I Said What What In the Butt

I started writing this a couple weeks ago and halfway through was like, “Ehhh…” so I did what I always do when it comes to important life decisions, such as where I should go on holiday, or what the cover of my books should look like, and I asked Twitter.

Since a resounding majority of people who replied to this poll in the hour it was up appear to indeed care about this topic, here you go.

The spectrum of human experience is quite broad and I’m convinced that pretty much no one knows what the fuck they’re doing half the time and that we’re all more or less just winging it together. However. There is one marmite-like issue that I’ve found most people to be stringently sure of, and that is bum stuff. A lot of guys – and I mean a lot – are like

at the mere mention of the word “prostate”. I don’t know why. Look at the Stifler-guy getting a prostate massage:

Look how happy he is! He looks like he’s having the time of his goddamn life.

The first time I ever heard about anal pleasure for men (aside from a vague awareness that it was how most – not all, mind you – gay men have sex) was from Sex and the City.

I had previously thought that it was a very delicate area down there, but watching that old lady going to town on that old dude’s perineum like that was a serious, “things that make you go hmm” moment. I’ve tried that SATC trick (which is legit the only thing of value I ever learned from that God-awful show) on a couple of guys, and it’s always been met with two enthusiastic thumbs up.

Massaging the perineum is still not technically within the danger zone that has most people stressed out, and can be described as a kind of executive hand job, if you will. It’s still not penetrative, which is a word that I think makes a lot of men uncomfortable in my experience when it’s referring to them and not me.

I’ve found that there are three levels of interest in bum stuff when it comes to men, and I’m gonna talk about all of ’em.

1. HELL. NO. 

I had a boyfriend who made me watch this horrific film called Creep about this monster that lived in the underground as part of some government experiment gone wrong, and then the monster started kidnapping and torturing people…kind of like a Saw or Human Centipede type of thing. (I’m assuming with HC – never actually seen that film.) Anyway, there’s this one scene where the monster is torturing this woman and has her strapped into an old hospital bed and her legs are in stirrups and he is coming at her with this big ass machete and I am like, “FUCK. This,” and close my eyes and tell my boyfriend to tell me when it’s over. Then there’s screaming and he’s like, “Okay you can look now,” and I open my eyes just as this monster shoves the machete in the last place you’d ever want a machete.

There are no words…for the pure rage I still feel at the fact that this image is forever tattooed into my mind thanks to the whole photographic memory/hyperthymesia thing.  

Once this terrible film was over I’m like, “Fuck. I need something to cheer myself up. Give me the laptop.” And then I open YouTube and put this on:

Because if there’s one thing that always cheers me up, it’s Samwell.

So I put it on and it plays and I’m laughing and, I shit you not, it was as if Samwell had come out of the laptop Samira from The Ring-style and told my boyfriend to put it in his butt right then and there. He was so mad. Like, way too mad. So now both of us are mad at each other, but he’s unreasonably mad because I showed him some music video about butt sex.

Short story long, we broke up about a week later, but it was one of the first instances I experienced a man being aggressively against anything in or around their bum.

The very first time I ever heard anti-bum discourse was my first year at university. Four very lovely boys all shared a flat in college that had four rooms and a large living room, so I’d go hang out with them while they played X-Box and fed me because I hated cooking and the dining hall food was distinctly average.

I’m not sure how it happened, but one day in between rounds of Halo on the X-Box the topic of anal sex came up. Mind you, at this point I’d never even tried regular sex, but I was pretty sure that anal sex was close to the top of the list of things I was willing to knock before I tried. These four nineteen year-old boys seemed to be in a similar frame of mind when it came to heterosexual anal sex and they maturely expressed this with two handy phrases:

1. No poo-poo on the pee-pee


2. No poo-dick

Which to this day I still find to be fuckin hilarious.

Boys are immature, and funny, and I love them, but sometimes it can be like, “The gentleman doth protest too much, methinks,” when it comes to anything to do with anal pleasure. To the point where I was once discussing it with a friend and he was like, “I don’t care about your science and experience on the matter, I’m never going to do this.” My life doesn’t revolve around trying to convert people into trying prostate stimulation, so I usually just tell them to calm the heck down and change the subject.

Personally, even now as a sex-haver, I really do not see the appeal to doing anal myself as a woman. I was even more turned off by the idea of it after reading Tucker Max’s I Hope They Serve Beer In Hell, but really the idea of it just doesn’t compute. Men have their prostate/g-spot in their bum so of course it feels good for them. Women don’t. Every woman I’ve ever known to try it has been like, “Meh,” which isn’t a rave enough review for me to go shovin anything up there.

I do have one instance in which I willingly allowed someone to put their finger up there. We were in a bathtub and I’d been hooking up with this guy on and off for the better part of two years, so I knew by then that almost everything he knew about sex he learned from porn and thus he tried to do things that were probably only designed for camera angles all the time, but he was gorgeous so I put up with it. He seemed to have a particular fascination with my bum so finally one night, in the comfort of a clean and sanitary environment, I was like, “Fine!”

I wouldn’t say that it was bad per se, but it definitely wasn’t great, and if he weren’t clearly into it I would’ve been like, “Alright that’s enough,” but I let him do his thing with the hopes that it would get better and when it didn’t after about minute I was like, “Okay, that was…nice. Thanks, but let’s move on.”

If one digit wasn’t pleasurable I highly doubt an entire penis is going to be any better, so unless I get really, really bored in the future, it’s a no from me on the anal sex thing. I’ve had a couple amateurs accidentally prod at the wrong area down there and I didn’t like it. Not one bit.


Surprisingly, in my large repertoire of partners I’ve only slept with one guy who was really into bum stuff. Or, only one who felt secure enough to ask me to do it.

It was a guy I’ve slept with a handful of times but who I knew quite well, and I’d drunkenly made my way to his the night before when we’d done the thing without any theatrics before falling asleep. The next morning we were fooling around again, because that’s how adult sleepovers work, and at one point he was like, “Give me your hand,” which I did, and the next thing I know he’s pouring lube all over my finger. He then proceeded to give me a step by step guide to putting your finger in someone’s bum.

I kid you not, it was probably one of the most fascinating learning experiences of my life. Not at all a turn on for me, but he clearly liked it so I was glad to be of service. His happiness levels could only be described as if I’d brought Christmas early and gave him a puppy.


One time I have having sex with someone and I was on top and suddenly out of nowhere he says, “Put your finger in my arse,” which was not only logistically impossible given the length of my arm, but also not likely to have been any good since there was no lube, and I’d already had my lesson on how to do this the correct way from that other guy. If there is one thing I learned, and it may literally just be this one thing, it’s that lube is crucial. So I didn’t Cirque du Solei my way into somehow bending backwards Matrix-style to get my finger in there. Out of curiosity, I did put my arm back to see if it were even physically possible to reach his bum, and it wasn’t even close. So men should really manage their expectations of my short limbs more.

The most recent incident of a man not knowing the importance of lube for their own anal pleasure was a couple weeks ago. I had just given what I assume to be a very impressive rendition One Direction’s “Kiss You” at karaoke with some people I’d just met and who were drunk enough to admit that they, too, knew all of the lyrics, because afterwards a guy I had been chatting to most of the night came up to me and kissed me. Clearly my subliminal serenade worked.

Fast forward some duration of time and we were horizontal at his place making out, and I was using my SATC trick, which he clearly enjoyed, but then he requested that I take it a step further and insert my finger into his bum.

“Do you have any lube?”

“No, just do it.”

I won’t lie to you, I’ve read fan fiction, and I’ve read enough of it to be able to confidently know the importance of preparation when it comes to pleasuring men anally. So I give a resounding “no” to his request, telling him that it will hurt and to just trust me on this, as if I’d done it more than once before. To be fair, it was a pretty bold request considering it was the first time we’d slept together and it didn’t go in his favour, or maybe it did and he just doesn’t realise. Either way – no lube, no bum stuff. I didn’t make the rules.

The rest of the encounter proceeded quite ordinarily and I’ll probably never see him again because life is too short for mediocre sex.

Getting back to my point – WHY would the male g-spot be in their bum if you weren’t meant to touch it? The clitoris has 8,000 nerve endings and the penis only has 4,000, so I had always thought we at least had some kind of biological advantage. Like, sorry about childbirth but sex will be twice as awesome for you as it is for men. I searched all of this on google so don’t quote me on it, but apparently the prostate has as many nerve endings as the penis which puts them to 8,000 as well, because of course there wouldn’t be a way in which the female body is inherently superior. (A topic I studied in great length in an Anthropology of Sex course and will not go into further detail about right now, just trust me on it. I’ll say this much: purely biologically speaking, women’s flesh prisons are designed to house eggs and push out babies – a process that can literally kill you – and men’s are designed to be keep making sperm until they die without any chance of death due to genital malfunction. It isn’t fair, but it is what it is.)

I thought about it some more and with my internet machine I was able to find this very helpful article that talks all about prostate massaging, and which I found far funnier than I should have because it continuously referred to it as “prostate milking.”

I personally think that there should be a petition to never call it that again.

I also lost it when at the end of the article it offered this gem:

Listen to this lady. She has experience.

So, yeah. Try it, don’t try it. Do whatever you want.

Life’s a party, rock your body.

What are you thinking?