Let me begin by saying that people are free to do whatever they want to do and I will not judge them for enjoying, as a friend put it, “taking it up the poop chute”. If that’s what you’re into, I totally support you for being you and enjoying your chosen recreational activities. But I can certainly judge myself, and I’m judging hardcore. I’m judging myself mostly for being very unprepared. Apparently, there is physical preparation to fully enjoy the anal sex experience (if you cringed while reading that I guarantee I cringed way worse while writing that). Like lube, and stretching, or something like that. I don’t know and I don’t care to google the details right now. There is also mental preparation. This involves thinking really hard about whether this is actually something you want to do. Here is an example thought you may want to have before doing the dirty: Do I really want someone up in the place I just excreted last night’s tacos? Now that I am an older, more mature person, I can definitively say, “No, I would like the path last night’s tacos took to remain unmolested by foreign objects.” But that’s now and I’m talking about then.
I’m talking about the Carly who decided with her boyfriend that doing it from behind would be a big turn on and, well, the rest of the story is incredibly painful to hear, but probably not as painful as it was for me to get an anal-sphincter-full of some guy’s dick. It felt like reverse constipation. I don’t even know if that makes sense, but that’s what it felt like. Maybe it’d be clearer to say it felt like I was birthing a baby out of my asshole. Or maybe that was just a more disgusting way to convey what I was feeling at that moment. Perhaps the worst part was that I was on someone’s couch when it happened. Not even my own couch. Which, now that I think about it, was probably for the best. I don’t know how the guy felt, but years later I have discovered that I have an apparently pretty hairy butthole, so it couldn’t have been that great for him either. The view was most likely akin to a bathroom sink drain after it has been clogged by a million hairs. By now, you’re already flooded with odious mental images at this point, so I’ll just finish you off by saying that afterwards I had painful diarrhea.
They say college is a time for experimentation. I think I can confidently say I experimented and my laboratory is now animal-cruelty-free and will no longer accept hypotheses dealing with objects entering assholes.