“I’m afraid I gave you the wrong impression, about my butthole,” I told my spouse. “I don’t go around with a dirty butthole all the time. I think it’s pretty clean. Just I’m not going to, like, guarantee it’s always clean. Know what I mean?”
“Yeah!” he said.
“Great, I’m glad we had this conversation!” I said. I was laughing. “I’m glad we cleared that up.”
best practice
We had been talking about our buttholes and our shower procedures. He’d recently taken a shower, and he was looking at his fingernails.
“Are you looking at your fingernails to see if they have shit under them?” I asked.
“Uh, no? Maybe?” We laughed. “Better to see it sooner than later. Why do you think I’m looking for shit under my fingernails?”
“I think when you take a shower, you scrape at your butthole with your fingernails. So it makes sense you want to make sure no shit was under them.”
“I don’t scrape at my butthole,” he said.
“Well, maybe not scrape. But like that,” I said.
We looked at one another. “I think I clean my butt in a normal way,” he said.
“Well, let me tell you how I clean mine,” I said. “I put soap on my hand, and I wash there, then rinse really good.” We have a hand-held showerhead thing. “But I don’t dig around a lot. It feels good to get cleaner there, but I never feel really actually clean there.”
memory
I remember early on, in our relationship. We were having sex in his room, maybe the sixth or seventh time we ever had sex. Figuring out how we worked together and what we wanted.
We didn’t live together yet, that brief period of time… I think the lights were off, but it was day. We were on his bed, against the wall. I was cautious and not feeling too empowered yet.
He turned me around and on my knees, put a pillow under my chest, to help me feel comfortable for doggie style. I was not comfortable, though, because my ass was sticking up, vulnerable, right in front of him. It had to do with cleanliness. We hadn’t discussed all of what I was and wasn’t ready to do with him.
Mostly he’s been extremely caring and non-pressury, our entire relationship. But that moment, I was like–yikes. My butt in the air, I wasn’t too ready for.
I don’t remember what happened next. Did he fuck me like that? Did we do something different? The experience was not traumatic–I didn’t feel wrong or harmed. More just surprised, uncertain.
ass feelings
My ass is my own–my whole body is my own, but my butthole is especially personal. I used to dream of anal sex, wanting to try it. But getting anything put into my ass, I am very wimpy about. A finger, those butt beads long ago.
Maybe my asshole is extra inflexible. That’s ok. I don’t want to damage those parts. I want all of them to last another 40 years at least. Maybe anal sex is for the young. It’s ok for me to miss out on that one.
