For a while, I was messing around with a guy who learned everything he knows about sex from Men's Health Magazine. How do I know this publication is the source of all his particular brand of sexual misinformation? Because, when I was in college, a friend (my queer Republican friend who had the nipple ring (yeah, we still fight about his completely masochistic political stance over Instant Message from time to time-- I just can't figure out why a guy who lives this whacked-out alternative lifestyle would persist in voting for people who want to essentially outlaw that lifestyle. Craziness.)) had a subscription to Men's Health. At the time, Men's Health sent out a big book of Men's Health trademarked sex tips, free with every subscription.
I found this book on my friend's bookshelf, amongst nerdier computer science-y fare (he carried around a copy of Robert's Rules of Order in his back pocket so that one was, obviously, missing from the shelf (yeah, this friend is a character)). While downing the white Russians with which he liked to ply me, I perused said book from cover to cover. I *might* have learned two or three things about how to please a woman. Most of the rest of it, however, elicited great gales of laughter as, apparently, it was written by 11-year-old monkey-boys with only passing familiarities with the workings of your average clitoris. No, folks. Cunnilingus is NOT like kissing. It's an entirely other discipline.
And so, 10 years later, when I encountered a man -- a man who'd already broached his 4th decade -- still operating under the misguided advice of the Men's Health how-to-please-a-chick-in-the-sack book, I pegged his technique immediately. And suffered for it. This guy actually had the audacity to deliver a little post-coital excursus on the topic of male vs. female refractory periods. To ME. As though I needed an explanation as to why we couldn't continue despite his, um, rapid and inopportune, um, expulsions. I was like, yeah, I know, dude. I think a lot about sex. I read a lot about sex. I write a lot about sex. I even have sex every now and again. I think I grasp the basic mechanics, thanks. But I'm pretty sure he was using the exact same language as that stupid book. I'd call it plagiarizing, but even I don't require my boys to lug annotated bibliographies around with them for pillowy conversational purposes.
At one point, I was tasked with picking up this fellow's mail while he was out of town. And what should happen to arrive while I was on postal retrieval duty? Why, yes! It WAS Men's Health Magazine. I felt so vindicated.
In any case, I tell this story now because, today, I stumbled upon an article that was recently published in Men's Health that isn't entirely retarded. In fact, Sarah Miller, its author, makes some astute points. Hence I'm passing it on as a public service to my scanty readership.
And, I'll also summarize and give commentary.
Sarah says: "Don't ask 'What do you like?' the first time we have sex."
I agree. This makes you feel put on-the-spot. First-time sex is a little weird by definition. That's expected. Don't make it moreso.
Sarah says: "Do not stick your tongue in my ear."
I agree. Has anyone ever done this to you? A tongue in an ear is LOUD. It sounds like a helicopter is achieving lift-off inside your very brain. Sucking earlobes is fine, mind you, but, um, ears are for hearing. Assuming they work correctly, licky, slurpy sounds can be very... disquieting.
Sarah says: "Do not try to stick your semihard penis inside my vagina."
I agree. Her teddy bear analogy is MORE than apt. Actually, the whole paragraph on this subject is kind of genius.
Sarah says: "Do not reach for my clitoris [how many time am I gonna use that word in one post?] if you are in a position that is unsuitable for such a connection."
I agree. Again, Men's Health does not have a great track record in terms of facilitating the boy/clit relationship. Hence, I pretty much think that advice that leads Men's Health readers to proceed with caution is probably the wisest in this particular scenario.
Sarah says: "Do not shave your balls."
I have no frame of reference for this one. Though, from her description, I'll count my lack of experience here as a blessing. I will, however, extend this admonition to include the chest. Boys, do not shave your chests. A reasonable amount of hygienic man-scaping is acceptable, but a full-on torso-of-sandpaper is not much fun when one is required to press one's tender, naked nipples against you. I learned of this hardship from the self-same Men's Health subscriber mentioned above, I might add. The prickle party was, like, Reason #438 that the association was short-lived.
Sarah says: "Do not have a nervous breakdown about ejaculating too fast, losing your erection, or not being able to get one... Conversely, it's also not a good idea to act as if nothing happened, because, well, that is just bull, and that never flies."
I agree. If any one of those things is happening every time, well, that kinda sucks. But a single occurrence is no big deal. It's not like my body parts do what I want them to do every single moment of the day. I don't expect yours to do any better.
So, someday, I'm going to write a critical post about movies or feminism or something interesting again. For the time being, however, my home-buying/moving wild-eyed stress is preventing me from writing anything less kitten-fur fluffy. Please accept my humble offering of bad-sex stories instead.
UPDATE: There is one very important sex tip that Ms. Miller omits: don't ever ask to kiss me, particularly if you have never done so before. Once, after I'd been out twice with a guy, he walked me to my car and said, "So, uh, we've been out a couple of times now. I'm, uh, thinking maybe I oughta kiss you." I said, "Well, don't feel obligated or anything." And then I got in my car and left. Much has been made of the request for a kiss. I suppose the impetus behind the request is the desire to seem respectful of my wishes. But invariably, the request belies chickenshitism. If your testicles are so small -- and you are so unskilled at reading signals-- that you prevent yourself from just kissing me, we're probably not going to get much beyond a kiss, even if I do decide to submit in the first place (which is unlikely). For my money, few things are less aphrodisiacal than male insecurity. A verbal kiss request is like shooting off a little firework that spells out "Pantywaist!" right over your head.
Feel smarter now? You're welcome.
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