Carnal Embrace

It has come to my attention that the Sex on Tuesday column is “vulgar” and “disgusting.” In one e-mail, a student asked that I move away from the genitalia. The thing is, I’m completely taken with the body. It’s where it all starts, isn’t it?

He was upset with “poon.” Honey, we’ve got bigger battles to fight. “Poon” is hardly vulgar. Vulgar language is ingrained sexism, inherent racism and some forms of Latin. Cogito ergo I come. And now I conquer.

Vulgar language today is hegemonic. We use these words every day, words that supposedly clean up and push back the shame of our bodies. Nobody bats an eye when “pudendum” appears in a textbook or a work of literature. It sounds so Latin, so reformed and so clean, partly because you don’t even know what the hell it means.
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We, the student body, take balls for granted. They’re not always going to be so perky, you know. One day they’re going to be hanging around your partner’s knees, and then you’ll wish you could still pretend they’re not even there.

Dearest Carrie Bradshaw of “Sex and the City” fame put in her two cents. She thought she had it all figured out, that “balls are to men what purses are to women. It’s just a little bag, but we’d feel naked in public without it.” For a while, I didn’t get it either. It’s more than a bag, but it took me a while to learn this.

My relationship with the family jewels started with my younger brother. Stop it. Don’t be gross—it wasn’t like that. We were fighters, not lovers, and that meant a swift kick and punch to the nads to liven things up. At one point, he started running away from me with his hands cupped over his crotch. I hope he won’t hate me when he finds out he can’t reproduce.
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Wikipedia is a lovely thing when you’re bored, especially when you end up casually researching things like frotting, figging and pegging. Oh my. I was on the prostate, a walnut-shaped endocrine gland for the male reproductive system. I needed more. I turned to the nearest medical expert.

“Mom,” I shouted across the house, “can a man get pleasure from his prostate?” (We run things a bit differently in the Borden household.)

She took a moment to respond. “The prostate does nothing,” she said. “It just gets cancer.” Oh shit.

Fortunately, the prostate is not some crazy cancer-magnet. Well, maybe not until you turn 40 or so. It is an abode of pleasure, your magic button. And it’s in the butt, Bob.

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Many people don’t understand sex because they don’t understand vaginas. To be quite honest, I still don’t understand everything that goes on down there. The beaver is a totally different creature.

I’m pretty certain I lost all the gay men about to read the column after my first sentence. Here’s my desperate attempt to bring them back: Judy Garland! Madonna and/or Cher! “Dreamgirls,” perhaps? Even gay men have a connection to vaginas. You were born from one, weren’t you? Or at least conceived through one, I’m sure of that.

The truth isn’t necessarily self-evident. Not all vulvas are created equal. (Some are more equal than others.) By vulva, I’m talking about the whole kit and caboodle, from the mons pubis (the bush part, people) all the way to the love hole. Ah, the origin of the world. You’re welcome.
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We all know that when we say “size doesn’t matter” that it’s a big, fat, ginormous lie. We’ve got breast implants, butt implants, penile implants, “all-natural herbal supplements,” push-up bras, water bras, padded bras, or an extra sock in the crotch to help things along. Now there’s one more thing you can supersize, but you won’t be getting any fries: your G-spot.

Of course, the latest in cosmetic surgery (for your vagina, no less) hails from Plastic Mecca. I’m talking Los Angeles. Who didn’t see that one coming?

So now along with worrying about having perfectly sculpted brows, the right shade of fake tan, a smooth and hairless poontang, and great orbs of mammary perk, I’ve got to ponder if my G-Spot is big enough? Fuck you. No really. (more…)

The Los Angeles Times recently reported on a study that found male circumcision to lower the risk of contracting HIV. Now Jews finally have something to boast from their bris besides just a pretty penis. Hello, boys of AEPi, let’s share the love!

The study showed that circumcision cut the risk of HIV infection in half, as the foreskin is composed of fragile cells more susceptible to infection in general. In fact, the article claims that the study was so successful in finding a defense against HIV that it ended prematurely to offer “a little off the top” to all the participants. Awesome, I’m always up for a free trim.

The director of the World Health Organization’s department of HIV/AIDS, named — get this, I am not joking– Dr. De Cock, says that circumcision is “not a magic bullet,” but the findings are very beneficial in a global battle against HIV. And I trust his word. He is, afterall, De Cock, doctor.

The study, however, is not perfect. I’m all for a clean-cut man, but this little tale just ain’t working for me. I’ve got a bone to pick, if you know what I mean. (And by “pick” I mean. . . well, a little wink wink nudge nudge.)
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