The brave man who ate the first oyster had to look at it. Thinking was probably what tilted his head from side to side. As he got hungrier and hungrier, he finally gave in: Oh fuck it, I’ve eaten scarier things. It slid down his throat; maybe he liked it.
Hetero sex is my oyster. The vagina looks like one, with its fleshy folds, at least to me with my limited exposure. I don’t see how men and women are able to get along well enough to have a relationship outside of the bedroom, much less find a way to get those incongruous body parts together for their unnatural sex act. For me, men are easier—I can identify all of the parts in a mirror, not needing to refer to a medical chart. Really, men should be with men, and women with women. We can just buy babies from overpopulated countries or grow them in a lab. Use Adele like her ex must have—all of those songs over heartbreak at 19? If she had been with a woman, she’d have no regret, but regrettably, no act. Go with what you know. When the clothes come off, we shouldn’t tilt our head side to side to decipher a code, just reach out and grab and go, with the same guttural reflex you reach up and slam a Slim Jim on the counter at the gas station.
I did explore hetero sex as a teenager; it was my pussy spelunking period. Any new sex is an experiment, and in the 70s we didn’t yet have the threat of AIDS, so we were free to poke our penises in anything that didn’t scrape it or snap it off. Fear of procreation is mild compared to fear of death. Watch vintage gay porn, and it is exciting to see the freedom they enjoyed. If I see modern porn with barebacking, my first thought is that they are either already infected, or have little regard for their lives. Not cool.
My high school friend Jeff was always tired. He dragged his rooster feathers into English class and slept through it. He told me that his girlfriend took forever to reach orgasm, and he was up all night trying to get her off. If I were on the fence of sexuality, Jeff’s exhausting nightly gymnasty-ics pushed me over the rainbow. How horrible for this poor guy, at only16, to have to work and work doing who knows what act to satisfy this insatiable vixen. I am sure after hours of driving his point home, once she did reach that magical, fretful unicorn land, he rolled over and crossed himself; ironically thanking the God he was betraying.
I let him sleep through class, giving him my notes and writing a paper for him once. I pictured him thrusting and thrusting, sweat rolling off his muscled chest, onto her pale, soft body, his hand covering her mouth to keep his sweet parents from hearing their precious son’s nocturnal mission. The only selfless acts I had as reference points so far in my young life were Jesus and Jeff.
Graduation night came, and things got a little wild. JoLinda, a close friend, and Jeff’s girlfriend found out I was a hetero virgin, and decided to deflower me that night. Of course liquor was involved. Forget condoms, just have sex sober and you are less likely to do risky things that result in illness or children.
Jeff was passed out, or maybe napping in preparation for his performance-on-demand later. I didn’t resist the girls, but I wouldn’t have minded if the plan had to be scrapped. I had no idea what I was getting into. The lure of a three way as my intro to girl on guy sex was really the only strong factor in my decision. The two girls sold me on the sex act with the same veracity they’d use selling skanks in a virgin market. Which I guess they actually were. I have no idea what the fascination is with virgins; give me an experienced lover, someone who pops up mid-bliss and excitedly and confidently says, “Have you ever tried this?”
We went to JoLinda’s house, and crept in the family den. I had played Twister in this room, and watched her grandmother open her 80th birthday presents at a card table. One day you are blowing out candles on a huge cake, the next you are spreading a blanket on the floor and giggling as you feel boobies for the first time. The sexual evolution.
Within seconds we were naked, and the girls took pride in getting me erect. I took pride in being able to get erect; this was technically a nightmare that, in my mind, resulted in flaccidity. Performance anxiety prevented me from being bisexual.
The circus atmosphere, the confusion of body parts and not knowing whose leg is whose fueled my fire of denial and I just dove in, without the courtesy of foreplay, unless you count assessing the fleshiness of her breasts as compared to a nice hard pec. I did not stop to savor the intricacies of the female anatomy; instead I treated it like a secret trap door puzzle. I poked around a bit until I popped inside. I prayed I was in the right hole.
In those initial thrusts, I was confused as to what kind of lover I wanted to be. Did I want to be the gentle, intuitive lover of a romance novel, appreciating the rise and fall of our tender bodies? Or be a forceful, take charge sexual lion and screw her into the wall? I truly wanted to be the kind of lover that she wanted in order to impress her. But there wasn’t much talking.
JoLinda lost interest in us. I didn’t know how to take care of one woman, how could I be expected to keep two busy? She toddled off to make more drinks. I kept sliding in and out of Jeff’s girlfriend, not enjoying it but not hating it. Less than a minute had gone by, and she started breathing loudly. She grabbed my head and pulled it close to her mouth, panting into my ear, asking Do you mind if I cum? I said of course not, as if I was responding to my lover of thirty years. But I was secretly thrilled. I totally did a touch down dance in my head. She grabbed my shoulders and enjoyed a shuddering, toe curling orgasm that I caused. That was enough for me. I pulled out, and rolled over without reaching my own orgasm. I was more relieved it was over, that I had emerged victorious and not made a fool of myself. Kids can be cruel.
We got dressed and she drove me home. We didn’t talk. I had only one thought running over and over in my head about the whole night: Jeff is a terrible lover who has no idea what he is doing. I am a stud.
I retired after one bout, with only one notch in my belt. I still don’t know anything about what the vagina looks like, or what all goes on in, or around there.
I have no idea where/what/why/how a clitoris is, but I hear it’s like a tiny penis. If I had known that in high school, I might have dabbled a bit more. But I’m good with a regulation-sized penis. Familiarity breeds comfort.
I love oysters, and often dine with people who don’t like them at all. I reach out and take one, with a glint in my eye, That’s okay, more for me.
Photo credit: julesjulesjules m/Flickr