Or, why am I so rubbish at anal sex?
So, in my last post I confidently gave top tips on how to be a Drunken Slut Mum. But there are some things that I still can’t figure out – in particular, anal sex.
I have never learnt how to get this right or how to enjoy it. One of many reasons why The Man will up sticks and disappear one day is probably because my rear entrance isn’t that welcoming – no flowers around the door, shiny knocker or twinkly little light outside. Instead, it’s splintered, jammed, needs a lick of paint and has a barking dog behind it.
It’s not just technique/enjoyment, (which I will cover later), it’s also lack of confidence in my arse. He has made a few good comments about it, but I always worry about having a bad bum day – when it looks particularly large and has the odd butt-zit break-out (invariably a day or two before I’m due to see him, much to my horror). No matter how vigorously one exfoliates, they will only clear up when they feel like it.
So, the actual activity… My first encounter of anal was when I was a student. A group of us had walked en masse to a house party, then the same group headed home and I somehow ended up walking with a long-haired, big guy who had a rather bear-like quality to him. I had met him a few times and never really fancied him, but hey-ho – a few ciders and things take on a new light.
We ended up in my room in halls and he quickly got regular intercourse over and done with, before moving to the rear. He asked if I had any baby oil, which I didn’t, so I suggested margarine (something rang a bell about them using butter in Last Tango in Paris).
Drunken and fairly chilled, I let him smother the stuff all around and inside my anus – it felt cool and soothing. He then worked his way in. It was not a traumatic experience – it just felt like I was going to the toilet in reverse – a tad uncomfortable. He, however, was moaning in ecstasy so I let him carry on.
I wasn’t in a rush to repeat this and, besides, the bear guy was just a one night stand.
I can vaguely recall some failed attempts in a few relationships after, all rather painful and uncomfortable with the various men admitting defeat and not going there again.
Then, after a friend’s wedding in around 2000, I had an unexpected guest in my room. He was a rather skinny, but somehow very endearing, ginger-haired guy, a friend of a friend. We had above average sex before he looked to my derriere. I was slightly uneasy, but the post-wedding booze binge had left my body relaxed. He was very slow and gentle, easing himself in. He was obviously very adept at it, as there was no pain or discomfort and I bordered on enjoying it.
Maybe the secret to that experience was not over-thinking it. Since then, I seem to have lost my anal mojo. But there was a seven-year gap – largely because The Ex never even spoke of anal, never mind partaking in it.
The Man, on the other hand, is a keen enthusiast. We have had mixed success in this area, but my main motivation is giving The Man as much explosive bliss as he gives me. It only seems fair that I tickle his fancy too.