I’m waiting in line at A1 and I’m ordering my usual chicken fingers and fries. Want to know how I stay so skinny? I eat chicken fingers and fries, with BBQ sauce, as often as possible. Everything is fine and it’s loud because it’s College Night on Broadway, and all the stores are packed and I’m annoyed because I don’t like large crowds of people. I’m standing there, waiting for my order, when these five annoying, buff, jock guys come in and I feel instantly intimidated. The first chatch is really hot, and I’m staring but trying not to get my ass kicked. I’m in a black lamé windbreaker, a black V-neck, black pants and black boots. My usual cloud of darkness.
Things get really interesting, though, when the chatches start talking about sex and pussy — that’s how they refer to it. “Pussy.” So one of the guys pops out his iPhone, reads aloud a text message that his girlfriend just sent that says something like “I miss you =),” and now he’s saying he needs to get back home to her. But one of the bros in the pack tries to convince him to come out with the rest of the group to check out some other chicks.
“I have a girlfriend,” the iPhone guy says.
“I know, dude. But come out with us,” the hot one says.
Then the guys start talking about the difference between hot girls and a good hookup. And then, in a moment that has haunted me since last Thursday, one of the guys in the group says, loudly enough for the entire restaurant to hear:
“All pussy is the same. The only difference a hot girl makes is to get your dick harder faster.”
That’s: “All pussy is the same. The only difference a hot girl makes is to get your dick harder faster.”
Scandalized, my initial reaction was, “But wait. … Don’t you chatches care about fulfilling her needs? Sex isn’t just about your hard member; you need to help her get it poppin’, too. OKAAY?!”
All this while I’m waiting for my chicken fingers. As I wait, I couldn’t help but wonder: Is sex only a matter of power difference?
The idea that sex is something that’s done to you by someone else has got to stop. I mean, for real, where’s the fun in that? The guy shouldn’t be like, “I am The Penetrator. Heed my Penetration Device.” Sex is best when you both want the other badly, and when you both desperately want to do things to each other that will drive the other insane.
Remember when I told you about that one guy who objectified my “chocolate ass” when he responded to my online dating profile with the ever-so-eloquent phrase “I want some of that chocolate ass”? And remember how I said I’d never tell a hot South Asian guy that I wanted his “curry cock”? Well these dudes at A1 think of their privates as weapons that are meant to conquer vaginas the world over.
I mean, I’ve never been with a woman before, but I think that if I were a woman and my boyfriend talked about my va-jay-jay like something to be conquered? Oh no no. I would put my foot way up in his behind … not now, but right now.
That’s why I love Samantha’s character on “Sex and the City,” and to some extent Miranda, too. Neither of them just sat there in bed, all flaccid-like, letting chatches take over their crotches. Samantha was like, “Bitch you better bag back: we bout to do it my way.”
See, now for gay boys it’s a little different. The sex roles are not as strict. Everybody can do everything; it’s only a matter of preference. Like that one time I went on one date with that guy who had zero personality and then started stalking me? Remember I said I didn’t think that shit would work out because 1) he was annoying and 2) we were both “right-sided Prada pumps”? You gotta have the left pump. OK, well, one time one of my friends went out on a date with this really queeny guy and he went into it thinking, “OK! I guess I’m the top here!” My friend isn’t usually a top. To my friend’s surprise, when the two got back to his place, they started making out and the tiny queen turned out to be a raging top.
So what does it all mean? Well, it means that whatever “power” there is in sex should be shared. The chatches like the ones I saw at A1 who thought of sex as this one-sided thing that’s done to you can learn something from the gays: Just because you have a cock doesn’t mean you always have to be the top. Change it up. Let the girl get on top. Let the girl rock your world the way she wants to.
My home girl and favorite comedian Wanda Sykes once said in a show that a straight man’s number-one fantasy is to be with two women at the same time: “Now fellas, I think that’s a bit lofty. Really. ’Cause come on: You can’t satisfy that one woman, why you wanna piss off another one?”
My boyfriend and I have it all figured out. I know what he likes, and he knows what I like. So when we go at it, it’s like WOW!
All I’m saying is, sex is like a potluck: Everybody should bring a little somethin-somethin to the table. Share the power. Find out what the other person likes. Take notes, or make diagrams if you have to.
Madison Moore’s retrospective column wouldn’t be complete without some sort of American Apparel shout-out. DOV CHARNEY! WORK!!