And she said, “of course, right!?” and gave me a pound. Clearly I answered correctly and she marked my answer down in her Spanish notebook.

Since then, I’ve swallowed my fair share of SEE-MEN. I won’t say how much, mostly cuz I don’t know. But it’s not that much. But then again, what is a lot of cum to swallow in one’s lifetime? A cup? A gallon? A barrel? I do not wish to weigh myself against any porn star because, as we all know, porn is about excess—of course swallowing fifteen loads of cum at once is a lot but who does that on a regular basis? (Oh my God, you do? Wild.) And no one is ever going to say, “you know what, I’ve eaten so much cum in my life I have like a fucking 20 layer cumcake in stomach.” Ugh. So we’ll never really know how much cum the average person who likes to give head has swallowed. The point is, I’ve done it and I AM SO OVER IT, papa. Been there, done that. Hated it. I mean, a little.

But you know what, mi amor, I’d much rather swig your stale pretzel, liquid mayonnaise load then eat your semen when it tastes like fucking “Hard Apple.” WTF? Apparently, these supplements, called Sweet Release (the play on words alone makes me want to vomit), claim to naturally “enhance” the taste of your jiz. I hate that. Wanna know why? Of course you do, here’s why:

1. It further alienates us from the natural state of our bodies. Raise your hand if you’ve tasted your own cum. If you didn’t raise your hand, run to the nearest bathroom and jerk off right now. Do what you must to get yourself turned on but you have to bust a nut right now and taste it. I’ll give you a few minutes. (...Twiddle my fingers, whistle a tune...) Are you back? Good. What’d it taste like? You liked it, didn’t you, you nasty freak? The taste of cum is not the best in the world but I was exaggerating a bit before; it’s not the worst thing ever. It’s certainly not worse than okra. But there is a certain deliciousness in knowing that that flavor comes from our bodies. If it’s not delicious then that’s probably because you’re not eating delicious things (see # 3). We should know what our bodies smell like, taste like, and look like when they are healthy. If we don’t, how are we going to know if something has gone wrong and we have to fix it?
2. It supports our awful addiction to all things artificial and makes us believe that the natural taste of our bodies is bad. The really shitty thing is that as I am writing this I am drinking a Diet Coke—God, I hate myself—but no one’s perfect right? So, if you haven’t noticed it on my profile, I live in San Juan, Puerto Rico. One of the things one notices immediately about Puerto Rico—that is, if s/he has even the weakest critical thinking skills—is how awful our diet is. I’m not talking about all the malanga, ñame, and yuca we eat. The Taínos survived for centuries on that shit. Remember, it wasn’t heart disease or Type 2 diabetes that killed the Taínos. It was colonization and its concomitant massacres and small pox plagues (Rule #1 for people of color: never EVER accept a blanket from a European). I’m also not talking about the irresistible 2:30am empanadilla de pizza that one must eat after a long night of drinking. No, I’m talking about the fact that Puerto Rico’s land is more fucking fertile than the octomom after her “treatments” but yet its people don’t eat what naturally comes from the land. Puerto Ricans eat fast food, pre-packaged food, and frozen food con cojones even though everything we need to survive and be healthy is at our fingertips. As a people, Puerto Ricans are alienated from nature and the food it brings us. Puerto Ricans prefer Yellow #5 to bananas, partially hydrogenated soybean oil to beans, mono- and diglycerides to rice, sour apple flavored cum to cum flavored cum. Clearly, I understand the relationship between US colonialism and the ubiquitousness of fast food chains and pre-processed foods and how those foods are generally cheaper than buying the products that are grown here. I could write about that shit too. But what concerns me in this article is how that addiction to artificialness has turned into a scorn for things natural. I think that is connected to our desire to scorn the natural state of our bodies, including our natural taste. What tastes natural is bad but Hard Apple is good. What the fuck is Hard Apple anyway? There is no such apple that is called the Hard Apple. But I guess if Sweet Release gave the pill a Granny Smith Apple flavor that wouldn’t be sexy.
3. It is a quick fix that teaches us nothing about the value of nutrition to a healthy state of sexual being. Wanna know a secret? Come closer, closer, yes, let me sit on your lap. Now listen up: some leche already tastes better than others, naturally. It’s true. For instance, I’m sure if I swallowed the cum of the guy who I’m seeing now, a vegetarian, it would taste a lot better than the leche of say, the sweaty, fat fuck two cubicles down from me in the library. I have nothing against sweaty, fat fucks but don’t ask me to drink your Sweet-and-Sour Shrimp-Snickers sperm ever, like, EVER. Certain foods are known to naturally enhance the taste of your jiz and guess what, they’re the same foods that are known to be really good for you in general. Most important is water; drink lots of it to rid your body of toxins that can potentially wind up in your cum. After that try some of these: papaya, mango, grapes, melons, parsley, celery, cinnamon, peppermint, pineapple and lemon. They’re never going to make your cum taste fruity and fresh but these foods have been known to make your cum a little sweeter. On the other hand, there are foods that one should avoid if he wants better tasting spooge. Red meat, dairy, broccoli, onions, garlic, cauliflower, and asparagus are the biggest offenders. Red meat and dairy are especially known to make your ejaculate more salty—that’s exactly what we DON’T want, guys. If we rely on pills like Sweet Release to make our cum taste good then we are cheating ourselves out of the knowledge of how to make ourselves more healthy. It’s like not showering but using cologne and expecting it to cover the smell of your B.O. Soon all your going to smell is your cologne and you’ll never really know that you smell like shit.
   

In closing, dudes, yes alright fine, I’ll swallow. But not under all circumstances and not just any leche. Like, I’ve decided that I really have to know you in order to swallow. It’s definitely NOT a sex-on-the-first-date thing, or even the second or third. It’s more like our first-STI-test-came-out-negative-and-let’s-celebrate thing. Y tú me tienes que mamar bien rico antes. Si no, pueh…sorry, you’re out of luck. And so let’s say I like you and you’re a great, big pussy worshipper, I still won’t drink your cum if you have poor hygiene and/or eating habits. And let’s say I like you and you’re a great, big pussy worshipper and I happen to be convinced that I should swallow (which, may I remind you, has nothing to do with your skills of persuasion and you should NEVER EVER ask me to swallow cuz if you do I’ll fuck you up; it’s MY decision, okay?). And if I swallow and it tastes like “Hard Apple,” I’m gonna be really pissed because you would have adulterated my palate with your phony phallic ejaculate. Keep it natural, keep it healthy and if you’re nice to me and smart and funny and good in bed, oh yeah, I’ll lick it up without question.

Love,
Lola

Bend Over, Boo; It's Your Turn (Verse 3)

God for-fucking-bid, a dude gives up some of his power. Okay, I get it, you have a dick and, if we’re going to define sex as penetration, then your dick needs to be hard for us to be able to start. And, alright alright, I also get that you essentially get to decide when the shit is over, too. And pa’ colmo, even though this has nothing to do with sex, you get to pee wherever the fuck you want. Dudes, alright, your dicks are pretty cool. But you know what, motherfuckers? I get to cum as many times as I want. So when you get off and I’m not done and I think I wanna bust a nut just one more time, I’m gonna masturbate, right in your face and stick my tongue out at you as I do it, just to rub it in your sweaty face. Wait…you want me to rub it in your face?

Sorry. The point is that dudes think that just because they have the dicks they get to do the penetrating, they get to have all the power. Uh uh. No fucking way. That’s fucked up for the following reasons:

1. It’s based on the stupid, archaic belief that there can only be sex with penetration, which is why foreplay only counts as “calentando” and dummies always ask lesbians how they have sex.
2. It makes the penetrator the powerful, masculine role and the penetrated the weak, feminine role. This breaking down of sex into gender roles is limiting, not fun, and totally UN-sexy.
3. If we reduce sex to penetration, then we are essentially equating sex with procreation. And therefore we are delegitimizing not just anal sex but other kinds of queer sex as well.

WTF, dudes! Give it up and bend over cuz here is my finger and it’s coming straight for your ass. Okay, okay, okay…Let’s just forget about the power dynamics involved in anal sex for a moment and think about pleasure pure and simple. Hombres, if I told you that I could give you something that would make you feel so pleasurable, you’d cum almost instantly and it’s not heroin, crack, or some weird substance that will make mushrooms sprout from your back, wouldn’t you say “dale! Let’s do it!”? Of course you would. You’re not stupid, are you? Well that’s what anal sex is.

Clearly the real banal sex queens out there are dudes, so concerned about preserving their masculinity, that they have created a cage for themselves. And not some kind of sexy cage like in wrestling matches or that absurd Shakira video but like one of those cages in which they put baby cows to fatten them up to turn them into osso buco. You can’t move, you’ve paralyzed yourselves with your own masculinity and now all you can have is boring, banal sex. Considera las palabras de Anabel Ochoa, sexóloga, psicóloga, y escritora española: “entre varones, en el hombre que es penetrado supone impactar directamente la estimulación de la próstata (el llamado punto G masculino [I didn’t know y’all had one of those too!]) de modo que provoca una eyaculación automática en escopeta casi sin quererlo por automatismo de esta glándula.”

!!!

An orgasm so hard and intense, you can’t control it when your prostate is poked just a little?! Word?! That’s the dopest shit I’ve read in a while, like since I read Milan Kundera’s thoughts on poo. Come on guys, you know you wanna try it.

However (sigh), I understand the strength of social roles. I also understand that masculinity is nothing if not a performance. And for a straight dude, getting it up the butt is not part of that play. But remember, gender identity was not created to make us feel more free. In fact, gender norms only serve to limit our possibilities by making us fearful of breaking them. The gender police suck and we shouldn’t listen to them. Since when should we take advice on how to have fun from a fucking cop? When was the last time you looked at a cop and wanted to ask him/her where the party was? Never. That never fucking happens. So why are you letting some invisible force police your goddamn gender when you could be having some dope sex right now?

If there is anything that I hope for my readers to get out of this (very long) manifesto on anal sex, and indeed my blog in general, it is that good sex requires a lot of trust. And I am not just talking about trust between you and your partner but trust in oneself. I have to love myself enough to trust that my desires are valid, important, and deserve to be fulfilled by someone who respects me and finds it is sexy and beautiful that I am a human being with desires. As I said in Verse 1, if I can’t talk to my partner, I shouldn’t be having sex with that person. Okay, okay…God knows I have had my share of random sex and I will probably have a few more (hopefully not too) awkward sexual encounters with someone who doesn’t know me—or care about me, for that matter. But those are not going to be the times when I divulge how to really turn my ass out.

Lola’s 10 Point Program to Having Great Anal Sex:

Here it is. Print this shit out and put it on your refrigerator, yeah your refrigerator, because you should definitely be having butt sex in the kitchen.

On behalf of all people who wish to liberate themselves from the shackles of sexual banality and enjoy the pleasures of anal penetration, I declare the following:

1. We deserve to find someone chill and made up of at least 75% wonderfulness. The other 25% cannot be assholeness but it can be awkwardness, bad dancing skills, or a random sense of humor. This ratio assures that you can always talk to your partner about having to maybe deal with shit and that they will listen if you have to tell them to stop if you no longer feel comfortable.
2. We will use lube so as to not tear our rectums. I can’t emphasize enough how important this is. It’s really hot if you have a vagina and you’re already so wet that you can just transfer some of that natural lube to your ass but if that can’t happen then you definitely need to make sure that you have some lube on hand—and I mean real lube not lotion, especially not if it’s perfumed; our assholes are sensitive and you don’t want to put some harsh frangrance or chemical up there.
3. We will practice breathing exercises. We all know how important breathing is to achieving orgasm. Don’t we all hold our breath when we feel it there, right there? And when we need to relax, aren’t we told to “take a deep breath”? Well lets put these two together and we can make sure that anal sex always feels good. The last time I had anal sex, there was this moment in which it started to feel a little uncomfortable, then I breathed in deeply and found that I could take his entire penis in my ass. And I totally got off and he did too and it was fucking glorious.
4. We will try to poop before and clean up. Just because you have to face the reality that you might encounter poop if you’re sticking something up your ass doesn’t mean that you have to expect it or swim in it when you’re fucking. Nah, try to let it all out before you expect to have sex and make sure the area is as clean as possible. You should also make sure to clean up afterward. There are gross things that live in poop and those gross things can give you gross things. Yuck. You could even take a shower together after; I love that!
   
5. We will use condoms. It turns out that our bums are like sponges and are more susceptible to sexually transmitted infections than other areas of our bodies. Unless you and your partner have both tested negative and have both made the (sober) decision to not use condoms, don’t risk it. Wrap it up, kiddies.
6. We will make sure everything is stimulated. The very talented among us are capable of getting off just through anal penetration. Many of us, however, need some extra help. Here is where I good toy comes in handy because the best is when I can be penetrated both anally and vaginally (damn, I sure am an open book, huh?). Play with my clitoris; that’s always awesome. But be forewarned, that’s how Becky uh, lost control.
7. We will always make sure to give and receive. It’s always best this way. To get anally penetrated is awesome but it’s also great to know that you are giving someone one of the best sexual sensations of their lives. Besides nobody likes a sapo in bed; you know, someone who just lies there como un sapo while the other person does all the work.
8. We want you to play with and tease our culos first. Remember? SUA-VE-CI-TO. Teasing doesn’t just heighten the dopeness that is sex, it also serves the very practical purpose of getting us ready for it. By playing with the anus before actually penetrating it, you can make your partner relax as well as want it more. This is especially true for those who are new to anal sex. Use a pinky, a tongue, some nice vibrating anal beads (oh yeah, they make those. Anyone, wanna buy me a Christmas present?), whatever; just make your partner want it.
9. We want the lines of communication open. Before, during, and after anal sex. Before: talk about poop and about your desires. During: do you like it? Was one position better than another? Does it hurt too much and you want to stop? After: What did you like/dislike? What do you want to try next? ¡Habla, coño!
10. We recognize the political, social, and emotional implications of what we’re doing and feel awesome about fucking outside of the box. The supreme level of relationship incredibleness is not reached simply by having great sex. It’s when you can have great sex with someone who thinks about what that great sex means. I love it, love it, love it when I can fuck someone’s brains out while saying “fuck it” to the world and “fuck you” to my insecurities.

Well, there it is darlings. I hope you have learned something or at least feel more vindicated in your desires. If this post gets just one person to love anal sex, I know I have done my job. And if you're that person, please let me know so I can die in about 100 years knowing that I truly am an agent of change.