Sometimes I want to arouse you. Sometimes I want to rant at you. I always want to entertain you. But occasionally I want to disgust you.
Partly because I think it’s important to highlight the fucking weird things we all do sometimes, because it makes everyone else feel a bit less weird about themselves. Partly because we’re constantly – constantly – told that experimenting with our bodies or enjoying them is dirty and bad and wrong (especially if we’re women).
But mostly because so much of what we think about sex is based on knee-jerk reactions, and when our knee-jerk reaction is one of disgust it’s worth examining why we feel disgusted. Is there a rational reason for it? Or is it, like that dildo made from human ashes, just something we condemn because our gut tells us we should?
So. As I put my sheets on yet another hot wash to get rid of the kind of gore you rarely see outside The Walking Dead, allow me to tell you some stuff.
Blow job puking
Sometimes, when I suck dick, I puke a bit. Then I swallow it. If you’re interested, the most memorable dick-sick I have ever experienced came shortly after a mint-choc-chip milkshake. It does not taste good the second time round, but I’ve no idea if the guy noticed. And I was too polite to ask if he realised that his prick now smelt like After Eights.
I’ve had quite a lot of period sex. Being on my period makes me horny. Period sex in and of itself is not gross, but there is definitely something a bit shocking about hopping off someone’s dick and wondering if you’ve somehow accidentally torn it off.
Luckily most guys I’ve known have not been squeamish about sex. They’re generally less delighted with me sniffing my post-period-fuck fingers and saying ‘mmm. Tangy’ but to each their own.
I smell good when I smell dirty
Realistically, the above section was just my way of saying ‘sometimes I like the smells of my body.’ My body smells great. Period sex smells great. The smell of my toenail clippings is pleasant in a way that occasionally freaks me out – but more often just pleases me.
The best smell, fyi, is that of my gusset after I’ve had a quick pre-excursion fuck. When spunk mixes with the scent of me, brews for a couple of hours while I walk to the pub, then gets me a teeny bit high when I pull my knickers down later.
Crossing the streams
Once (OK twice) I have attempted a urination technique that I’m going to describe as ‘crossing the streams’: I sit on the toilet, guy stands in front of me, I open my legs and we attempt to piss together. This one isn’t really for sex, just curiosity. And fun.
(OK three times)
Once I had a dream that there were feathers growing out of my fingertips, and while the idea of that made me want to vomit, there was also something in the back of my brain which revelled in how satisfying it would be to pluck out each of the thick stems with tweezers.
I know a man who sniffs his slippers with a self-satisfied grin.
Roughly fifty percent of my knickers are bleach-stained at the crotch.
When guys have a cheeky sniff of their fingers after the bollock-scratch under the mistaken impression that I won’t notice: that’s adorable.
I watch YouTube videos of people squeezing blackheads.
Do I disgust you?
Often when I write about certain things – extreme BDSM, for instance – I get commenters asking me why I’d take pride in something that is so shocking to other people. My answer, for what it’s worth, is that I’m not taking pride in it any more than I’m wallowing in shame. I think I’m just enjoying it.
Enjoyment is a different thing to pride. Pride implies it’s an achievement – something I’ve worked for and want to hold up as the crowning glory of a certain part of my life. Pride is – and should be – limited. Can you imagine how tedious parties would be if we took pride in every single enjoyable moment?
No: I talk about dirty sex because it’s my everyday experience. And it’s everyday because I love it. The aim isn’t to make people think I’m fucking awesome, or to make those who don’t do it feel bad: the aim is to show it in an everyday light.
Sex, much like the ‘grosser’ aspects of our bodily functions, is often presented as if it’s either good or bad: disgusting or acceptable. Shiny or tarnished. But our bodies do loads of things, none of which have an actual moral value: they just are. Discharge, period blood, piss and blackheads: they’re like rain. Sometimes a pain in the arse, sometimes a joyful thing to dance around in: always just a thing you have to accept.
So if something will happen anyway, and it has no moral value, then why not enjoy it for what it is? Whether it’s a butt-plug-in-the-arse-and-ball-gag-in-the-mouth wank or a five second sniff of your fingers after a fuck?
I don’t think it’s always necessary to ‘reclaim’ things that have been frowned upon. While we can turn body hair from a dirty secret into an empowering statement, doing the same thing with farts or blackheads seems odd. But while we don’t need to reclaim it, we certainly shouldn’t be horrified by it.
Easiest, surely, to simply accept it.