There is a big difference between fantasy and reality. We all know
this, logically speaking. But sexual fantasies very rarely have a logical
component. Kevin Keck found this out the (very) hard way…
“When
I was sixteen my mom confessed to me that she had a vibrator, which a friend
had given to her, but which she never used. She just liked to keep it around ‘for
laughs.’” Within a day I found the vibrator and immediately plunged it into my own ass
while in a fit of vigorous masturbation. I could spend the rest of my life in
analysis and never get to the bottom of that one. In fact, I don't even know
why I felt the need to stimulate my prostate (I wasn't even aware I had one),
unless on some level my ass knew that such an act of appropriating your
mother's sex toys is the modern equivalent of killing your father.
Eventually, though, the vibrator vanished. I don't know
if my mom pressed her ear to the bathroom door one night only to hear a familiar
whir, or if my constant treatments of bleach (hey, sanitation first) to the
vibe's surface irritated her in some fashion that she couldn't fathom and she
tossed it. Either way, such a loss lead me to desperate measures, involving
cucumbers, a broom handle, a fire poker (just the handle) and, in an incident I
refer to simply as "The Chiquita Affair," a banana that broke off
inside me. I nearly killed myself straining to get that out as quickly as
possible, and let me tell you: there's nothing more fucked up than shitting a
banana.
However, this was just my ass. I couldn't get over the fact that I was
potentially a freak, and possibly violating some serious biblical code. I mean,
Jews can't eat pork — surely anal delights are way higher up on the list. When
I walked by people in my small town, I tried to imagine them pillaging their
rectums with a variety of implements (usually garden tools), and I just
couldn't do it. And somehow, when they looked back at me,
I felt they
knew an ice cream scooper had once protruded from my posterior. (Oh, and
sickness of sicknesses, that same ice cream scooper is still nestled in one of
the drawers in my parents' kitchen! I know it's been many years and numerous
rinse cycles, but on those hot August afternoons when my dad suggests a
chocolate sundae, I politely decline.)”
Lucky for us, Kevin gives
us more…and lets us cringe (and laugh) along with him. Read
his entire essay, here.
