“It’s hot when two girls get off, but it doesn’t work the other way round.”

“Excuse me?”

“You know. Like women watching a guy play with another guy’s dick. It doesn’t have the same effect.” 

I’ve had this conversation too many times. Far too many times. There’s a longer blog to post another day about the fact that straight-guy sexuality is so tightly woven into our culture that often dudes struggle to get their heads round the fact that, you know, they can be objects of lust just as easily as they’re subjects. But I’ll bore you about that another day.

For now, in response to the person who said this to me, allow me to describe an interaction so hot it makes my toes clench, even just remembering it.

Confession: I used to hate lube. Not all the time, I could see it had its merits. When you’re bumming, for instance, there is no natural lubricant up your arse, so a fuckload of the sticky stuff is as essential as a safety rope if you’re climbing a mountain.

For hand jobs, I could get on board with lube as a means of making the whole thing more special – just the right kind of tingling lube at the perfect moment, or a good dollop to enable better use of a masturbation sheath. Fine.

But for sex? I wasn’t sure. I feel like a total nob for admitting this but lube used to seem like a sign of personal failure.

I haven’t talked about this much before, and to wrench a nugget of total honesty out of my cringing heart, I hadn’t really discussed it with my partners either. Occasionally, if I was horny but a bit too drunk to slick my knickers, I’d pop to the bathroom on the way to the bedroom. Pull down my pants, spit on my hand, and rub it in the right places: fake what I couldn’t make.

(more…)