Every once in a while, there are topics that are so taboo, they tend to evoke one of the two following responses when entered into conversation: awkward laughter combined with averted eye contact, or flat-out, jaw-dropping disgust.
Eating ass is definitely one of those topics.
Whether you are ‘tossing the salad,’ ‘rimming’ or performing ‘anilingus’ on someone, the facts remain the same: you are putting your mouth on someone else’s starfish, and take it from me, there is no easy – or comfortable – way to talk about it.
One phone call to the Sexual Health Options Resources & Education Centre would foreshadow the rest of my interactions, with one thing becoming crystal clear by the end of the conversation: eating ass is not something that people enjoy talking about.
Nevertheless, experts have a duty to inform and despite the fact that it took me thirty seconds to vomit the word ‘anilingus’ into the receiver, the person on the other end of line was both patient, attentive and quick to tell me that the barrier method is still the most effective.
Seeking a second opinion on the topic, I took to the Telehealth Ontario hotline, where the average wait time to talk to a registered nurse was an hour and 45 minutes.
“[There is no information] specifically concerning this, just basically that this is a method to pass on sexually transmitted infection,” the nurse said, “so safe sex practices would be recommended.”
She went on to remind me about the importance of the barrier method, advocating the use of a dental dam to reduce the spread of infection.
“Is there anything else I can help you with, today?” she asked.
I felt like I had wasted her time.
It wasn’t until an acquaintance (we will call him Z) stumbled on the topic in a conversation, that I began to see some humanity in the story — some proverbial light at the end of the tunnel.
“Yeah, eating ass, what do you want to know?” he coaxed, apparently eager to share.
“First of all, I’m probably not going to go down on someone if I am sober, unless that’s like, the ‘ting’ [significant other],” he said, “[but] If I am going to go down on someone, I am probably [also] eating ass.”
“I’m not embarrassed to say that,” he quickly added, noting that although he may be comfortable saying it behind closed doors, he wouldn’t go and shout it from the rooftops.
“Anybody can eat ass,” he continued, noting the recent increase in dialogue about butt-stuff, adding that it is a “less sacred sexual act” that still “contributes to arousal,” nonetheless.
“It’s a universal way to get people off,” he concluded, noting the fact that every human being comes equipped with the parts necessary to participate.
When the time to discuss the actual act inevitably presented itself, the quality of conversation began to see a sharp decline, but Z reluctantly provided some insight that might help to inspire and inform those heavily invested in trying … something new.
“It’s not like [going down on someone] where there is parts to it and you can be bad at it,” he said.
“You can’t be bad at eating ass; the fact that you are doing it makes you good at it.”
Still, however, the idea of pressing your tongue into someone’s nether-regions is a shrill thought for the majority of us, but at the end of the day, it’s all about what you like.
Seeming to draw out his own conclusion, I thanked Z for his time, but there was still one thing left to ask; the story would not be complete unless it at least made an attempt to answer the question on the back of everyone’s minds: doesn’t it taste horrid?
“No,” he said firmly, breaking his gaze.
“Not if it’s clean.”