Perhaps you, like
many some a few other readers of Do Not Get Sick in the Sink, Please, have been scratching your head and asking the question, “Is this blog even about sex anymore?”
Because this blog is supposed to be about sex, at least a little. The tagline promises Humor and Sex. See? Right there, up near the title. And before you start complaining that I really haven’t been delivering on the humor end of the deal, either, let me just say I’m tackling one problem at a time.
I’ll admit that lately I haven’t written much about sex. Instead, I’ve been writing about Twitter (you thought that post was about being in a book club, didn’t you?), texting, and, for God’s sake, orangoutangs and beavers (and no, I wasn’t just using a vulgar slang term for vaginas in that beaver post, much to the disappointment of
my biggest fans the random weirdos who find my blog).
Let me assure you, dear readers, this blog is still about sex. Or it’s as much about sex as it ever was, which is probably not much, but still . . .
In my defense, do you know how
hard difficult it is to write about sex all the time? I imagine it’s like being a sex worker, only without the pay. And without the exploitation. And without the constant risk of physical and emotional abuse. And instead of lying on my back with my feet in the air, I’m usually sitting at my dining room table, staring at the blank screen on my lap top, panicking because it’s Wednesday and I still don’t have a blog post up, while a cup of coffee turns cold in my hand.
So, um, I guess it’s not at all like being a sex worker.
Anyway, this blog claims to be about sex, and not so much about rap songs from the nineties, so let’s talk about sex. Over on Yahoo!Style, there’s an article right now titled “Five Brave Women Reveal What An Orgasm Truly Feels Like.” I suppose you and I could sit here all day and argue with the editors who came up with that title about what, exactly, constitutes an act of bravery, but surely we can all agree that talking about orgasms ≠ racing into a burning building to rescue small children, can’t we? We can’t? Ok, then, Do Not Get Sick in the Sink, Please should be nominated for the Congressional Medal of Honor because I’ve been “brave” for a long time, at least when I haven’t been talking about Twitter, texting, beavers and orangoutangs.
I used to make the joke that I write about sex in the least erotic way possible, but these women may have me beat with their descriptions of orgasms. They make sex sound stupid and silly, instead of filthy and dirty, the way God intended. Since you probably didn’t bother to click on the article (who wants that page showing up in their web history?) let me recap.
This is what an orgasm feels like, according to the
orangoutangs courageous souls on Yahoo!Style.
- A sneeze stuck in your nose.
- A pot of boiling water.
- A free fall. “[It feels] like your vagina is being tossed off a cliff and free falls for a second before landing on a really bouncy trampoline!”
- A prize.
- A skydive.
I had to include the totality of Lady #3’s comment because it’s just so demented. Really, Lady #3, your vagina falls off a cliff and then lands on a trampoline? Have you been having sex in a Road Runner cartoon?
Still, I think each of the women’s descriptions unconsciously reveals much more about them than they realize. Let me armchair analyze each of them.
Lady #1 suffers from allergies.
Lady #2 has been burned by love.
Lady #3 never had an orgasm, and maybe never even had sex.
Lady #4 married the first person she had an orgasm with.
Lady #5 engages in lots and lots of risky sex.
As for me, I’d say an orgasm feels like a crescendo. And what does my description say about me, except that I played in the high school band and like the sound of foreign words? I think it also says I’ve thought an awful lot about this topic, enough so that I can come up with the word “crescendo” without much prompting, and maybe it also says that I married a guy who likes classical music. You don’t hear the word “crescendo” spoken much in relation to the alt-pop of which I am a fan, so he gets the credit for inspiring the word, as well as the orgasms.
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