There’s this person I know whom I’ll call S. I won’t say how I know her (even though some of you will figure it out in, like, a second), but I will say that I’ve known her for a very long time and I’m positive she doesn’t read this blog. Or anything else on the Internet, for that matter.
Not long ago, S told me that she’d hooked up with a military guy while he was in town. He was the friend of her friend and they’d all gone out drinking one night. She told me about hooking up with him because it was so weird. In addition to snarling in her ear and asking to be slapped across the face, he also said that he wanted to “rape” her, apparently ignorant to how gross and serious it is to use that word. S isn’t the type of person to lecture someone on semantics, so I doubt he learned much about what not to say to a naked woman (or any woman, actually) or about the difference between being kinky and being horribly, wrongly illegal.
Anyway, so S told me about this and I howled. I mean, I’ve slept with some pretty inappropriate people who did some pretty inappropriate things, but damn.
The other day, S turned to me and said, “Hey, remember the Marine I told you about?”
“Yeah,” she said, shaking her head. “I was really drunk. Like, really, really, really drunk.”
“Was it as weird as it was before?”
“Oh yeah. In some ways, kind of weirder.”
According to S, they were both so drunk that she didn’t immediately remember what had happened when she woke up. But once she looked around, “Erin, I swear, it looked like a sex tornado had come through my room.” Then, as has happened to a million drunk hookups before hers, the details started coming back. The sex toys. The sex position cards. The multiple condoms.
“Lovely,” I said.
“But that’s not the worst part,” S said, beginning to laugh. “You know how sometimes a guy will lick his fingers to…you know…help?”
“Well, I was lying on my back, and he grabbed my ankles and lifted them up in the air. I was like, almost standing on my head! And then he…”
“He spit on me!”
“Oh my god!”
“He spat into your vagina?”
“While your legs were practically touching the ceiling? He spat into your upside-down vagina?”
“Oh. That is just. That is so disrespectful.”
Now, look. I’m no prude. Anyone who has been reading me for any proper length of time knows that. And like I said before, I’ve slept with some pretty inappropriate people who have tried some pretty inappropriate things, so this isn’t my first time at the rodeo. But spitting? Into a woman’s vagina? YUCK. Never. Never has that ever happened to me. Dudes, I know that some of you have been watching misogynistic porn for years now and for some reason, you believe that some of what happens in that porn actually turns a woman on*, but spitting? Are you for real? Are you too cheap to shell out for some Astroglide? Are your mouth and fingers inoperable at the moment? Whatever gave you the idea that what a woman really wants is for you to rear back and hock one onto her private parts?
S didn’t say anything that night, but when she (for some reason) slept with him again the next night, she politely asked him not to spit on her vagina anymore. Weird sex was fine with her, she said, especially when she knew it was going to be weird, but the basic rules of manners still applied. No slapping. No raping. No spitting.
* Note to the guy who once slapped my vagina while attempting to go down on it because he “saw it in a porno once,” I really hope this isn’t a part of your repertoire anymore.
* Note to the guy who stuck my big toe in his mouth even though I told him not to, insisting that I’d really like it, I bet because some coked-out slut-for-hire was into it, you deserved that kick to the solar plexus. Be lucky it wasn’t your brain.
* Note to the guy who tried putting it in my ass when I turned around for doggy style, just because you can see her ass in movies doesn’t mean she always wants to get fucked in it.
* I should probably mention that I have no problem with pornography. I know I labeled it as misogynistic earlier, but I was only talking about certain kinds of porn. Most porn is created by and marketed to consenting adults, and even the stuff in it that might not be my exact cup of tea is just fine. What someone else does for an eightball is their own business. But if you’re the type of person who has become so desensitized to porn that you’re totally incapable of translating any of it to a real life sexual encounter, perhaps you should consider it a detriment to your sex life rather than an aid. I promise; it’s not helping.