SEXIS WRONG

down, actually: Since the only “fully mature” manifestation of
sexuality is vaginal fucking, queer men are fixated at the oral
or anal stage of development. How immature. Grow up, you
fags! (Of course, believing in a fatherly sky god who’ll reward
or punish his children has a certain infantilism to it, too, but
let’s let that pass for now, shall we?)
Let’s get back to buttholes.
There’s something Hindu—Shivaite—about the cycle of nutrition
and excretion, as though we’re just meat-tubes through
which flow eternal patterns of destruction and rebirth. Christianity,
on the other hand, is all about The End Of Time, and
if the universe has an endpoint, the pious Christian would
rather it not be located just slightly above the perineum. If, after
all, Mr. Priest is feeding us the body of Christ, wouldn’t we
rather not think what happens to the swallowed Host once it
makes it to the colon?
Let’s face facts: Transubstantiation ends up, as does so much
else, in the toilet. Unlike some other worldviews, Christianity
is kind of hinky about the body, with its pleasures and limitations.
Blame the Gnostics, maybe, but the corruption of the
body is something to be sidestepped on the way to the Pearly
Gates, not something to be accepted and dealt with. So, as
stupid as it may have seemed to me, maybe that born-again
who was quoted in the paper was right. Maybe the irreducible
essence of Christianity is in fact the denial of mortality.
Stack that on top of the Levitical obsession with cleanliness
(Moses should have met my mother), and you know what
that means. No shit. And no shitholes.
I suggest he straddle me and lower himself down on my
hard-on, a position preferred by many first-timers, since they
can retain control. But Daniel wants to get on his back, me
on top, and I’d be a fool to refuse him. I go in slowly, figuring
he has a hole that will open up for me with a bit of penile
persuasion.
I’m right.
Daniel gets a beatific look on his young face as I plumb his
guts.
“Fuck,” he says, “that feels good.”
“To me, too.” I’m inside him. A part of me is inside him, inside
the ass of this formerly ostensibly-het kid who trusts me
enough to let me fuck him. As nice as it’s been to suck his
cock, to eat his ass, to fingerfuck him, this is something else.
This is rhapsodic. This is fucking great.
“So you’re always a top?” he asks. I have no problem making
small talk with Daniel while my cock’s in his ass; I’m just wondering
whether he’s obliquely suggesting he dick me with his
thick meat, a slightly daunting idea.
“Well, mostly. Why, you want to fuck me?”
“No, nothing like that. Guess I’m just a bottom.”
“Well, most guys are.”
“Really?” Daniel is endlessly curious about queer folkways,
it seems.
“Yeah.”
“Hey, can we try it doggy-style?”
After we’ve both come—Daniel while I was fucking him, me
while he was sucking me off—we lie around drinking Dr. Pepper
and talking.
Late April
Daniel. Daniel is a college kid, and he’d never
had sex with a guy before he met me. He’s
sweet, slightly geeky, and utterly delightful. He also, not so
incidentally, has a marvelous asshole. When I first fingered
it, it responded by inviting me in, rare for a guy who’s never
been fucked. (Though Daniel had, he’d told me, played with
dildos a few times.) The third time we met, I got a couple of
fingers inside him.
The fourth time he asks me to fuck him.
No wonder I’ve woken up with a yen
to eat ass.
“Anal sex is really cool,” he says.
It’s hard to argue with that. I don’t even try.
“I mean, there’s so much interesting about it, huh?” Daniel is
a linguistics major.
I tell him there had better be a lot, since I’m just partway
through writing a major essay on buttfucking.
“You’ve never been fucked before?”
“Nope. Would you tell me what to do?”
It’s a simple, sincere question. It’s a breathtaking moment.
I start gassing on about Christianity and transgression and all
that stuff. But meanwhile I’m thinking that really what’s most
interesting to me about fucking Daniel is how thoroughly fine
it is. It’s not that blowing him, rimming him, and fucking his
face haven’t been fun. But I’m wondering if maybe I was
wrong all along. Perhaps, in the immortal words of a Craigslist
ad, “If it isn’t fucking, it isn’t sex.”
Later, after Daniel leaves, I have third thoughts about the in-
HOORAY FOR SODOMY 297