My Sexual Hang Ups: Assholes

Sexual hang-ups. We all have them. However, whenever I discuss mine, I’m always met with surprise. It’s as if, because of the work I do (as co-founder of Sex Positive St. Louis, as a traveling sex educator and freelance sexual guru) I’m expected to have absolutely no sexual hang-ups at all.

I’m human. I’m not made of wood, people. Prick me; I bleed (except that one time in 2002 when the EMTs couldn’t test my blood sugar because I was so dehydrated that after several needle sticks, I, in fact, did not bleed).

So here’s one of my sexual hang-ups:

Assholes.

Not people who are rude or annoying. Actual assholes. The anus. It grosses me out. Shit comes out of it.

I tried anal intercourse (unsuccessfully) when I was 16, and then not again until 20 years later when, during vaginal intercourse, a partner just took my dick and put it in their ass. I wasn’t even sure what was happening at first. The only other anal intercourse experience I can recall as a top was the time when the condom we were using got completely obliterated without me noticing. I pulled out, looked down, saw the split condom blooming around the base of my dick like flower petals or a gun with its barrel peeled back.

This was followed by the awkward moment when I had to tell my partner that we had just had unprotected anal sex. And this was followed by a trip to the St. Louis Effort for AIDS for HIV testing…

I’ve had anal intercourse as a bottom exactly once and that was shortly after I turned 40. Yeah, I waited a good while on that one. So there you have it. I’m a forty-one-year-old sex educator who’s had anal intercourse about three time. That’s how asshole-phobic I am.

The sad irony is that I love the ass as a concept. But until pretty recently my love of the ass has been confined to the cheeks and maybe (when I’m feeling really adventurous) the crack. The asshole terrifies and grosses me out.

I’m trying to get over this. I’m trying to embrace the ass as a whole, which means embracing the ass as a hole.

Until recently, I had only eaten ass a couple times in my entire life. I’m trying to eat ass more enthusiastically now. It’s quite a leap for someone as squeamish and germaphobic as me (I hate using public bathrooms. Actually, I hate using anyones bathroom but my own). I have to admit that part of what turns me about eating ass is that it feels really dirty and wrong. I’m almost worried that if I overcome my hang-ups about the anus entirely, it will cease to be as much of a turn on, but these are the occupational hazards I’m willing to risk on my road to being a better sexual guru. You’re welcome.

I has occurred to me that my encounters with ass have been so fraught with fear and mystery in part because I’ve never really looked at an anus before. My normal encounters with the asshole have been in the dark, by candlelight or even when under normal lighting conditions, I’m too close and too focused on the job I’m performing to really look at the asshole.

To remedy this, I asked a friend to let me shoot a portrait of her asshole and she agreed. I approached it like any other portrait shoot (aside from the fact that the key light was on a boom, lowered to the floor and pointed up). Since it was a portrait, I used a long lens (250mm) to flatter the asshole and not give it any wide angle distortion.

During the shoot and while reviewing the photos I discovered that assholes are (or at least can be) very cute, and are not nearly as scary as I would have thought.

Oh, and if anyone would like me to shoot a portrait of their asshole, just holla atcha boy. I also gives volume discounts, so feel free to book me for your next asshole portrait party.

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The Big Book of Domination Blog Tour: New York, New York!

So, back in November I flew to New York for the release of “The Big Book of Domination” the erotic anthology that my work is included in, from Cleis Press, edited by the awesome D.L. King.

I had the pleasure of staying in the home of author Laura Antoniou and her lovely wife Karen. I knew I was in the right place when I saw the Revenge of the Jedi poster in their guest bedroom (side note, as card-carrying member of the Star Wars fan club, I got a Revenge of the Jedi patch in the mail the year before the movie was released. I’m pretty sure I had already lost it by the time it was announced that the title of the movie would be changed).

My first night in New York I went to a BDSM party at a club called the Parthenon. They were playing really good music from Pandora, but it was the free version, so in the middle of the really intense scene, there would be car insurance commercials, which kinda broke the mood.

After the party we went walking around Manhattan looking for a place to get coffee at 1 a.m. and ended up in a 24 hour McDonalds. The girl behind the counter took one look at my date (six-foot tall in her boots and dressed from head to toe in black leather with matching gloves) and asked, “Do you ride motorcycles or hunt vampires?” Then she looked at me and said, “You must be her sidekick.”

The next day was the reading at Purple Passion. Karen had to drive us from Queens to Brooklyn, to pick up D.L., then from Brooklyn to Manhattan for the reading. The traffic was so bad that we were almost late for our own event. Karen told me the old joke that “no one drives in New York because there’s so much traffic.” In Brooklyn we cut through an orthodox Jewish neighborhood, and since it was Saturday, there was almost no one on the roads. A great time saver if you ever find yourself in the same situation.

We arrived at Purple Passion just in time. On the bill were with me were D.L., Laura, and Rachel Kramer Bussel. Funny story…

So, back when I was a frustrated, unpublished writer of erotica, I submitted a few stories to anthologies edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel, and she always rejected my work. So, taking inspiration from 50 Cent’s “How to Rob” (the mix-tape track where the unsigned 50 Cent used each verse to describe how he would rob successful rap and R&B artists), I decided to write a story describing how I would fuck successful erotica writers and editors, sort of positioning myself as the “50 Cent of Erotica.”  In said story, I articulated my desire to fuck Rachel Kramer Bussel from behind while shoving her face first into a plate of gourmet cupcakes. It was independently published in a little anthology sold locally in St. Louis, what were the odds that a New York editor like Rachel Kramer Bussel would ever read it?

…Well, the odds were pretty good as it turns out, because she read the book. And now we were performing at the same reading.

I asked Karen if she thought I should apologize to Rachel now that I would be seeing her in person. Karen’s advice was not to bring it up and all, and I thought that was a brilliant idea.

At the reading, Rachel stepped out of the room for a minute and while she was gone, Laura brought up the story (she’d heard me me perform it at a reading we’d done at Fetish Fair Fleamarket earlier that year). I quickly wrapped up the conversation so that we wouldn’t be talking about it by the time Rachel returned.

The reading went off without a hitch, Laura read her introduction to the book, which was hilarious, D.L. read her story and then introduced Rachel. When Rachel went up, she put in a plug for her her new collection of essays, “Sex and Cupcakes.” She held up a postcard of the cover art which features her… topless, bent over a table full of cupcakes.

I could feel the eyes burrowing in the back of my head as she held up the card, but I just kept my mouth shut and thankfully so did everyone else.

I just want to say for the record that Rachel Kramer Bussel is a fine writer and, from what I’ve been told, a very forgiving person. Not the type to hold a grudge. You should run right out and buy “Sex & Cupcakes” right after you buy “The Big Book of Domination.”