Good sex is a many splendored things. But like many splendored things, good sex is relative. We all have our proclivities, and here is a handful that stays locked out of my bedroom.
I hooked up with a 30-something local news anchor in my early 20s who loved being degraded during sex. He wanted me to call him a “fat pig” and other body-shaming obscenities while having intercourse. I obliged, but it was hard for me to call him those names – he wasn’t fat at all – and it immediately sucked the fun out of the experience. I’m a master name-caller, yeah (I have a few exes out there who can attest to that), but you have to date me for at least a year and cheat on me to make me stoop that low. In other words: Put in the work, man.
I’m not kinking averse, but I lean toward the lighter side. Like, sex toys are fine, but walking me around the house on a leash and commanding me to piss on a potty pad is not. There’s a whole lot of gray middle too, but what I’m referring to here is introducing kink of any level too soon.
In the beginning, sex between two new fuck buds should be fun, no accessories required. I’m more interested in the fresh meat and exploring new territory than I am opening a Pandora’s box of dildos and butt-beads. Those certainly have a place in my sex life once I’m settled into a relationship and want to up the ante. But if my new partner and I can’t have fun and satisfy each other sans hardware for the first few weeks, I’m gonna check out early.
My balls are where it’s at. They’re the most sensitive and therefore most pleasurable part of my body, and as such should not be ignored. My boyfriend is extremely gifted in that department, and to be honest (as if any of this isn’t TMI), I can’t get off from a blowjob unless my nuts are being caressed. (Way to go, Joe!)
Given my scrotum’s utmost importance to my sexual health then… PLEASE, don’t ever fucking pull on them. I’ve been with men who are really into this masochism and I just can’t. I feel my own precious balls channeling the phantom pain of their testicles nearly being ripped from between their legs when I’m asked to do it. Why – whhhhy? – would anyone want to hurt those big baby-filled beauties?
I have a routine for my one-night stands: Go straight to the bathroom, take off all your clothes, promptly shower. Leave it all there; nothing comes into the bedroom. I don’t want bed bugs or anybody’s unwashed ass on my crisp sheets. I followed the same protocol a few years ago when I brought home a bar rando, but he also had a request for me: a golden shower. I was very uncomfortable with it. I was also a bit intrigued.
So I pissed on him as he knelt in the tub and moaned his weirdo moans – like that episode of Friends where Monica is interviewing for the creepy restaurant owner – and I decided henceforth that I’ll only be peeing on myself in the shower. And not just because it’s good for the toenails! (Seriously.)
I’m no prude – role-playing is fun, like when I made Joe dress up like a naughty reindeer for Christmas last year – but I won’t be your bitch. I don’t want to dominate you either. I’m someone who needs control out in the world, so when I let my guard down, get naked and vulnerable, I want to be on a level playing field. Does that mean my sex is boring? Not at all. I just prefer a mutual appreciation and admiration when everything’s hanging out. I’m a sucker for the passion and softest and sweetness. Regular renaissance man. Your whiny bottom ass can still make me a sandwich after though, ya heard?