The following story contains graphic language and anal sex. Honestly, it's quite gross. No, really. It'll turn your stomach. I'm not joking. You might think I am, but I'm not. I swear. I wouldn't lie to you. Not now. Not ever. Especially after all you've been through. So if you're the kind of sensitive person who's squeamish, easily offended, eating lunch or my parents, do yourself a favor: turn the page right now before it's too late. Do it! Turn the page and never look back! Go! While there's still time! Please! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, JUST TURN THE PAGE!
Brenda and James, who recently began dating, are sitting on the plush couch in his Newport Beach home and talking about the holidays. James asks Brenda what she did for New Year's last year. She tells him she went to a party that she thought was going to be totally boring, but it was kind of funny because it turned out to be a lot of fun. She asks him what he did, and he tells her that he and his girlfriend at the time were going to have anal sex—so they gave themselves enemas.
“Oh,” says Brenda, and then, confused, she asks why he needed to flush his system as well. Thankfully, he clears that right up for her. “Well, she was going to shove stuff up my ass, too.”
Lovely! For reasons Brenda can't really explain, the unwelcome image that pops into her horrified mind is of—and she swears she's not making this up, and she doesn't know what it means—a bunch of bananas, some coins and a wallet.
Apparently, the amazing anal-sex duo passed out before commencing the butt-love, but that didn't stop them from having some fun. According to Mr. Buttsex, you're supposed to wait an hour or so after the enema for everything to be released. Instead, the impetuous young lovers began having sex about 20 minutes after the enema, thinking everything had already come out. So there they were, having some sex, when apparently she released again and a bunch of “brown stinky water” came pouring out onto his sheets and comforter. It was funny, though, and they had a good laugh about it, and she told him that one of the things she appreciated about him was that nothing fazed him.
Brenda does not share this quality, though, and so she is fazed—fazed that this happened, fazed that he would tell her about it, fazed that they made an occasion of anal sex, fazed that they actually gave themselves enemas in preparation. For some reason, that's the thing that fazes her most. And she says this to him. She tells him that if she were to have anal sex, she doesn't think she would have an enema first.
“You're so dirty,” he tells her in a way that's clear he's turned on by her supposed dirtiness, and she tells him that there's something really unfair about the fact that he and his girlfriend gave themselves enemas with the intention of having anal sex and—whilst having sex—a whole bunch of (for lack of a better word) shit shot out of her ass and got all over everything, which they thought was a hoot, and just because (theoretically) she wouldn't take an enema before anal sex that makes her the dirty one?
James just laughs and pushes her playfully. She smiles and pushes him back—hard.
“Hey!” he exclaims, giggling.
“Oh, oops,” she purrs.
Then Brenda excuses herself, goes to the bathroom and calls me on her cell phone.
“Ewwwww!” I declare—like the leaky girl, unable to control my natural response.
“I know!” Brenda exclaims. “It's gross! Yuck! Eww! Blecky! Barfo!”
Brenda, you see, has a way with words.
“I mean, it is gross, right?” Brenda asks. “Or I mean, it's weird? I don't know. I don't know.”
Brenda, it seems, doesn't know. And I don't know, either. The whole enema part does seem awfully clinical, but who am I to judge another man's festive New Year's colonic?
But Brenda is both uncomfortable with the story and uncomfortable with her discomfort. “I feel like if I'm grossed out by the story, that means I'm inhibited or close-minded or something,” she says. “I just don't think I'm into that kind of stuff, though.”
“Hey, look,” I say. “You are who you are. And you feel what you feel. Either you two are compatible or you're not. You're allowed to have inhibitions, and you're allowed to not want to shove things up your butt. Why do you think he told you, anyway? You don't think he's trying to . . . ?”
“No, no! Not that,” says Brenda.
“Well, maybe he just wants to impress you with how open and uninhibited he is,” I suggest.
“Yeah, maybe. Well, I better go. He's going to wonder if I fell in,” she says, getting off the phone before I even have a chance to find out if he still uses those sheets.
By the time Brenda returns from the bathroom, James has already put a movie in the VCR and is waiting for her. She sits down on the couch next to him.
“Anything wrong?” James asks, dimming the lights with one hand as he fastforwards through the previews with the other.
“No, I'm just kind of tired,” says Brenda, clapping her hand over her mouth as she yawns.
And then, silently, with a space of awkwardness between them, they watch the movie together.
