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

The Politics of Penetration (Verse 2)

This is primarily a discussion between me and dictionary.com, more precisely, a discussion between me and the multiple entries listed under the word “penetration.”

1. To pierce or pass through. The most basic definition there is. As it is related to this article, penetrating someone’s rectum means to pierce it with something, usually a penis. However, in a wider definition, we should also understand it to include a finger, a dildo, or maybe even a tongue—but I don’t think tongues are hard enough to actually pierce your rectum. If you know someone that has such a tongue, please let me know; I’d like to shake his/her hand.
2. To enter and diffuse itself through; permeate. Here is where things start to get interesting and where we start to get uncomfortable with anal sex. It’s as if in the act of penetration, one leaves his/her stamp. If those who penetrate our anus “permeate” us then that leaves us, the penetrated, permanently marked, conspicuously saturated by someone else’s power. And that idea is certainly more uncomfortable than even the biggest, most oddly shaped phallus in my butt.
3. To arrive at the truth or meaning of; understand; comprehend. What can be understood about me when I allow someone to penetrate me? And when I like it? Of course, it can be understood that I am an open-minded person that sees every orifice as a potential invitation to pleasure. But more deeply, perhaps, when you penetrate me, you come to understand that I trust you as much as I trust myself because I wouldn’t let just anyone slip into the dark passages of my body. When we know something, we have power over it. Maybe I’m scared of being understood. Nah, I’m scared of being misunderstood. There are many opportunities for confusion during sex. Like, the only true moment of clarity there is during sex is post-orgasm. Anytime before that we are wrapped up in getting to that moment. How many times have I cum only to realize that I shouldn’t be fucking the person underneath me in the first place? How many times have I wanted to scream “I FUCKING LOVE YOU” when having sex only to then be so grateful that I didn’t after I felt that "shudder in the loins.” I can’t remember half of the random shit I scream during sex. And if someone only knows the “me” in bed, then the potential for a long list of really awkward misunderstandings is great. Nah boo, I didn’t say, “I love you,” I said, “I luck you.” Like I’m lucky to be fucking such an awesome guy. He he haaa..Have you seen my panties?
4. To obtain a share of (a market). To be penetrated is to be taken. In the worst sense, to be claimed. That’s shitty. Have you ever had sex with someone, only to realize a couple of days (hours) later that everyone knows what you did? Of course you have. Everyone has. And although you’d like to feel as if it doesn’t matter that everyone knows, it totally matters. It totally matters that everyone thinks they know what your vagina looks like, tastes like, feels like, and smells like. It totally matters that now everyone knows you start singing songs from The Little Mermaid when you fall off the cliff of orgasm. It totally does. Even the most liberated among us want a little discretion when it comes to sex, especially anal sex. But now that person with whom we have done it, has a piece of us and they can do with that piece whatever they want. And you know what? I’m not whole enough to just being giving my shit away and not care about what happens to it. So it’s scary okay? So be careful with it. Cuz if you’re careful with it, I might even let you have it again. And again.
5. To affect or impress (the mind or feelings) deeply. OMG. It is rare, so RARE to have sex with someone and forget about him or her like that (insert snap of the fingers here). Even if it was bad. Especially if it was bad. Take Becky for instance (remember her?), she wanted to forget about smearing her poop all over this dude’s dick but she just couldn’t. Because, as I explained above, this dude took a piece of her upon piercing her, a sloppy, shit-stained piece, but a piece nonetheless. It may be hard for me to recall every person I have fucked. Please don’t ask me to make a list, I’ll just wind up feeling bad about myself and fucking someone random out of self-pity, not because I have had sex with so many dudes that I can’t remember (uh…right) but that my memory is so bad and that means one of two things (or both): I’m either getting old or I have done permanent damage to some really important part of my brain from so much weed-smoking. But names aren’t important (right?) not as important as feelings and faces. Maybe I don’t want to remember the way the muscles in someone’s face slack when they first feel the inside of my excited vagina or my expectant anus. Maybe once I take that piece of them, I’ll feel too heavy and, as you can imagine, I got my own shit to carry; I certainly don’t need the weight of the memory of someone who may or may not have been good in bed. Humph. Certainly not.
   

How do I wrap this section up, now? By musing on power. Penetration is certainly an act of domination. I don’t need to remind you that it’s not always a peaceful/sexy kind of domination either. Think of all the violent words we use to describe the act of penetration: stab, cut, tear it up, beat it up, hit it, nail, pound, gut, etc etc. I’m definitely guilty of using these terms both in and out of the bed. Don’t misunderstand me; I don’t think these words or penetration are inherently violent (duh). Nor do I think that violent sex is necessarily a bad thing, as long as the people participating in it are 100% down with it and there is a very clear way to express when one is no longer down with it. But I do think it’s important to recognize the power inherent in penetration. That way, at least we can play with it as we play with our partners and ourselves. Think of anal sex as one big play date supervised by our favorite baby-sitter Foucault. Foucault, that baby-sitter who always invites someone over once he’s put you to bed and you get to watch them do it from the crack in the door. That post-structuralist motherfucker who loves flipping shit inside out. Put this shit in your pipe and smoke it:

The medical examination, the psychiatric investigation, the pedagogical report, the family controls may have the over-all and apparent objective of saying no to all wayward sexualities, but the fact is that they function as mechanisms with a double impetus: pleasure and power [oh God, yes]. The pleasure that comes of exercising a power that questions, monitors, watches, spies, searches out, palpates, brings to light; and on the other hand, the pleasure that kindles [mmmm] at having to evade this power, flee from it, fool it, or travesty it. The power that lets itself be invaded [penetrated?] by the pleasure it is pursuing; and opposite it, power asserting it in the pleasure of showing off, scandalizing, or resisting. Capture and seduction [oh!], confrontation and mutual reinforcement…These attractions, these evasions, these circular incitements [oh shit oh shit…I…] have traced around bodies and sexes, not boundaries not to be crossed, but perpetual spirals of power and pleasure [qué ricoooooooooooooooooooaaaaaaaaaaaaaahh].

Gracias, y buenas noches.

***

So, because I wrote so much about penetration, I have decided to leave Verse 2 as is and make Verse 3 about the stupid homophobes and gender conformists. Verse 4 is the Ten Point Program For More Liberating Sex. So...keep your eyes peeled!

Are You a Banal Sex Queen? (Verse 1)

I’ll be the first to admit it: I’m unique in many ways. I like the smell of my own bellybutton and inhale deeply when walking through the suburbs and get a sudden whiff of skunk. I eat the rind on Brie cheese. I like anal sex. It’s true. I do. Uniqueness, unfortunately, has its price. Until recently, I’ve been embarrassed, ashamed even, to admit my fondness for butt sex for fear of being called, you know, slutty or, even worse, docile. But in the past few months, here is what I’ve realized: ANAL SEX=LIBERATION. Hell yeah. And I put it in caps! What of it? I think everyone needs to have more anal sex. But before I go into how this will come to be (oh yes, you better believe there is a Ten Point Program at the end of this essay), I want to start with a quick reflection on why I think people in general, not just women, have an aversion to anal sex. Yes there is an explicit ban of sodomy in the holy books of the Abrahamic religions. But I don’t think that God’s aversion to butt sex keeps your average non-believer, half-assed believer, or sexually adventurous believer from doing it. If anything, I know lots of Catholic girls who have butt sex as teenagers so they can still call themselves virgins when they get married (ha ha ha…ahh the Catholics).

What follows is the first part in a three part series on the wonderfulness of anal sex and a helpful list of suggestions on how to add it to your sex life. Verse 1, which you are about to read, and Verse 2, which will come next week, address the reasons why I think people scrunch their noses at the mere thought of anal sex. I narrow down the reasons why we keep our culos cluelessly closed to the following: first, it hurts; second, we hate reminding ourselves of our own shit; third, some see it as an act of domination; and fourth, the moronic homophobes out there think it’s gay. Verse 3 is a manifesto of sorts, listing ten logical actions one can take to make anal pleasure a reality.

Part 1: Ouch

Upon seeing my tattoo, many people ask, “Did it hurt?” And I, always the bastion of honesty and integrity, answer, “Hell yeah, it hurt!” So it goes for anal sex. Yes it will hurt at first. Christians call it a peccatum contra naturam because, I guess, it’s not natural to stick something big and hard up your ass (or maybe, they say it’s not natural cuz God doesn’t do it but really, did anyone ever ask Him?). And therefore, since it’s not natural and we are not used to it, it might be painful at times.

Clearly, I would never advise someone to do something that causes him or her extreme pain. But what I would advise someone to do is investigate the origins of that pain. “Duh, bitch, it comes from my fucking sphincter whenever my partner shoves something in it,” you say. Okay, okay, I don’t mean that. I mean, ask yourself a few questions before you categorically dismiss anal penetration from your sexual repertoire.

• Are you 100% relaxed? If not, maybe you need to smoke a little weed. Besides the fact that sex is AWESOME when one is high, I also find that it calms me and makes me more open to butt sex. If you don’t smoke weed, I have heard there are other ways to relax; something about a massage or a warm bath or some shit like that. But trust me, weed really works.
• Are you using lube? Only the pros don’t use lube and still that’s not all the time.
• Is your partner hitting it too hard? Suavecito at first, mi amor, SUA-VE-CI-TO. My culo, at least, can’t take the same pounding as my vagina can, at least not at the onset of sex. Penetration has to start smooth and slow. Tell your partner to relax; yo ass ain’t goin nowhere, you know?
• Do you trust your partner? Maybe you can’t relax (no matter how much you’ve smoked) because you have a nagging suspicion that the person sticking something up your ass is really a big, fat douchebag. For as much as I want people in this world to have copious encounters with butt sex, I can’t dismiss the importance of trust to anal sex success. If you can’t trust your partner then you’re going to continue to worry about your shit and your going to focus on the pain instead of letting yourself feel the pleasure.
• Have you tried different positions? Not all penises and dildos are made the same (¡qué rica es la diversidad!) and the rectum is curved. Without careful experimentation, anal sex can be like forcing a square peg in a round hole, not only will it be painful but also both partners are likely to get nowhere fast.
  

As with many things (exercise, tattoos, spicy foods), there is a thin line between pain and pleasure when it comes to anal sex. Walking that line is not easy but it’s also not as difficult as you would think. Besides, it’s totally worth a try. Trust me, jewel love it.

Part 2: Am I shitting or cumming cuz I can’t tell…

Gather ‘round kiddies, cuz I’m gonna tell you a little story. Once there was this woman named…Becky, yeah, Becky. Becky was lucky enough to find a fuckbuddy who cared more about the pleasures of the flesh than about societal norms of what is gross or acceptable. Becky and her fuckbuddy, therefore, had lots of anal sex. One night, the friend was hitting it hard and Becky loved it, just loved it. She could feel from the inside out that she was about to have one of the most significant orgasms of her life. And as her knees buckled, her eyes closed shut, she sucked in her breath and bit her lower lip, she went to another place. Jesus, it was fantastic. But when she opened her eyes and stepped gingerly out of Heaven, she began to smell something familiar yet woefully out of context.

Did I fart or is that…She reaches back to her butt and her fingers meet with the nastiness that is her own feces. Fuck!

“I’ll be right back,” her friend said nonchalantly and sauntered off to the bathroom.

I just shat all over someone’s dick. ¡Qué fucking vergüenza! Although her friend returned from the bathroom eager for another round Becky could not even let him touch her. How could she? She just soiled this dude’s cock with her own shit. She couldn’t even look him in the eye. That night they slept but didn’t cuddle and Becky had horrible, shit-smeared nightmares.

Alas, if we are to embrace anal sex, we must be willing to embrace our own shit. Yet, our obsession with disguising the undesirable makes that an exceedingly difficult task. Indeed, where did this notion of shit being so gross come from? I’m currently reading The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera and as it turns out, he muses quite beautifully about the metaphysical meaning of shit (which is, by the way, just one of the reasons why I don’t want this book to end). He says, “The fact that until recently the word ‘shit’ has appeared in print as s--- has nothing to do with moral considerations. You can’t claim that shit is immoral, after all! The objection to shit is purely a metaphysical one. The daily defecation session is daily proof of the unacceptability of Creation. Either/or: either shit is acceptable (in which case don’t lock yourself in the bathroom!) or we are created in an unacceptable manner.” Who among us, whether you believe in evolution or creationism, is going to argue that human beings are imperfect simply because we shit? In forging an argument that human beings shouldn’t shit, one either ends up with an evolutionary impossibility (are there animals that don’t shit?) or you go toe-to-toe with God and say, “nah man, you did it all wrong and Imma fix it.”

So, how can one come to terms with his/her own shit (here, I am afraid, I am using the word both literally and figuratively)? Clearly, humans are obsessed with the idea of masking our shit. There are a multitude of sprays, candles, and potpourri packets one can purchase in the hopes that the person entering the bathroom after us will not guess what we did in the mere minutes before they sat on the toilet. We make fancy toilet bowls and flowered toilet bowl covers to help us forget that we are voiding our bowels and flushing our shit to a place where it will meet the intestinal contents of the strangers who live in our cities and towns. Fuck that. Shit is shit and I’m not going to let it ruin my potential for physical pleasure. Instead, I am going to talk to my partner (with whom I feel comfortable, of course) about anal sex, I’m going to admit to him/her that I fart and poop just like everyone else, and I’m going to discuss the very real possibility of having to clean up a messy situation. Because as we all know (but won’t admit) a good shit is the closest thing to a good orgasm. If we, as a society, are becoming more open to talking about cumming and sex in general, then it should follow that we can discuss shit and deal with shit.

*****

Ready for more? Sorry, you’ll have to wait a week, boo! But trust me, it’ll be good. In Verse 2, I will address the following two subjects:

1. The politics of domination: or why Foucault makes me wet
2. Stupid homophobes and gender conformists need to eat shit and die because they’re totally making it hard for me to get off

On Big Penises

The late twenties are awesome, for the most part. I feel a lot more confident in myself. I have much better sex then I ever have before (carajo, remember having sex as a teenager? How wack was that shit?). I no longer imagine a caring, loving relationship will come every time I make someone cum (crazyteenagethoughts) and sex can really just be about fulfilling physical needs (stroooong physical needs). And that's cool when that happens...

And it does. That is until I realize that I'm a woman and that there are emotions lurking in the dark corners of every single experience I have. The good thing is, when it comes to me and sex, these emotions are rarely amorous so it's not as if I'm setting myself up to get hurt. The bad thing is that these emotions are kind of neurotic and prohibit me from truly enjoying sex sometimes (I know, right!).

Okay. Now here comes a story…and then some advice, for dudes mostly but I think there is a larger lesson to be learned that everyone can appreciate. It's a story I must tell, even at the risk of exposing too much. Think of it as a fable. As a matter of fact, it is a fable. Complete with anthropomorphism. Here it goes:

Once upon a time, Rabbit suddenly found herself single and excited to be back in the woodland-creature dating world. She met many other creatures, most of whom were cool—at least not insane. She was even open-minded enough to date Turnip (but she found him dreadfully emotionally vacant and couldn’t deal). Soon she began to date two creatures at once. Fox and Field Mouse, although vastly different in most ways, were excitingly alike in one: they were both very well-endowed. Naturally, Rabbit felt like she had hit the lottery.

Gradually, however, Fox started being his sly, stupid-ass self and Field Mouse revealed himself to be the meek, simple-minded twerp that his remarkably cute exterior hid from Rabbit for so long. Now Rabbit was confused. So she escaped to the depths of her rabbit hole to sit down for a good think. She mulled over the following questions: Does a big penis make up for being a self-centered, manipulative prick? Can a big penis compensate for a lack of intelligence or low self-esteem? Is it okay to wake up one morning, bleary-eyed and fuzzy-minded, next to someone you despise, completely regretful not of the fact that you had sex with someone you can’t stand but of the fact that you are not high enough to have that hot-ass sex again? Aahh…so many questions. But where were the answers?

That night, Rabbit woke to the sound of her name being whispered through the leaves.

“Who’s there? Who’s calling me?” she asked frantically as she pulled the sheets up to cover her naked body (there had been talk of some kind of forest freak peeping into rabbit holes without an invitation; she had to be safe.)

“Raaaaaabbiiiiiiiit…Raaaaaaaaaaaabiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit…” the sweet and distant voice repeated.

“Who is that?! You better not be some kind of creep!”

“Nena, it’s Oak Tree! Get your ass out of bed so we can talk.”

“Oh,” she said sheepishly, “I’ll be right there.”

Oak Tree was the wisest spirit in all of the forest. Rabbit knew that she would now find the answers to all of her questions.

“Rabbit,” Oak Tree began, “I sense you have been struggling with some difficult shit. I think I may be able to help you out. I’ve seen a lot. And I’ve learned not to take shit from anyone, least of all some HOMbre. So, what is it? Cuéntame, mi amor.”

When Rabbit finished her story, the wise oak sat back and just shook her head. After a short while, she spoke:

“Damn. Isn’t it shitty when a man builds his whole entire personality on such a shaky foundation like that? Ah, Rabbit, a large member is a wonderful thing but it’s like when you go to some big chain store, like H&M or something, and you realize that they undercharged you for an item that you really wanted in the first place and would have paid full price for. You take it. You’re excited. Youre not gonna return it even if you don’t deserve the accidental discount. But you would have been happy anyway because you wanted that item in the first place. You decided that blouse or that pair of shoes was for you before you knew that either one would come with a bonus. Me entiende?

"Now, Rabbit, with that said, a man with a monstrous penis still cannot get away with the following:

1. Wearing leather dress sandals
2. Being an asshole or absolutely insane (this one, oddly, is the hardest for women to understand)
3. Wearing tims and shorts
4. Being racist, sexist, homophobic, heterosexist or ignorant in any other way
5. Not being able to hold a conversation post- or pre-sex
6. Being unattractive…”

“Hold up," Rabbit interrupted, "number six just contradicted every porn I’ve ever seen in my whole entire life!”

“Oh Rabbit, pornography is a genre of film just like Horror or Romantic Comedy," Oak Tree explained. "Do you believe that zombies will one day come and vomit blood in your face and eat your eyeballs out?”

“No.”

“Do you believe that a big, fat, drunk ugly dude can randomly get a drunk, pretty girl pregnant and that they will fall in love, have a beautiful, bouncing baby and live happily ever after?”

“No.”

“Then why would you ever believe what you see in a porno?”

“I guess you’re right,” Rabbit admitted.

“I know I’m right. That’s all I have for now. Besides, that’s all I think you can handle. You must go and contemplate the knowledge I just dropped on yo ass. Bye, nena.”

“Bye Oak Tree. Thanks for listening.”

Oak Tree closed her eyes and went to sleep. Rabbit hopped away to her bunny hole, her mind still heavy even though she knew the answers and knew the right thing to do. She lay in bed for about 22 minutes, staring at the dirt ceiling before she picked up her cell phone and called Field Mouse. He would be over in ten minutes. Guaranteed. Just enough time for her to have a whiskey and think some more.

“Ah sheeiit,” she exhaled as she opened the bottle.