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I’m
a woman in my early 20s and I love to insert a tampon in my
rear end when I masturbate. It gets me off but I feel dirty.
Is this normal? Do other people share this pleasure? Does
it have a name?
—Confused
About Tampons
In
selecting your letter for the column, CAT, it wasn’t my intention
to pile on top of Michael Jackson. The King of Pop had a terrible
week: On Tuesday, Nov. 18, police raided Jackson’s ranch in
California looking for evidence in connection with an accusation
of—did anyone see this one coming?—child molestation. By the
end of the week, Jackson had been arrested, surrendered his
passport, and posted bail. A pop star hasn’t had such a bad
week since Nick Lachey married Jessica Simpson.
What do Jackson’s woes have to do with you? Well, your letter
arrived in my office on Thursday, Nov. 13, five days before
the raid on Neverland. And I was sitting at my computer on
Nov. 18, composing a typically thoughtful response, when my
office mate screamed, “Dan! Go to the Drudge Report—now!”
But wait! It gets weirder: Not only was I writing a response
to your question when I heard the news about Jackson, I was
writing about Jackson in my response!
I can’t imagine that this is going to make you feel better
about your fetish—it certainly won’t make you feel normal,
CAT—but you’re not alone. None other than Michael Jackson—the
King of Pop, the artist of the millennium, America’s most
wanted—has been accused in print of sharing your fetish. In
1995 a book called Michael Jackson Was My Lover was
published in Chile. (A tiny press in San Francisco also released
a version in 1997.) Written by Victor M. Gutierrez, it claims
to tell the story of “the boy who sued the King of Pop.” And
on page 64 there’s this rather inelegant chapter title: “Jackson’s
Use of Enemas and Tampons.”
If Jackson puts tampons up his butt—a big if, considering
the source, but putting tampons in your butt is less freaky
than some of the things Jackson has admitted to doing—this
book answers two of your questions, CAT: “Is this normal?”
and, “Do other people share this pleasure?” Yes, at least
one other person would appear to share your pleasure—but since
that person may be Michael Jackson, you’re definitely not
normal. You’re a freak by association, I’m sad to say. Your
perversion lacks a name, so far as I can tell, so I hereby
dub it the “Action Jackson,” or AJ for short.
So what gets you off about sticking tampons up your butt?
First, there are the physical sensations. The clitoris is
a complicated web of tissues, CAT, and not just the exposed
bit above your vagina. As the growing tampon expands in your
butt, it may press on your interior clitoral tissues, and
this may be what’s getting you off. Or you may be aroused
by the sheer filthy, perverse, taboo-shattering what-the-hell
of it all. While you can re-create the feeling of a tampon
expanding in your butt by purchasing an inflatable butt plug,
if what’s getting you off is the perversity of it all, CAT,
you’ll have to keep AJing your brains out.
Your love for Ashton Kutcher seems to have dribbled away.
Gone are the days when you showered your love on Ashton Kutcher
in print, and expressed desires to shower him with so much
more. Has the young actor’s hyper-publicized affair with an
older, hard-bodied celebrity non-actress dimmed his star in
your eyes?
—Whither
Ashton, Dan?
Ashton
is just as beautiful as ever, WAD, and, no, his relationship
with Demi Moore doesn’t bother me a bit. Nevertheless, I can’t
deny that my love for Ashton has cooled. Just last weekend
I saw the preview for the new Steve Martin movie, Cheaper
by the Dozen, and there was a 15-second clip of a dog
sinking his teeth into Ashton’s ass. The dog refused to let
go, and you can hear the dog chewing and chomping as Ashton,
sprawled out on his stomach, howls in pain. A year ago I would’ve
given anything to be that dog. But I felt nothing.
What gives? This isn’t a simple case of “I was into Ashton
before he was hip but now that everyone else worships him.
. . .” I’m not some hipster who decides his favorite band
is crap the minute the group hits it big. No, I’m afraid it’s
worse than that, WAD. You see, there’s another man. I’m sorry,
Ashton, but I’m in love with Trent Ford now.
When I first wrote about Ashton Kutcher in my column—pre-Punk’d,
pre-Just Married, pre-Demi, pre-Pulitzer Prize—most
of the mail I got in response went something like this: “Who’s
Ashton Kutcher?” I expect I’ll get similar mail about Trent
now—about beautiful, smart, tall, gorgeous Trent. People laughed
about my obsession with Ashton; I was accused of thinking
with my dick. But my dick was right about Ashton—he’s a big
star now—and I predict that my dick will be right about Trent
Ford. Check out the Sept.-Oct. 2003 issue of V Magazine,
WAD. There’s a photo spread of Trent in there that will make
you say “Ashton who?”
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I’m a straight guy, age 22. When I’m fucking my girlfriend,
I sometimes dive down on her muff to rev her up. My dick tends
to deflate when I’m eating her out, and that’s the problem.
When my girl is good and revved, she pulls me up and wants
me to stick my dick back in. But by then I’m not hard enough.
I need her to suck me or stroke me for a bit before I’m ready
to go again. Is this solvable?
—Soft
Headed Boy
Sticking
with this week’s celebrity theme, SHB, I’m going to advise
you to watch the Paris Hilton sex tape—not for prurient purposes,
of course, but because it demonstrates a basic and very useful
sexual technique. I get a lot of letters from guys who worry
about their tendency to go limp when their dicks aren’t the
center of attention—i.e., when they eat pussy, pause to put
on a condom, or their girlfriends jump out of bed to answer
their cell phones. As you watch the Paris Hilton sex tape,
SHB, pay close attention to Miss Hilton’s co-star’s right
hand. Whenever Paris isn’t sitting on, sucking, or being impaled
by Rick Solomon’s huge, green, and beautiful dick, he’s stroking
himself, keeping his dick rock hard and ready for its triumphant
reentry into Paris. Emulate Rick Solomon, SHB, and your dick
will always be ready.
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Hey, Dan, with the holiday season not too far off, here’s
a suggestion: Last year, you asked your readers to send in
their worst (sex-related) holiday experiences. This year,
why not do just the opposite? Let’s all send you our favorite,
fondest, most cherished (sex-related) holiday experiences.
I’ve got mine all picked out and ready to send in.
—Holidays
Are Sexy
Great
idea, HAS. Send your most cherished sex-related holiday experiences
to holidays@ savagelove.net, kids. The best stories will appear
in a special holiday-memories installment of Savage Love.
And next week, news of my new all-santorum, all-the-time Web
site!
mail@savagelove.net
Dan
Savage’s newest book, Skipping Towards Gomorrah, is
out in paperback.
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Columns
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