Friday, January 24, 2014

at what point are you comfortable enough to stick your tongue in a dude's butt?

i haven't had sex in 500+ days. and it's cool, man. like, for real. i have read HELLA BOOKS. my apartment is spotless. i made a perfect carbonara. i started thinking about my next book. i brushed helen a few times. i bought a lot of nail polish. i watched every single beyonce video ever made, plus: the most recent season of sons of anarchy and all of the movies nominated for best picture oscars this year. my male BFF (oxymoron, i know, but work with me here) carl called me from DC the other night to make fun of both my new haircut and current life choices, and eventually the conversation wound up at the dead end of whether or not i would ever want to have sex again. "with a human?" i asked. "ugh, kind of. but after all this time i'm not even sure i would know how." and i probably don't. it's been long enough and i have so little practical experience that i'm not even sure how dating works. (are you kids still calling eating overpriced sushi with a veritable stranger a date? also, what the motherfuck is a tinder?) which warranted a handy guide, DUH. a guide written in red lip pencil on the back of an overdue electric bill, but a handy guide nonetheless. i'ma keep this shit in my purse, just in case i ever get back on

1st date: innocent cheek kiss. i'm only saying this because i feel like this is what you should say. i don't have any goddamned impulse control, man. like, if you get anywhere near my face you might have to forcibly restrain me from trying to put my lips on the corner of your mouth or whatever. a couple weeks ago i was at heartland with my girl julia and she gave me one of those extralong heartfelt hugs, the kind you give while placing your hand on the back of a bitch's head and shit, and ten seconds in i swear to god i had my eyes closed and some of her hair in my mouth. if i'm out with someone i like RUL RUL BAD i spend the entire time just watching his mouth and teeth move while he's talking about some shit i don't care about (probably) and no that isn't creepy or disconcerting at all. i guess what i'm trying to say is that there is no way i can stare at your lips for two hours and not attempt to hoover them off your face while awkwardly ensnaring my soft meat in the complicated seatbelt in your car. what a fucking asshole. tentatively going in for the kiss and before being violently slammed back into my seat because i forgot i have that stupid belt on. ugh fuck safety.

2nd date: maybe some open-mouthed kissing? if you're me? YOU ALREADY DID THIS SHIT ON THE FIRST DATE, BRO. but here's the tricky thing: where is this tonsil hockey supposed to take place? because if it's at my spot: we're fucking, my dude. and if it's at your spot: i'm surreptitiously going through your medicine cabinet, i'm maxing that leftover papa john's and drinking that last lagunitas, and then: we're fucking, my dude. and by fucking i mean "making love like we both have hip dysplasia." 

3rd date: on-top-of-clothes groping. unless you're naïve to the game you already fucking know that this is my preferred method of all the way sex. i am not fucking kidding when i say we can just stop here for the rest of our lives and i would be fine with that. seriously can't we just make a bunch of pina coladas in the blender and touch ourselves in silence? a couple years ago i placed a craigslist ad in the "miscellaneous sex" personals that read: MARGINALLY-ATTRACTIVE HUMAN WITH FEMALE PARTS LOOKING FOR A GIANT MEATBEAST WITH WHICH TO ENGAGE IN SOME ON TOP OF CLOTHES SEX. nothing else. i received easily a hundred responses, 99 of which were some queried form of "what does sex with clothes mean?" or another and 1 that was just a picture of an old playa in a crush velvet suit holding a pitbull in the type of living room that still had plastic on the couch. yeah, no.

4th date: oral +/- a handjob. so sometimes i do triceps curls. my upper arms, man: GROSS. and who cares because cap sleeves are a liar and i always wear real shirts even in the summer. but i keep these bitches strong in case i ever have to give an emergency handjob. same reason i keep up my CPR certification, on the off chance that someone faints in front of me and i can get my shit together for long enough to save a life. HJs are tiring so i usually go straight to the B, especially since i'm 33 and 3/4 and i still have no idea where i am supposed to goddamned look while jerking a dude off. staring into his eyes is creepy, turning my head to watch the television is rude, so where in the fuck am i supposed to put my eyes!? i'll tell you where: on that little thicket of man grass just above his wang. because handjobs are the worst. and my arms aren't that goddamned strong yet.

5th date: vaginal sex and/or the homosexual equivalent. right out of the gate i gotta say that i don't have a real rule about this. i'm one of those "whenever it feels right" fruitbags, which is definitely an excuse to be as slutty as i please because i am a grown ass lady and i do what i want. 

6th date: toe sucking, biting, nipple clamps, buttplay, poop. when do you scat queens introduce all of your weird fetishes and kinks? and once you've decided when, how do you go about having that discussion? in fifty shades of grey when dude drew up that sexcontract i was like, reading about potential sex > having actual sex. and you know how much i hate getting busy. i would much rather we both pull our kindles out and hold hands while jimmy fallon is on and then sleep on separate sides of the apartment. or maybe just talk about vomiting on one another. my typical style is to just blurt "USE YOUR TEETH FOR THAT" in the middle of the, OMG DID I EVER TELL YOU GUYS ABOUT THE DUDE WITH THE KNIFE!? homeboy liked his steak a little bloody in the bedroom and okay, i guess? but you have to ease a girl into that kind of shit. dude pulled out a switchblade for me to use on him with zero warning and i was like, "fuck he's about to use my skin to make a coat" before totally wetting the bed. i legit thought i was going to die, friends. from now on, let's all learn to use our words.

7th SMORG-ASS-BORD. now according to carl, if you are the “receivee” (dude really said that shit, i can’t make this up; i think this motherfucker’s parents might be brother and sister, BECAUSE THIS DUDE REALLY SAID RECEIVEE LIKE IT'S A REAL GODDAMNED WORD) you can demand this shit anytime you want, but i think you gotta be RUL CONFIDENT that the person you're fucking with is ready to split a checking account and go adopt a cat with you if you're just going to bust out a knife and fork while pointing to your butthole with no warning after the second time you jerks meet for coffee or whatever. i got my ass eaten out by accident once, and i spent the entire time it was happening holding really fucking still with my entire body clenched tight as a fist. i couldn't even enjoy it, i just kept thinking, "what if i taste like poop, what if i taste like poop," while lying stiff as a board until it was over. then i immediately had to take a shit and that was awkward. i'd like to think that while i haven't yet, i am progressive enough to toss some dude's salad. i've stuck my finger in any number of butts, and every time it always ends the same way: with me covertly sniffing my finger on the bus ride home. but i know that when the time comes i'm going to be foraging around back there thinking, "please don't shit on my face, please don't shit on my face" with my eyes squeezed shut. but if i meet a gentleman worthy of possibly sharting on my tongue i'll try it. AND THEN WE ARE GETTING A MOTHERFUCKING PUPPY.

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