by Ali Adler
The Nose. DO. Forget about cologne; I’m talking about pheromones. The natural chemistry your body emits. This shit is real. Smell means a lot. Some people are just naturally more attracted to each other scentwise. And I don’t mean hygiene. By this point, I expect that you are groomed and ready for lady action. I mean, what you smell like when you sweat can be a very sexy thing for a specific woman. What your natural emissions are—yes, including those emissions—some woman may love, while someone else may not be into how you smell and taste at all. And you’re not doing anything differently. You’re not showering more or drinking an ungodly amount of mythically semen taste–improving pineapple juice or eating lawns of parsley. You are just you. Some people just have a greater “scent match” than others. Sometimes you just do all that licking business down there because you should, but when you meet your “scent match,” you’ll do it because you have to; because you love it.
The eyes. DO. Sure, you want everything to look good, but she may like it if you take away this sense sometimes, too. The absence of sight provides you with the ability to switch things up on her, keep her guessing as to what move you’ll make. The deprivation of any of her senses is always erotic, if she’s into this. Don’t kiss her on the eyes though, or she won’t take you seriously ever again.
The mouth. DO. Kiss it, sure, but you can also speak words to your sexual advantage. Dirty talk. Think of it as aural sex.
Ears. NO!!! DO NOT. This one tops the list of awful things done in bed that men think women love. Get your tongues out of our ears. Put them inside the vaginas, please. Or lick up dead flies along the windowsill if you simply must use your tongue in that moment, but just please keep them out of the insides of our ears. The ear lick is wet and echoey, and not at all pleasant for you or anyone else. It is a tongue Q-Tip that resounds and leaves behind a wet glob that we can’t even politely sop up without fear of offending you and your creative but repellant ear-licking. Also, it’s confusing. It breaks the cardinal rule of “Men do to you what they want done to them.” If we can have accomplished one thing here, just stop with the inside of the ears business.
The vagina. DO. Obviously, yes. Please do. Read above advice. I literally can’t type the word “clitoris” one more time without risking that it will be the Andy Cohen drinking game Word of the Day on Watch What Happens Live. Clit. Clit. Clit. Drunk, yet? Clitoris.
The breasts. DO. See above treatise on bosoms, large and small.
The ass. DO. This thing needs stronger stimulation than breasts, because it has fewer nerve endings. Don’t be as gingerly as you were warned to be with the tits. Try a little ass grab; knead it, pat it, and smack it. However, please leave the rectum alone unless previously discussed or instructed.
Rules to Remember
• So much of sexual congress is just that: being in agreement. Be into it. Be into her. Forget about yourself for fifteen fucking minutes in your entire life. Pay attention to sinking into this person more than just literally.
• It’s as much the art of pressure and friction as it is the absence of friction.
• It’s as much the art of consistency as it is about inconsistency.
• Stop asking stupid questions like, “Why isn’t the clit inside, at the end of the vagina so that the penis can rhythmically stroke it?” I understand your design point, but it’s not. Stop playing like it is.
• Just sticking your dick in and moving it around and crossing your fingers and hoping for the best for her orgasm will not work.
• Unless you’re in your twenties or in the first two months of your relationship or on MDMA or Molly or Ecstasy (U4EA!) or whatever the kids are calling it these days, don’t worry about doing a 69. Just leave it in the past.
• Stop masturbating so much to Internet porn. It can get addictive. Cut it down. Come on, just a little. If you do it too often, it creates unrealistic expectations and desensitizes actual human-to-human physical encounters.
• Ninety percent of the women I surveyed in relationships are the instigators of sexual activity with their male partners. A staggering statistic. Men want it all the time, but they’ve learned that if they try to instigate it, they may be rejected. So a Darwinian reflex occurs where the women must be the instigator. Pretend you’re not into it, and see how much more ass you obtain. Women want what they can’t have.
• It’s okay to mix stuff up, but ultimately—in sex, as in relationships—women want reliable.
How to Spice Up Sex with the Same Vagina
The long-term relationship. Sigh. When we commit to have sex with just the one person over and over again until we’re dead, it can become a little monotonous. So, how do you trick yourself into believing the same vagina is a fresh new one or, conversely, that the familiar one is even better than a new one? I don’t think any man will totally be okay knowing that other men are out there conquering brand new vaginas while he’s back at home nursing his familiar one. Something about hunters and warriors, the conquest of the unknown and all that. But if you have made this oath to be faithful to the same one, here’s some stuff you can do to stay connected sexually so you can stay connected emotionally, which is the ultimate conquest.
• Remember when? Do it how you did it when you first started doing it. Remember those BJs she used to give you while you were driving? I know you’re somebody’s dad now, but you love BJs the exact same amount now as you did back then. You used to fuck on the beach . . . do that again. You used to make out. Get back to that. Delete the phrase “Remember when we used to . . .” Instead, resume doing it.
• Switch up roles. If you lead more often, encourage her to take charge more. Get out of your time-worn habits. You know, your sexual go-to. The usual. Lick it and stick it. Whatever your standard thing is, shake it up. Do the opposite of what the usual is, and suddenly your usual will become the unusual. Ugh, I know you can barely stomach the thought, but take a bath with her. Wash her back. Pretend it doesn’t have some acne on it. Get into bed without the expectation of sex now that your balls are clean. She’ll be so startled and feel so little pressure that she will initiate it herself.
• Share your fantasies/role play. Say the stuff you’re scared to say aloud to your wife. Scary. She actually knows you, so now she’ll really know you. Scroll past the ones you know she knows about—threesomes, anal, exhibitionism—and get to something really vulnerable about yourself. “I always think about a certain nun from high school forcing me to have sex with her.” Huh? Well, she’s got to step aside from judgment. Because no matter how odd it is, it is true for you. And, she married you. She’s certainly got to give it a whirl, even if she doesn’t go out and buy a habit. It’s when you don’t risk saying what it is you secretly want that bitterness may accrue. Wait, what? You have resentment over her not understanding something you’ve never even shared aloud? That doesn’t make a lot of sense, does it? Say what it is you want; you risk actually getting it.
• Schedule date night, but even less trite, schedule fuck time. Sure, everyone wants to eat a pizza and see a movie, but that advice is really about reminding ourselves to be intimate with the person we’ve chosen. So even if you have an obligatory Tuesday night date to fuck, the act of doing it actually allows it to happen much more frequently, and with a greater connection. Fuck, and you will fuck more. Also, don’t forget that you have a tendency to communicate less and be more emotionally distant if you have a bunch of unreleased sperm in your nutsack. Release the sperm for a better mood, ergo a higher rate of connection.
• Keep your damned kids out of your bed at night. It will create a far more fuck-friendly zone. Use the lock on your door. You can unlock it after you come, in case little Harper has a bad dream.
• Just do her sometimes. I get it: you need the release; but just show up somewhere and deliver her an orgasm. Then you may get back to work or kids or masturbating or whatever the hell you were doing before you put her needs ahead of your own.
• Add something new to your repertoire, wh
atever this may be for you. Maybe it’s a new position. Maybe it’s a new piece of lingerie or a sex toy. We all know science: that if you leave whatever is in the petri dish alone without any air or a new ingredient, the matter will die. So switch it up, add, subtract, reverse, but keep the dish alive at all costs.
A bonus piece of advice for women: stop faking orgasms. How are men ever going to learn how to do it if you falsely reward them?
Remember way back in the beginning, when I said men and women were different? Well, no shit. You already knew that. Now you’re armed with some ideas as to how to minimize and embrace those differences. Nothing has really changed for you, except a new awareness of how deep this shit goes. And awareness is the first step to change. And look, I get it. Because I’m me, plus I’m with a woman, I know you’ll keep trying to do it all your own way. And you get that I’m not even talking about fucking now, right? You just think your ways in general are correct. You know your partner is doing it wrong, but if only she would do it your way, life would be so much easier, and you two would be totally happy. So you’ll continue doing life and fucking your same old way, maybe just now and then remembering to touch her clit a little bit more lightly.
Chapter 9
Breaking Up
Getting Rid of the Woman You’ve Got
“I hope that guy sees the warning signs.”
You wanted her for so long, lusted after her for forever, before you fucked her. You even fucked your own fist, imagining it was her—but now you’ve actually had her over and over again. So many times, in fact, that now you imagine her vagina as your own fist. Thud. What the hell are you going to do now that she bugs the shit out of you?
The tonic of wanting her has worn off. Now she’s actually yours. And who cares why. If you’ve gotten to this place, there’s almost no turning the ship around. She calls you her boyfriend. You’ve met all the people in her life, even her parents, multiple tedious times. You look at her mother, with her weighty face and light wrinkles; the Pillsbury dough woman suit of plumped-in-the-oven menopause and the exhausted bags under her eyes. You project your own future as you assume that your girlfriend will age similarly. Her mother looks like things stopped pleasing her in the eighties. That the last time she had a good belly laugh or a dick in her mouth was the same night she watched Mrs. Doubtfire at the local theater.
Your girlfriend’s father is everything that bugs you about your own gender. He has taken on the gratingly emasculated attitude of “happy wife, happy life.” He’s channeled all his previous fuck passion into a condescendingly excessive knowledge of decanting wine and toe-weighted putters. They squabble about passionless things: whose turn it is to pick what to watch on network television, brands of baked chips, and—said with a what-am-I-going-to-do-with-her smirk—can she ever learn to please stop letting the water run while she is brushing her teeth?
You observe their dynamics, and can’t help but think about your own future. You see your projected future self wither; want to eat its own foot off in order to escape from the trap. You imagine your future semen only able to ejaculate in powdery puffs. You see a composite of your girlfriend’s parents as the two people responsible for producing a woman who now has a rental agreement with your balls, and is looking to buy. But you want to break the lease and move on. So how do you do it when you’ve sworn you love the place?
Relax. Now you need to know how to break up with a woman.
In terms of commitment, some men are haunted by doubt, indecision, and what-ifs. You think, “What if I’m not sure I like the woman, once I’m in too deep?” “Is it possible to take back an ‘I love you’?” “Is there such a thing as the word ‘abortion’?” “How do I say no, forever, to the rest of the vaginas out there?” “What if I feel trapped, dead, and drowning?” “What if I always imagine there’s something better out there, even when I’m relatively happy?” “How do I stop wanting warm, new pussy?” Or the most haunting that will ultimately shortchange you even more than her: “Is she the best I can do?” This chapter is about how to release a vagina after you’ve gone to such lengths to acquire it.
The Passive Breakup
One of the most cowardly ways to break up with a woman, but still a favorite, is the classic: the passive breakup. You basically become an emotionally withholding asshole until she gathers up enough sense of self and dumps you. That way, you can maintain your theoretical nice-guy status. Because you didn’t do the actual breaking up. You didn’t say the words “I want to end this.” This method is a true measure of your girlfriend’s self-esteem. Sometimes ignoring your passive-aggressive nonsignals and just blindly trying to fix something is her way of trying to remedy her own broken history.
You once adored this person above all else. You picked her and chose her and French kissed the contents of her underpants. So, please, remember that you once loved her, and don’t use this method. Because here’s how it goes: you are slowly and cruelly starving her to death by withholding all necessary life essentials, while not admitting that you’re doing this. You think you’re not being an asshole, but she’s running around to all her best friends talking about you now more than ever. Asking them, polling them, wondering why you’re so limited, why you’re incapable of giving more, being less self-centered. They are preaching to her, sermonizing about valuing herself, about getting rid of you. They’re telling her that she deserves more and better, and she fucking does.
But this is one of those times where you think it’s much easier this way. You don’t have to accept responsibility for anything, including your own inability to disconnect. This way, there’s no heartbreaking confrontation. I know you really think it’s better this way; that she’s eventually going to draw her own conclusion and learn to value herself. But, in the meantime, you are scorching the earth. This method is even worse than the evil cheat-your-way-out method that seems self-explanatory enough not to have to get into. However, once your girlfriend’s self-esteem is at an all-time low, she will cobble together the courage from her self-help books and jury of friends to break up with you. Eventually she will become the hero of the story; while you are, at best, the asshole and/or, at worst, a weak little pussy. She gets to be the one who bravely put a bullet in the relationship, ending your collective. She finally says some version of “This isn’t working.” “I can’t do this by myself anymore.” “I am less scared of the unknown than I am of (you) the known.” “I thought there was something wrong with me, but now I know the thing wrong is you.” Or the most culpable: “For a long time I blamed you, but now I blame myself for not creating what I deserve.”
And as soon as she makes this sort of strength-exhibiting declaration, all of a sudden she is power personified, has a sexy backbone, a sense of self. Now, as she radiates these fantastic qualities she had to gather together, all of a sudden, because of her excellence in this moment—you want her again. Oh, yeah, this one, this strong woman is the one you fell in love with originally. You’re an ass.
Know this: throughout the time that you were starving her of love, you were also starving yourself. It’s a lose-lose. So much for your not wanting to be the bad guy.
The Drama of the Diamond
I’ve seen this go very deep before.
A grown man with a child’s nickname is always cause for trepidation. Years ago, I was in a writers’ room with an adult man nicknamed something akin to “Cubby.” At that time, people in the room were always making some major announcement or another. Seemed like every week there was a new milestone: someone getting engaged or announcing a pregnancy, having a wedding or a baby. We were all in such a state of blooming news. Anyway, Cubby, who had been in a relationship for about three years, would always avoid talking about it because engagements were popping up all around him. He felt a sidelong pressure from his girlfriend—let’s call her Beth—and also from his peers and his parents, who adored her. Everyone liked Beth; Beth was amazing, Beth was elegant. The only nagging doubt about Beth was a universal feeling that maybe
she was too normal for Cubby. Like, what was wrong with Beth that she even wanted to be with Cubby? Everyone agreed she was way too good for him.
So the whole room was very surprised when we came back from Christmas break to learn that Cubby was engaged. “What? To whom?” I kinda wondered. We were thrilled, wanted to hug and congratulate him, but he confessed it with the same whatever attitude as if he’d finally settled on what kind of new car to get. It wasn’t the car of his dreams, but it got him to destinations reliably, got good gas mileage. Cubby did like to tell the story of spending a little too much money on a ring, and the whole drama around the retelling of his engagement anecdote. The drama of the diamond, of the last-minute FedExing of the ring to her parents’ winter wilderness.
But I didn’t really get his emotional shift. I wondered, “Why now?” What changed for him between when we left for winter break (the 23rd) and December 25? Turns out, Cubby had been wracking his brain, trying to come up with a decent present for Beth. Poor Cubby just couldn’t think of anything else to get her for Christmas. They were going to be in Vermont, at her parents’ white-columned home. So Cubby, knowing he was going to be a hero for presenting a piece of ice in front of her fancy parents, stopped considering getting her a new laptop and decided to propose.