It’s not my house, and it’s not my dog, so it’s not my rules. I didn’t think about it until recently, but then it occurred to me one night as we were on the couch fucking, and I glanced over with my eyes open in a moment of glancing when: there was the dog, with its head buried in a pillow. I didn’t let this moment of concern for another living creature stop me from doing what I was doing, but the next day the image of dog sitting there, looking slightly bereaved and trying to bury his head struck me. Should I not be fucking in front of the dog? Should I be saving my coital activities for the bedroom where the dog cannot see? (But can probably still hear. Not all things can be helped.) Is this traumatic for the dog? I’ve never owned a dog before, so I don’t know what the protocol for this one is. Do we take him to therapy so he can bark about his emotions? Is it bad to let the dog see me naked? I try to pet the dog the next morning when I leave, but he shies away from me as I walk out the door. I try not to let it get to my head as I go about my day, but I do have to wonder: is this an okay thing to do?
I refuse to move during morning sex, and also I refuse to open my eyes or participate in any other exciting way. Morning sex is now and always will be my least favorite time to have sex. Mornings are just generally painful for me, and while I do enjoy sex, I have to admit that I prefer sleeping in. Sex is a pretty jarring experience, and I usually feel very delicate in the morning. Like a freshly dew dropped flower. Except now I’m getting tore up by a penis. Le sigh. I guess that’s okay, because it’s also nice to start the day off with a good deed, and, hey, I don’t mind morning sex actually. Really, it’s kind of comforting once I get into it and accept the fact that I am not sleeping right now. But, otherwise, generally, morning sex is a nonorgasmic experience for me. It’s not that I’m okay with that per se, but I know that I’m going to get mine later, so I’m willing to participate just for the fun of it. Can’t really knock sex. It is pretty cool.
It’s hard for us to admit that this friendship is failing, but it is. As we sit there and look away from each other, forcing our way through lonely moments. Trying to take ourselves back to the beginning of this friendship, like a love affair that is now ending. We used to be good to each other. This used to work. I think what happened was we started in the same place, but now we are both somewhere vastly different, and we have not arrived together. The ferocity of friendship has not survived time and space, and here we are, together but separate. We used to say things to each other that made us feel better. We used to laugh together, but now we can’t get out of a cycle of mutual hurt. Which is why we are sitting here, avoiding each other, but also avoiding saying what is going on here: this isn’t working anymore. We aren’t best friends anymore. We are merely claws at each other’s throats, and I would like to ungrip myself from the flesh of someone else before I cut in and draw blood. I would like to leave, but for some reason I’m still here. I would like to stop engaging in the mutual delusion that this friendship is the best thing that I can do right now, but I can’t. Instead I am here, and there is destruction in the air. Not the kind of active destruction that one thinks of, replete with images of demolition of old buildings, but, rather, a slow decay. There is rot here. There are noxious fumes. Both of which are invisible at first, but suddenly things turn ugly. Eventually things fall apart. Just by looking at it now, you can’t tell, but on the inside I am filled with nails and spit. He is the hammer in my stomach, swinging wildly, and even though he doesn’t know that all he does is cause me pain these days, what he does know is I hurt him, too. We hurt each other, yet we are both refusing to admit to our own culpability in hurting the other. Which is why we hurt in return. We hurt until we can hurt no more, and here we are, trying to hurt the other person into admitting what they have done, and it is destruction. I am watching us crumble, inch by inch, and neither of us has the strength to build ourselves into something better, especially not after having spent ourselves in this war game of mutual destruction. I wait for it to end. Not the hurting, just the friendship. I wait for the sham of friendship to disappear from the conversation so we can move into not being friends, which will be better. But it will take a long time.
“Wait…do I like anal sex more than you do?”
I’m loafing around, feeling impish, stripped down and sultry. As usual, I have just had sex, and I am sitting there, giving my play by play review. Lately I’ve been feeling a little raucous and raunchy, which has inspired me to beg for both mercy and anal sex. Well, I don’t know…I mean, I know that anal sex is supposed to be one of those things that women do for men because men like it but women don’t really like it so they just suck it up and take it. I have always been under the impression that if you want a guy to love you forever (or at least a reasonable amount of time), you let him in the back door. But I’m also not the type of person to engage in sexual acts that don’t get me off, so my desire to get fucked in the ass has little to do with pleasing him as the primary goal and more to do with the fact that, yes, indeed, I do have anal orgasms! I must admit, sure, at first, when the dick is first sliding in, it can be a little painful. I’d be lying if I tried to act like anal sex was all a bed of roses. But with some lube, a considerate partner, and bit of patience and high pain tolerance, the pain subsides and is replaced by the ecstasy of anal sex. Yes, I am a woman, yes, I like butt stuff.
I don’t know if it’s because I’m from the Bay Area or what, but I was always under the impression that men liked anal sex best out of anything. Like, sex is cool, sure, and vaginas are nice because they’re warm and muscle-y and designed to take dick. But assholes are tighter, and everyone has them. There’s a firmer grip during anal sex, and also it seems that men like the slightly sadistic qualities of anal sex. Anal sex is special. Not everyone gets to have anal sex. Anal sex isn’t a daily activity for most people. Anal sex is how you show love.
“Yeah…I like regular sex better,” he responded.
“Wait – it’s not because you think anal sex is gay, right? Because it’s 2016, and anal sex is for straight people, too, now.”
“No. It just feels better.”
“Oh…okay,” I replied, feeling like all my illusions had been shattered. Which left me in a bit of pickle: if he’s not going to initiate and demand anal sex, are we going to have it? And if we don’t have anal sex, what does that mean? I sat there, feeling a bit mystified. Really, life had not prepared me for this situation: a man who didn’t want anal sex. On the one hand, I was beginning to feel that perhaps my sexual talent was being wasted, and my ability to take it all up the ass would be lost on him. On the other hand, part of the fun is the mutual thrill; just as if someone doesn’t like fucking my pussy, if someone is unenthused by anal sex it kinda brings the whole vibe down. (Although, as my best friend tells me, anal sex is only fun if someone really doesn’t want to do it. I see where she’s coming from, but, ugh, I prefer mutual eroticism, personally.)
I was trying not to feel sad, when it hit me: “Oh, well, maybe I’ll just put butt plugs in when we have sex instead then, is that okay?”
“Yeah!” he replied enthusiastically, obviously relieved to be free of the duty of stimulating my asshole. I think that’s a pretty fair win-win situation: he doesn’t have to stick his dick somewhere that he doesn’t want to, and I don’t have to be robbed of anal play. Plus I guess that’s kinda like DP, which I must admit I’ve never done, but now if I ever get the opportunity I’ll be better prepared for it.
“I’m serious. You need to buy some lube. We’re going to the sex shop right now.”
“What! But I thought you said you had lube!”
“Yeah, I do, but I keep it at my house. We mostly have sex at your house. And you don’t have lube.”
“Why don’t you just bring it over to my house and keep it there?”
“Because I use it throughout the week and I don’t want to be stuck at my own house without lube.”
“Huh? What are you using lube for on the daily?”
“For my kegel balls. Anyways, you need to be a good sex host and have some lube. You realize this is why we never have anal sex, right?”
“Fine, fine, you’re right. I’ll just go to Walgreen’s to get it this week.”
“No! We’re going to the sex shop, and I’m not letting you buy the cheapest shit they have.”
“What! You’re already making me buy lube, and now I have to cash out?”
“You realize that lube is a chemical that is literally going inside my body, staying there, and getting absorbed into my lower intestine, right? It’s not something I can just wipe off. You’re getting something that isn’t going to give me cancer twelve years from now.”
“Ugh, fine, okay…”
“On the upside, we can start having more anal sex now!”
“I think you’re more into anal sex than I am.”
“Yeah. I probably am. But, whatever! Win-win for me.”