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Anal Sex Education

The Backdoor

by Vicky Hale / 06.11.2010

It’s the mid-90’s, we’re sixteen and have just discovered sex. In hindsight, I’m a huge advocate of comprehensive sex education. Back then, all the sex ed I’d had were a few extra-curricular classes on ‘You and Your Body’ which in essence covered two topics:

1. The thing goes into the thingie… and that’s where babies come from.
2. Condoms… how to avoid pregnancy and other diseases.

A step up from abstinence-only education but still, there were a few things I personally feel they may have skipped over. Like anal sex.

Teen sex is awkward and fumbly by nature. There’s no need to exacerbate the situation. I look back on those insecure, self-conscious years with much empathy and a burning desire to take my younger self and her well-meaning boyfriend aside and give them the heads up. The Internet was but a fledgling. Cues were taken from more traditional media, like unearthed porn mags, “blue” movies that the parentals had smuggled in from Swaziland, and the occasional raunchy scene in a film. Only hippies and intellectuals spoke openly about sex and they weren’t regular dinner guests. We couldn’t Google ‘Anal Sex for Dummies’. It was still the Dark Ages of Ananzi. Left to our own hormone-frenzied devices we thought that if there was something highly technical involved, someone would have mentioned it.

We’re in the shower. I’m focusing on fitting two people into a small space and desperately searching for the holy grail of cramped sex positions before my mood dissipates. Shampoo bottles and pumice stones are raining down on me. He’s got soap in one hand and a naked chick in the other, and is gleefully making the most of the situation. Then he drops the soap. Poor guy is trying to come off as suave as possible. He stares accusingly at the Lux like it’s a traitor. The last bottle of conditioner falls on my head. That’s it for me. I’m wet. I have a headache. I want nothing more than to towel off, smoke a joint, and watch the Simpsons. Just need to pick up the soap before either of us cracks open a skull.

Bending over was perhaps too tempting for a now pumped up, horny boy-teen who’d managed to get his girlfriend sudded up. I should have mentioned that I was now more interested in cartoons than canoodling. But that day was a matter of hit and miss on a number of levels. The guy was not aiming for my ass but that’s where he landed. As an understatement, it was a surprise. Next thing I know I’m a teary heap on the shower floor. My head is swimming and it feels like a pissed off kangaroo kicked me in the stomach. My sphincter is furiously nailing up a bright yellow ‘road closed until further notice’ sign. I limp out of the bathroom determined never to venture into the realm of anal again. He slumps out with a shattered ego and years of therapy ahead of him.

Time, however, is a phenomenal changer of minds. In conjunction with experimentation and experience. Varsity years are perfect for the expansion of one’s sexual repertoire. Altering my state of consciousness, intellectually and/or recreationally, lent itself quite nicely to seeking out new sexual horizons. There was one boyfriend who had a bit of a fetish for anal sex. Google still wasn’t as ubiquitous but the glut of porn on the net was now freely available, even to impoverished students, if you knew where to look and had the patience to deal with dial-up tones, slow download time, and the awful image quality. It gave us the impression that we’d finally arrived at the true information age of enlightened sexuality. Massive clips and images of anal were but a click and download away. I watched them avidly like the many educational videos that were denied to me as a child.

Of course we had to try all this new stuff out. This kind of theory is rather useless if there’s no practical. But alas, the porn turned out not to be the most illuminating material. Darn porn aesthetics, so sexy but so not useful. It was the frank conversations I had with other drunken women that bestowed upon me the crucial knowledge of good anal sex. It came down to three things: Time, position and LUBE! Such simple advice which made a world of difference. After many failed attempts of painful rear entry, anal guy was falling over himself to try out anything that would get us to the point of awesome ass boinking.

So we made an evening of it. There was wining, dining and fancy French lingerie. Lots of foreplay that involves his slicked up finger (with well trimmed nails) making little circles around my glory hole while I lie on my back getting well aquianted with my vibrator. It has this magical effect. The more turned on I get, and the more time he spends on me, the deeper he can press. Eventually he’s on his back sporting a massive boner and I’m bearing down on him like a hungry tigress. The lube is flowing like milk and honey. I stick a condom on him for extra smoothness and slowly, oh so very slowly, lower myself on top of him. He dreamily murmurs “breathe babe” and I puff away like I’m giving birth. The Lemaze-style breathing relaxes me just that extra bit so I can fit in his head, and before I know it, floop, his shaft is in there too. After that the only difficulty, really, is staying on for the remainder of the ride. We soon realise that my clit is readily available for finger and vibrator stimulation. And the climax is fantastically intense bordering on mind-blowing.

The road is now most definitely open. But I still wonder how different the last few years would have been if sex ed had just mentioned, by the way kids, check out the Durex lube range, available at Pick ‘n Pay, don’t use porn for educational purposes, and grown-ups actually do know more than they’re telling you.

PS – Now we can Google ‘Anal Sex for Dummies

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