Let’s All Get Anally Stimulated
There’s no denying it, straight male anal stimulation is becoming more popular every day.
“Because to be bad…that’s the real struggle: to be bad—and enjoy it!”
-Philip Roth, Portnoy’s Complaint
I have an idea for a novel about a straight man’s guilt ridden identity crisis in modern times. Imagine Portnoy’s Complaint where anal stimulation takes the place of masturbation.
The novel would follow a young straight man in New York City. In a moment of drug addled, drunken experimentation, our protagonist pleasures his ass, discovering he finds the sensation unbearably enjoyable. Come sobriety, he is ashamed of himself and swears to God he’ll never do it again.
But he does. Again and again. Like Stephen Dedalus who can’t help stalk the night, giving himself to whores, he wonders, “What did it avail to pray when he knew his soul lusted after its own destruction?” Despite the cross, that horrible lurking guilt, his body cannot resist: “Stuff it into you, his belly counselled him.” Stuff it into you.
Our protagonist need not have any direct religious affiliation. Cultural stigma against straight male anal stimulation and widespread homophobia offer their own toxic pressure. This is a new brand of tormenters, “their long swishing tails besmeared with stale shite, thrusting upwards their terrific faces…”
The historical context of the novel would be the legalization of gay marriage in New York, 2011. The novel’s climax, much like Alexander Portnoy’s impotent breakdown in Israel, would find our protagonist delirious in the city’s West Village, during the famous gay pride parade.
Surrounded by ecstatic gay men and women who have never had an opportunity like this to be so publically confident, self-assured and free, our straight man is blushing, sweaty, desperate and lost. He blames the world. He feels threatened by the gay community. He thrusts an accusing pointer and middle finger at the parade. He laughs like a madman at the bitter irony: those same two fingers he savagely thrust up his ass.
The other day I was watching the new FX series Wilfred. There’s a scene where Elijah Wood’s character, Ryan, complains that a woman tried to stick her fingers in his ass. He calls her, “a freak.”
The show’s supporting character, Wilfred, responds, “If you dumped a tidy piece like that over the saintly act of knuckle busting your anus hole I’d say that makes you the freak.”
My friends and I burst into laughter. Several years ago, the joke would have been on Wilfred. We would have taken the side of Ryan, cringing at the idea of a straight man being, “violated.”
Not today. Though it went unspoken, we were all laughing at Wilfred’s honesty and candor next to Wood’s close-minded prudishness.
Wilfred is a quirky show about liberation, where the title character’s unconventional wisdom disrupts Ryan’s static life, transforming him (arguably) for the better. The inclusion of anal stimulation is telling.
We’re at a rich moment in history, where many old prejudices are being questioned and overthrown. The mainstreaming of anal stimulation is a natural step toward equality of the sexes. Penetration is no longer one gender’s privilege, or a pleasure exclusive to any sexual orientation.
Alexander Portnoy is unable to make sense of his own identity within the world he inhabits. The protagonist of my novel would ultimately have a choice. He would have to shed his prejudice and surrender to the radical tide of the future. Or he would break down, unable to support his personal desires under the brutal and tyrannical pressure of ancient social codes.
I recently watched Get Him to the Greek with a friend. There’s a scene in the film where a woman thrusts a dildo into Jonah Hill’s ass in a Las Vegas hotel room. Hill shrieks in horror. The scene is meant to be funny and we laughed. My friend said, “If that happened to you, I feel like you’d totally just go with it.”
I responded, hesitantly, “Well, you know. It’s possible. In Las Vegas…” We were only joking but the moment affected me. I felt weary. Did I mean that? What am I saying? I was only speaking aimlessly. How assured am I of my manhood? But later, somewhere, creeping, inside me, I felt the thrill of saying something dangerous, putting my body and mind on edge. I was outside of my comfort zone. I felt bad, bad, and each day, it’s getting easier to enjoy it.
More by Kyle Kouri:
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