You may notice I don't talk about sex much on my blog. No, my mom doesn't read it (but friends' moms do I think...sorry). It's less an issue of decency and moral censorship and more a case of it not being relevant to my life. In that I'm single. And don't go out. And don't take home strange. And know no men who aren't closeted homosexuals or trying to sell me pyramid-scheme vitamins.
Perhaps I've been out of the game too long, but after a recent (and hilariously public) discussion and pantomime of various sex positions and their relative virtues, I am considering the fact that I have been having sex all wrong for ages. I thought "showers - now that's racy." But as a compliment to our discussion, one of my more sexually adventurous compatriots shared a link to Women's Health Magazine's "Best Sex Positions Ever." And, since my thesis is due next week, I've obviously and logically started perusing these watercoloured roadmaps to better orgasms. Because I am a masochist. But also because, fuck, I don't get it. I find myself gaping at them with hardly contained laughter, listing in my mind (and not out loud, thank God - I'm in the library!) the physical impossibilities and improbable scenarios where these positions would seem ideal.
And maybe I'm a lone prude, but I thought you, kind readers, might be fascinated as well by what is being passed off as the pinnacle of sexual enjoyment and par for the course of bedroom acrobatics, as well as amused by my blatant mockery of such suggestions.
So I will start with:
The Butter Churner
Ok. Based on the picture alone, nay the title, I know you must be giving me some mental flack about choosing the most easily mockable sex pose of the bunch. But honestly, this was the one that, upon viewing, my floodgates for ludicrous boudoir patronizing and bizarre watercolours broke way - there are many more ridiculous positions which I will happily mock in future, but this is the position which inspired an entire instalment of sex bloggery. So let's give it it's dues. A quick word about the watercolours. I find the watercolour approach gives a veneer of ease, serentity and intimacy that the "hey, want to try sex on your head" reality just can't conform with. It is the visual equivalent of writing in italics. And it's obnoxious.
Moving swiftly past the depiction itself - because no one has any idea what's going on here, let's be real - here is the explanation of this position:
Lie on your back with your legs raised and folded over so that your ankles are on either side of your head, while he squats and dips his penis in and out of your vagina
Ok, so first of all, this is yoga. Actually. It's called Plough pose. Which has apparently been confused by the sexologists of Women's Health with Plow Pose. And it isn't particularly easy, and does not lend itself to comfortable long holds - it can be very hard on your back. That is without someone sitting on your hips. Oh sorry, I mean "dipping his penis in and out of your vagina." Dipping might be the worst sex verb ever employed. It makes me think of lowering a bucket into a well, and dear God, if that's what this position is like, lady, get yourself to a plastic surgeon stat.
But that's not all. Now that we know the "How," Women's Health reveals the "Why???" ...sorry...I mean the benefits:
Aside from getting that eye contact, the extra rush of blood into your head will increase the ecstasy.
Take a moment. Grab a camera or handheld mirror. Hold it by your belly (or, for the bust-blessed, your chest). Now, touch your chin to you collarbones. Look into that mirror. That is the sexy eye contact you will be making. Or perhaps, have to try your damnedest to maintain so that the gentleman doing jumpsquats over your lady business wont notice you have 4 chins. Minimum. Also, the extra rush of blood to the head manifests itself as a tomato red face. I'm sure you know - or at least have inferred from viewing Twilight - how blood is red? Yeah...
Finally, my favourite part of this inane guide, the suggested bonus, in case this isn't hot and racy enough on its own:
Have him dribble chocolate syrup or honey into your mouth. It gets more of your senses involved and amps up the whole experience.
I've never heard the "more senses involved" logic behind food-sex, but doesn't a mint strike you as the easier solution. I am firmly in the "mint" school of sex thought. I can't believe that that is my initial reaction though - I think I've had to just suspend all reality in order to mentally digest this suggestion. This guy, doing squats - I mean, I honestly hope he's a minute man, because I know nothing less than a rugby coach screaming at me and shaming me in front of my teammates has compelled me to do squats for more than 2 minutes straight - is, in his state of physical exhaustion (and I would assume sexual frustration), expected to grab a can of Hershey's chocolate sauce and dribble it all over your 89 chins? Where are you having this Cirque De Soliel sex that you have both the traction to maintain the position as well as the complete absence of fear of dribbling chocolate sauce on something that can be ruined? Obviously not a Persian rug - dry cleaners and Persian carpet weavers do not take kindly to the "I was having yoga sex with ice cream condiments" explanation for a ruined throw carpet. The only answer that is even remotely feasible to me is yoga mat. And we've come full circle. As someone who actually does yoga, I would rather yoga be about yoga, lest I open my mind to the possibility that I am being ogled by perverts in yoga class who have come to improve upon their sexual dexterity. I don't want to chant "Ohm" in that context. And if you don't do yoga, sorry friend, this position is going to be very uncomfortable. I find it uncomfortable and I've practised yoga regularly for almost three years now.
Summary: Never. Going. To. Happen.
Oh, and if you never want to see this kind of shit again, what with the liberal presence of bold face "vagina" spattered throughout, I will reconsider my new hobby, just let me know...
