I Have Never Had Anal Sex
Everything you need to know is right there in the title; I have never had anal sex. In the eleven years that I’ve been sexually active, through casual to serious relationships, nary an appendage has penetrated my anus. Not even a finger. Once, a guy I was seeing licked it, but it didn’t feel sexy at all. It just felt like a guy was licking my ass hole.
If this is the first thing you’re reading by me, you should know: mamma didn’t raise no prude. I love sex, especially period sex, and I’m open to most things (I mean, if I really loved someone — really, really loved someone — and they wanted to pee on me I would probably let them). But when it comes to slipping one in the stink, I’ve got to tell you, I’m just not OK with it.
I once got drunk with a good friend of mine and out the front of the bar, in the middle of the street, we engaged in what can only be described as an incredibly heated, public screaming match about the merits of anal sex. She, obviously an advocate of getting screwed up the butt, relied heavily on the argument “Don’t knock it until you try it,” to which my incredibly rational response was, “I don’t need to eat shit to know that it tastes bad.”
When I imagine a man sexing me up the ass, I don’t feel hot at all. I think about it, and the whole thing just feels like an ordeal. I worry: what if I don’t put enough lubricant on and my ass breaks? What if it just hurts the whole time? What if poop comes out everywhere? It just feels like too much worrying for a sexual act, and the last thing I want to associate with sex is stress.
I know what you’re thinking, “But Kat George, you love poop and all those “disgusting” things!”, but that doesn’t mean I find poop sexy. I find poop gross and intriguing the way a child finds putting snails in its mouth gross and intriguing. In short, poop is about as sexy as eating snails, and my preference is to not be thinking about it when there’s a dick in me.
Look; I have three holes between my clitoris and the top of my ass crack (which, now that I think about it, is a lot of holes for such a small area). One of those is my pee hole, which I’ve never even seen. The other is my vagina, which, incidentally, is an elastic organ designed for things wider than its circumference to enter and exit. It’s conveniently located in between where the pee and the poop come out, is self lubricating, and until I drop a placenta absolutely nothing gross is likely to come out of it.
It’s fine if you want to have anal sex; I actually don’t even think it’s gross for you (and I definitely want to hear all about it, which gives this whole aversion of mine a whole other twisted layer), just leave my butt hole out of it. In the same way I expect you to respect my in and out trays at work (you put incoming mail in my outbox and I am going to hurt you), please respect my special special places.
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If you’ve been looking for a chance to say something then this very well could be it.
I wish to God I’d had a list like this when I was 23.
Answer phones better than anyone else has answered phones before. Relay messages so brilliant, they bring people to tears. Turn the coffee run into the choreography of Swan Lake. Become best friends with every intern and every underling and every taxi driver you encounter.
I remember taking the pen and notebook from that woman outside the courtroom, flipping to a clean page in the book, and writing, JESSICA IS SAD in big, bold, uncoordinated letters. “My sister is going to be a good writer someday! Look at how nice her lines are!”