Thursday, March 3, 2011

bottoms up!

the sex show was sunday night. jacob knabb co-hosted, and i'm not fucking kidding when i say that dude is probably THE SEXIEST DUDE I KNOW IN REAL LIFE. for serious. there was also a writer from the chicago examiner in attendance. her name is rachel curtis. here are excerpts from her five-star review of our little inbred hipster parade, interspersed with what i read.

Logan Square’s Sunday Night Sex Show is not for the delicate, the prim, or the faint of heart, and the most recent gathering the night of the 83rd Annual Academy Awards provided a rich literary foil to the pomp and glitz of Hollywood. The monthly gathering at The Burlington features readings from local writers who, almost as a requisite, bare the raw, intimate details of their most unsuccessful sexual encounters to a bar full of rapt listeners.

it is my relatively well-founded belief that deep within the heart of every red-blooded, flag-waving, god-fearing, meat-eating, gun-loving purebred american girl lies the secret, irrepressible longing to be "the chick who loves anal." not really, because buttholes involve farting and gross hair and poop, but in some abstract, tangential, theoretical way. because if you fuck dudes, it is 100% inevitable that one day in your near future one will politely ask for your permission to put his DICK in your BUTT.

so this deep-seated burning desire doesn’t materialize organically, it embeds itself deep within the crevices of our brains from an incredibly early age. seriously. similac, sesame street, and "you better learn to love a penis in your rectum." from the day a little female toddler has enough hand-eye coordination to roll over in her crib and flip through the copy of cosmo baby in her bassinet, baby girls are deluged with the assertion that we are TOTAL SHIT in bed. before a bitch is old enough to buy a tube of goddamned mascara the idea that we as a gender are terrible at fucking has been reinforced in her psyche a thousand times over. don’t believe me? "the naughty skill that you MUST learn," "4 traits that men find irresistible," "9 of our best oral sex tips," "12 dirty moves to try tonight," "17 things you didn’t know about your vagina," "27 ways to have better sex," "30 feisty foreplay tricks," "50 ways to seduce a man in a minute or less," and "75 crazy hot sex moves" are all magazine article titles currently on our nation’s newsstands. and for those of you who are unfamiliar, ie you gentlemen, we start reading all this shit at fucking NINE YEARS OLD. now i’m not one of these overzealous assholes who wants to pull this sexual propaganda off the shelves, because how the fuck else am i supposed to find out the latest trends in see-through baby crop tops and studded thongs?

February 27th's Sunday confessions ranged from a desperate search for sex involving even an iota of mutual attraction, to a first timer’s completely bare bikini wax, to a series of oral exploits triggered by the animated version of Transformers. Although heavily accented with ridicule and self-deprecation, what lay beneath the armor of expletives was a wide-open view of humans at their most vulnerable.

but for serious, who in the FUCK is trying to do seventy-five sex moves?! are there really even that many to DO? that’s the thing about this shit, they reinforce the ridiculous notion that you are not doing everything you possibly could to keep your man satisfied by blowing shit up to outrageous proportions and then expecting you to just go along with that shit without challenging it. if a dude asks me to do more than two and a half things during a single sexual encounter i get the fuck up and put my goddamned clothes on. i have television to watch, sir, i can’t be pulling my hair out trying to get you off; there are tacos to eat. so heaven help anyone who expects me to accomplish even five astounding feats in the span of one ten-minute lovemaking session. because i don’t fuck for a long time, either. it's hot and i'm tired and you should have left my apartment an hour ago. but let’s pretend for a second that i do. and let’s pretend that i even have more than a passing interest in trying 12 dirty moves on any given night. my dumb ass would have to bring a pencil, some flashcards, a notebook, two dog-eared copies of the magazine, and my fucking reading glasses in order to properly execute the goddamned thing. i have the retention of a small dog. can you even imagine that shit? stopping mid-coitus to flip through the magazine trying to figure out what the hell i’m supposed to be doing?! "hold on a second, lover, i can’t remember what comes after i attach the jumper cables to your nipples. hold this blowtorch while i turn the page; at what point do i drizzle hydrochloric acid over your testicles? i can’t find it!"

the desire to be the best person someone has ever had sexual intercourse with has never crossed my fucking mind. NEVER. not when i was young, not now that i am old, not ever. i don’t try hard in bed and i refuse to over-exert myself. generally, when it comes to fucking and pretty much anything else i ever attempt to do, i aim for "satisfactory." "adequate" is another word i like to use to describe any of my given skill sets. i’m not trying to be memorable or above average, i’m just trying to finish without dislocating my hip. i was like this in high school, too, which is why i fucking dropped out of college. seriously, i cannot be killing myself to try to get an A. especially when the course is subjective. at least in math you could point out where i’d made a mistake in my calculation as evidence for why i’d received an inferior score, but if some dude were to roll off me and say, while using the edge of my sheet to wipe the sticky shit off of his dick, "well, i’d give you a B+ for that performance," on what grounds could i stand to argue for a better grade?! disproving an opinion takes more effort than i’m willing to commit, so i’m supposed to walk around with a fucked-up sexual GPA because some asshole unreasonably expected a rim job too early in our courtship? for real, partner, i’m not licking your butt before you’ve paid for at least three steaks at someplace with cloth goddamned napkins. really, what the fuck is the barometer for sexual prowess? at the very least can a bitch get graded on a curve?!

It was a cathartic two-and-a-half hours. Via the veil of comedy, those present plugged into the fear and uncertainty inherent in early sexual encounters, as well as the sometimes unexplainable drive to embark on them.  Episodes of post-coital satisfaction and shame elicited nods of recognition throughout the room.

my idea of someone who is amazing in bed involves not saying anything fruity, not playing any fruity music during, and allowing me to keep one article of clothing on the entire time. so it’s pretty easy to graduate from the samantha irby school of banging with a degree in “fucks good.” but my vagina is obviously a state school, or maybe even a community college, especially since your degree is likely to be written on the back of whatever receipts are in my wallet at the time. but HOLY FUCKING SHIT, what the fuck are you supposed to do when you unknowingly enroll in the blowjob class at harvard?! MY underachieving ass would drop the fuck out the minute i realized the tests were essay questions instead of scantron, but what happens to the rest of you teachers pets? YOU start thinking about ANAL.remember back in the olden time when a fair-to-middling blowjob was enough to christen you a “fantastic lay?” i miss those days. now you have to fuck hanging upside down from some monkey bars, use your labia to detonate a bomb, then blow out the candles on a birthday cake with your pussy hole just to get a dude to want to bang you again. not me, though. i don’t do anything special, and i don’t pretend otherwise. you know those people who are all “yeah, i am SO GOOD at fucking?” i’m not one of those people. and this isn’t false modesty, i’m really not. my best trick in bed is STAYING AWAKE. we live in the age of celebrity sex tapes and homemade fetish porn available 24 hours a day instantly on your cell phone, and that has made it increasingly difficult to compete as well. how is my regular shit supposed to seem awesome when you just beat off to a woman with sparks shooting out of her asshole while she rode reverse cowgirl? and that is my excuse for not even trying. because my anus isn’t flame retardant.

Members of the audience have several windows through which they can opt to expose their own private thoughts to the scrutiny of the room. At any time during the show anyone present can scribble down a query for the hosts to read aloud and answer with audience feedback. Alternatively, the audience shouts answers to obscure trivia questions for small prizes (sex-shop party favors) during the Q&A sessions between readers. In order to claim the prize though, they must answer a “truth or dare” style question from their own experience.

unless you are the cougar that robbed him of his sacred virginity, at some point during the boring everyday sex you are having with your boyfriend he is going to insinuate either that A your sex is has become routine or B you’re not the best sex he’s ever had. i take that back, because even virgins have access to internet porn and will probably definitely one day ask you to emulate something he spent the entire afternoon watching on a continuous loop. probably while you were out making money to support his xbox habit. and it’s hard not to give a shit, especially if this is a person you actually like and wouldn’t mind spending some more time with. i’m not so callous that i wouldn’t want to please someone i’m lackluster banging, which is why i hold out eternal hope that i’ll eventually find a person who thinks a sleepy handjob given while i’m drinking a beer and eating a sandwich is special.

in my experience this dissatisfaction with the arduous task that has become our sex life can be solved, and the demise of our relationship temporarily staved off, with one tiny little concession on my part. the insertion of his erection into the place where my poop comes out. now what i lack in tenacity and voraciousness during sex i more than make up for in enthusiastic ambivalence. meaning that i don’t really mind whatever you want to do so long as i’m not responsible for dreaming it up and making it good. i have made a receptacle for penile insertion out of a variety of places on my body, from obvious ones like boobs and hands to the more obscure, like the ear and the nose. so the first time the butt came up in bedroom conversation i was like, “okay, whatever” and rolled over on my belly.

Co-founders Robyn Pennacchia and Allen Makere* never aimed to keep it clean, but they did insist that the tone remain respectful, body positive and non-judgmental. In doing so, they created a monthly expose of the human condition that is, if nothing else, remarkably refreshing and honest. *Although Makere made an appearance this Sunday, he has been exploring new projects in different cities and is now replaced by a rotating guest host. This month's was Jacob Knabb, host of the2ndhand's So You Think You Have Nerves of Steel.

at the time i was dating this sensitive dude who was more in touch with his feminine side than i would be comfortable with today (mo-oist!), but i surmised that he hadn’t yet figured out his latent homosexuality and was just going to use my asshole as the catalyst to figuring out that he really wanted to bang dudes. and that was fine by me, because he was pretty hot and didn’t object to my need to have sex in a pitch black room with a shirt, a bra, and socks on. i’ve had so many colonoscopies that i barely even notice anyone tinkering around down there anymore, and i work with adorable little cuddly animals, so the nose hair-singing smell of rank shit doesn’t freak me out AT ALL.

every dude you’ve ever banged and every one you ever will has one AMAZING ex-girlfriend or dirty hooker or former babysitter that ABSOLUTELY LOVED taking one up the dirt star. she begged for it, she screamed for it, it was her most favorite thing, and he can’t really believe why YOU don’t seem more excited at the prospect. he won’t be able to PROVE these things, of course, because he is not going to let you interview all of the devastated ladies whose hearts he’s broken (pffft), but that is what he’s going to SAY when you run out of cosmo tricks and he decides it’s time for a booty call. amanda and i took this sex toy class over the summer, and the one thing that resonated with me the most was the segment of the class that dealt with butt toys. not because i’m trying to spend fifty bucks on something i’m about to get e.coli on, but because one of the instructors was going ON and ON about how women enjoy butt play, too. physiologically, men have a damned good reason to want a little something driving up the exit ramp. that something is called a prostate. but this broad was INSISTENT upon convincing the seven of us who took this stupid class that women LOVE anal play, too. sitting there i was just thinking, “so THIS is that bitch,” over and over with a scowl on my face. you know, the one we’ve all been hearing so much about our entire sexual careers. the one who has been out there selling these dirty lies about how much we all love feeling like we’re going to shit some strange dude’s bed. FUCK THAT BITCH.

as soon as i felt cold air whistling between my butt cheeks that first time i clenched up and was like, “i have a bullet in the chamber. let’s shut this down,” and refused to go through with it. “but what are we going to do to spice things up?” he asked, FOR REAL AND IN ALL SERIOUSNESS, and i said, “go get the lawn mower and and a bottle of dish soap if you need something new. i’m putting my pants back on.” i know that my stories usually end with some horrific occurrence that makes you glad to be you and not me, but this time i’m totally glad not to be the butt of the joke.

thanks to everyone who came and DIXXX to everyone who didn't. assholes. i'm performing at nerves of steel in april, april 5th at the hungry brain to be precise, of which the virile and handsome jacob knabb is the host. it will be a good time, especially since i am likely to fall over onstage due to excessive swooning. that smart, hot dude is amazeballs, and his accent is divine. after that i'm taking a break from public reading. my public drinking has been feeling neglected.