I am a straight male with a penchant for booty. That's not uncommon, really. But -- here's the twist -- it's my booty I'm interested in.When my ex-girlfriend kindly introduced me to anal beads, I learned something about myself I never knew before: I could sing opera. I even wear them to work occasionally!
The prostate really is a wonderful little gadget, and it saddens me to think there are guys out there who don't even know they have one.
Sexual sensation is all about having as many nerve endings as will fit in any given square inch of flesh, and seeing as everything's all connected down there, chances are anal action's going to feel pretty damn good. I mean, why should gay men have all the fun? So far, with the help of my ex-girlfriend, I have located three separate buttons that never fail to get me singing Ode To Joy.
The introduction to my own anus came courtesy of Jeanette, a Swedish woman I met on a kibbutz in Israel when I was 18. After a rousing and lively tussle in which she managed to elicit from me my best Thumper impression, we bathed, she told me about bidets and I thought to myself, "Europeans are so damned civilized!" It was only upon returning to Canada that I realized how true this statement was.
The idea of anal sex play, when posited to sexual partners here, was usually met with steepling eyebrows, gaping mouths (usually a good thing, but not in this case), sometimes a deep frost and once straight-out name-calling.
And herein lies the problem: if women are going to insist that their lovers know their bodies, then it has to go both ways (so to speak). Mind you, the responsibility to know your body also lies with the owner, and I urge men to heed my words and undertake, at length, some home research.
The other problem is that this movement is lacking a role model. Where is the straight male figure with celebrity status who can spearhead the fight against anal discrimination? Someone who can push ahead, force the issue, probe deep into the subject and poke around. All right, enough.
It was my hardcore punk, anarchist and evil-genius friend Dave who brought this home for me. He was expressing his disappointment over an interview with Vince Vaughn in which he neglected to include "anus" as one of his five favourite G-spots. This, of course, led to a heated discussion of whether anal equals gay. Dave, on the no side, won.
And, in a way, I won, too. For now, equipped with affirmation that anal is not just for gays, I adopted a new sense of purpose. Every religion needs its prophets, and why shouldn't one of them be me? In a moment of clarity I saw the future. No more will straight men have to lie when buying dildos that "the wife loves 'em." There will be bidets in every bathroom, Astroglide stock will go through the roof, bars with names like the Brown Eye or Fudgies will cater exclusively to this subculture. Hell, there could even be a district -- Parkdale, say -- where straight anals could build a community for themselves by themselves, free from the persecution of an intolerant society.
There could even be an annual parade down Bay, with colourful floats celebrating the straight anal sex lifestyle! It could be sponsored by Molson and the Toronto Phantoms football team and could even create a whole new market for advertisers to target.
Wait. Maybe this isn't such a good idea. Maybe there's a reason why straight men keep this stuff to themselves. Maybe straight anal is best left where it is, between a man, his butt, his lover and his beads. Stu Bishop is a pseudonym.