"Well," she said, carefully pushing some strands behind her ears, "I have had many, many boyfriends who seem to have an anal fixation. And depending on how open they are, which they usually aren't, I've kind of dabbled around with it. You know -- a finger in there, stuff like that. But never, never a strap-on. I didn't think that would really be a turn-on for me. But anal stuff is such a turn-on for Mark that I thought, what the hell. I'll go shopping for one. I'd considered one before, when I was going out with Nick, but then -- oh, I bagged it."

"That's not like you," I observed.

She took a large sip of wine. "Nick was too desperate. He really, really wanted to be fucked in the ass. And just the way he asked me -- I don't know, it made me feel too, um, dominant. It didn't turn me on. But I went shopping one time, and would you believe they cost $75? It pissed me off. Hey -- poor people like to have fun too, right? Anyway, I didn't buy it then. But the other day, Mark and I were going at it, and I just slipped two fingers in. I didn't even do anything, just sort of moved them around -- a little prostate massage -- and boom! That was it. He came in a second. And this is a guy who can control his orgasm down to the last possible second. So this is what got me thinking."

"More wine?" asked the bartender.

"Yes, absolutely," I said.

"So -- I went back down to look at the strap-ons again," continued Renee. "And since Mark is a triathlete, I thought, well he won't mind the sporty-looking one. He might even prefer it, since it looks like something you'd take on a camping trip, maybe without the dildo part, I guess. It was the cheaper version with the buckles and nylon strap, and a little Velcro strip to put the dildo in. I think I should have gotten the fancy, S&M kind in leather, though, because it feels a little flimsy. Plus I have to hold the dildo when we're doing it." She returned to eating, lifting her fork calmly to her mouth. "Do you want a bite? It's really amazing -- I was just so starving that I had to order something."

"No, thank you," I told her. "What does this thing look like?"

"It doesn't look like a real dick, if that's what you mean," she said. "In fact, it's all so fake anyway, I don't want to pretend that it's a real thing. I thought I should just get it in a color I like. And I wear a lot of black clothes, so I just got it in black -- like I'd buy a black handbag."

The bartender poured some wine in both our glasses and stood back, ready to join in the conversation.

"And then," Renee continued, "I put it on when I got home and looked in the mirror and thought, this is such a joke -- I mean, how am I going to be bossy in bed when I can't take myself seriously? But I got over that. Because Mark is so into it -- I mean, he really likes being fucked in the ass. A lot of men I know really like to have their asses played with, or I suspect that they like it, but they can't bring themselves to ask because of the whole gay connotation. But I think if they felt it was socially acceptable, they would ask their girlfriends to anally stimulate them a lot more often."

The bartender turned and began cleaning a small part of the mirror at the opposite end of the bar.

"I think it's the penetration thing," said Renee thoughtfully. "Also -- look what happened with Nick. He did ask me, but I didn't like the way he asked me. It was a turn-off. I guess you can't blame them for being fearful."

"My friend Rex says the same thing: Men have a secret penchant for prostate massage but are deathly afraid to ask. Because then maybe the woman will think he wants the real thing in his butt. But he says there's nothing that gets him off faster, or better."

Renee returned to her tuna and said, "I think you have to really be comfortable with your sexuality to ask for things like that. For men, it's incredibly difficult because they have all these roles to live up to. Now, the thing is, I like to be dominated too. So we switch roles. We have amazing sex -- it's never just kiss, kiss, now you go down on me, now I'll go down on you and then we'll do it and it's over. Every time it's different -- and I think the strap-on really opened us up that way." She sat up on the stool. "Where did Rick go? He looked like he was going to join us."

I leaned over the bar to see Rick at the opposite end, bending down and rearranging bottles with a look of heavy concentration. "I think he was afraid to ask," I said.
SALON | Aug. 26, 1998

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R E L A T E D_.S A L O N_.S T O R I E S

Sexpert Opinion Move over, Ken, it's "Bend Over Boyfriend"
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