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twenty post-coital
questions

In which it is demonstrated once again that
a little communication between the sexes is a dangerous thing.

C O U R T N E Y+W E A V E R

"let's play a little game," I suggested. I was lying on my side, head propped up by my arm, considering our naked bodies in the white light of the morning sun. I grabbed the TV remote out of his hand and tossed it on the night stand. "Instead of smoking a cigarette, which we don't do, or watching daytime TV, let's start a new trend, something equally post-coitally relaxing." "OK," he said gamely. "What exactly did you have in mind? Jesus, you're insatiable." "No, no. Not sex." I sat up on my heels. "Ready? It's sort of like Truth or Dare, but without the Dare part. Just Truth." "Truth," he said, trying on the word. "I like it. Could become popular." "The object of this game, as you may have already guessed," I began, "is to be absolutely fucking honest about each question that's put to you. The rules are simple: You can't be swayed by political correctness, or whether you're going to hurt my feelings, or if you're going to come off as a cad. And I do the same." "Well, OK," he said, "you start." "First question: Do you prefer big breasts to small?" I asked. "Remember, the game's called Truth." "Big," he said, turning a bit red. "Sorry." "Huh," I said. "Interesting. Never mind. Your turn." I turned over on my stomach and pulled some of the blanket over my hip. "Let's see." He thoughtfully stared at the ceiling. "Do women really not mind average-sized penises? They always say they don't." "Average is fine," I said. "Small is not. Bigger is better. Maybe that's more information than you wanted." I was thinking we were only treading on thin to medium ice here. "My friend Renee once was making out with a guy. She was feeling him up, wondering why in the hell he wasn't getting turned on. Then she put her hand down his pants, and yes, it turns out he was turned on after all. She got out of there as fast as possible." "Wow," he said. "Didn't she like him? How could she do that?" "How?" I repeated. "I can answer that in two words: Three inches." He shuddered. "So, onward. What do you think of menstrual blood?" "As a concept?" He looked confused. "No, as a reality. As in, when you have sex with a girl who's having her period. As in, do you secretly think she's dirty. As in ..." "As in do I get disgusted when I see bits of blood when I pull out?" "Exactly!" I gave him a congratulatory slap on his haunch, but I wanted to get back to the breast issue. "You're getting the hang of this." "I guess I don't mind," he said. "The truth is, if I really am in love with her, I actually think it brings us closer." He shrugged. "I know that sounds politically correct, but it's the truth. My turn. How ..." "Could we just back up to that breast question?" I interrupted. "Maybe you could expand on that a little. Is it nipples, the areola part, or actual breasts? And do you think most men feel that way, some men or just your friends ..." "This isn't fair." He sat up. "I know I haven't been playing this game as long as you, but I don't think Expansion is part of this game." "OK, OK. I apologize. Go on." "What do women think about uncircumcised penises?" he asked. "I know I have a personal stake in this answer, but ..." "But that's why it's called Truth," I finished for him. "Here's the thing. Personally, I don't mind a little foreskin. When it's erect, who can tell anyway? But I happen to know that I am in the minority in this opinion." "Oh," he said coolly, drawing a sheet up to his chest. "So you chicks are actually a little creeped out by it." "Well, not me," I said hastily. "But my friend Renee -- remember, she of the small dick anathema -- she has opined that she finds it unclean. But, honey, that's just ignorance." "Sure, I understand." I leaned over and pulled the blanket over me. "It's getting cold in here, huh? Go ahead, your turn." "This circumcision thing ... oh, forget it. What is one of the biggest turn-offs to you when you're dating a guy?" "An unclean apartment," I immediately said, before thinking. I looked around his bedroom and, noticing a T-shirt on the floor, grabbed it and put it on. "I mean, some clothes thrown around is OK, maybe one slightly smelly towel in the bathroom, but after that -- uh-uh. That speaks of a mommie complex to me." "That's not fair," he said. "Clean is a relative term. I'm clean. Every guy I know keeps his apartment clean." "Men always say that," I said. "It's like one-hour dry cleaning. Have you ever actually had your dry cleaning in hand in one hour? It doesn't happen. You start to say, 'But the sign says one hour ...' then you stop yourself because it's just not worth it. Same thing with the cleaning issue. It's the great lie that men tell themselves." "I don't think I like this game," he said, pulling the blanket up to his chin and lunging for the TV remote. "What is the purpose of this anyway?" I tucked some more sheet around me. "Communication between the sexes. Fosters intimacy." "Is that right," he mumbled, and switched on ESPN. Sept. 10, 1997 Want to play Truth? Go to Table Talk.

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