Buttsex? But, sex!

The following is another of one of the same questions I am constantly being asked. Although it may be a little redundant to keep answering them in my columns and blog, it's a question whose answer needs to remain visible and accessible.

How do the boyfriend and I go about anal without it hurting like hell? He really wants it but I don't want the pain.

Anal sex is not supposed to hurt. If it hurts, you're doing it wrong.

Rule number one: LOTS OF LUBE. When it comes to anal, there is no such thing as too much lube.

Rule number two: RELAX. There are two sphincters in your lower colon. You have far more control over the one on the outside, let it be loose. The second will follow. Most people walk around at all times with their assholes clenched tight. This is not healthy! Learn to relax your butt.
I would never recommend having anal sex while drunk, especially not for the first time, but having a drink or two, and only a drink or two, could help loosen you up all over. This includes your inhibitions and your sphincters.

Rule number three: COMMUNICATION. Go slow. Verbalize your feelings to your partner. Whoever is on the bottom needs to be in control. The bottom needs to say exactly what feels good and what doesn't. They need to dictate the depth and speed of the penetration. The top needs to oblige the bottom for buttsexing to be successful.

Rule number four: CONDOMS. Bums are yucky. Also, the fragile anal tissue is more prone to tearing than vaginal tissue is. If you're doing it right, there shouldn't be any tears, but just in case - be safe! Broken skin on one's genitals is the easiest way to transfer an STI or STD. A condom will greatly prevent this possibility.


The best way to prepare or "train" yourself for anal sex is to stimulate the outside of your anus, either on your own or have a partner do it. Use lube and your fingers. When you're ready, slide a single finger in and get used to that feeling. Try using plugs and vibrators of varying size to get yourself used to having something a little larger up there.


Finally: Even though anal sex can be uncomfortable, it should never hurt. If it hurts, stop. Pain is your body's way of telling you that something is wrong. Don't let it stop you from trying again, though. It's possible that the person doing the penetrating has been blessed with a penis that is just too damn big to fit in your butt. Lucky you. Enjoy it where it actually fits.

Fare Well, My Love.

I am the type of person who always has music on. It's not just for ambiance. I like to attentively listen to the heartbeat that is the bassline, the palpitations of the drums and the salacious sound of a human being using their voice as an instrument, turning poetry in to a whole new art.

I know, I know. I'm an artsy-fartsy sap.

Sometimes I get fixated on one song that, excuse the cliché, speaks to me.

Today it was "Four Letter Word" by Gossip.

After listening to it 19 times, according to my iTunes play count, I decided to press that handy little Genius button that creates a playlist for you.

Most Genius playlists are unimpressive and lackluster. This one, however, was so perfect that I listened to the whole thing without skipping a song and nearly cried at the end as The Kills' Black Balloon played. I'm not one to cry, ever. Bad girls don't cry.

This is my playlist.
Love it.
I do. More than I've loved anything in a long time.

Four Letter Word - Gossip
Tape Song - The Kills
Hold On - Hot Chip
Teeth - Lady Gaga
Taste In Men - Placebo
Heavy Cross - Gossip
Get Myself In To It - The Rapture
Feel The Love - Cut Copy
Front Row - Metric
Careless Whisper - Gossip
Of Moons, Birds and Monsters - MGMT
Jimmy - M.I.A.
Konichiwa, Bitches - Robyn
No Wow (MSTRKRFT Remix) - The Kills
Without You I'm Nothing - Placebo feat. David Bowie
In The Privacy Of Our Love - Hot Chip
The Bitter End - Placebo
Hearts On Fire - Cut Copy
Whoo! Alright-Yeah...Uh Huh - The Rapture
Man - Yeah Yeah Yeahs
Pop Goes The World - Gossip
Where Is Home? - Bloc Party
Sex Bomb - Spinnerette
Nantes - Beirut
Black Balloon - The Kills

It is these last two songs that sum up the whole playlist and tug on my heart strings. If you're only going to look up 3 of these songs, please pick the first one and the last 2.

Your Dime, My time.

Sexual confidence emanates with every click of a woman's high heel. Click, clack, click, clack. Heaven forbid she runs, delicately pounding out a Morse code mating call.

My own high-heel boots are clicking almost inaudibly over the music in my headphones as I walk down York Street in Ottawa. I'm walking an all-too-familiar stretch, Eastbound from The Dominion Tavern. If I hadn't known better, I'd have thought I was walking to my ex-boyfriend's apartment. For a moment, I forgot that his place was not my destination. In that moment, something shiny caught my eye.

A dime.

What a beautiful piece of Canadiana.

Dimes haven't always been significant to me, but for the past few years they have meant more than a stack of hundred dollar bills ever could. At this particular point in time, all you need to know is that, to me, finding a dime is a sign. It's rarely a warning, but a reminder that someone is watching over me. I tend to find them when I am uncertain about something. A job, a lover, a purchase, decisions big and small - the dimes guide me.

The dime on York Street, a rare occurrence thanks to the resident crackheads and panhandlers in that area, is an unignorable sign.

I pick up my shiny treasure and cut through a parking lot towards Rideau Street. I have no more business on York Street tonight.

Later in the evening, right before boarding a Greyhound back to Montreal, I drop some currency from my pocket. Of all the change that's been burning a hole in my coat for days - only two dimes fall to the ground.

Surely I'm making the right decision.

My high heeled boots are sitting by the door. I will put the on again tomorrow. I'm sure they'll be clicking a more confident tune than they have been for quite a while.

Is this what 6am is for?

Molson Dry 8.5 goes down like water to me.

I like to blame (or accredit) my French-Canadian heritage for this but I know other Francos who can't handle the stuff.
Maybe I'm just dirty.

I'm sure that when you imagine the personal life of a burlesque performer you don't envision a girl sitting on her couch in a dirty wife-beater at 6am, swilling from a 40.

But this is who I am, or rather, where I am.

I can't sleep tonight. I say it's for a multitude of reasons, but the simple fact is that I am packing up my life and moving again. A mere four months after the last time I relocated.

I hate moving, but I love packing. At least, I usually do.

There's something very zen about taking the time and care to properly arrange one's belongings in a box like Tetris pieces. Everything in its place. It's almost poetic how my eclectic collection of souvenirs and evidence of a life lived fit together perfectly, erotically. Like a couple meant to be together; Like falling asleep inside of the one you love.

When something doesn't fit, I wonder if it even belongs in my life.

I am pack-rat living the life of a hermit crab; A nomad in desperation of belonging

I've been putting off packing. I fear it won't offer me the serenity it usually does. I know that I need to rid myself of a lot of my belongings before I can move again - but I can't bring myself to part with many of them.

I have a small stack of books resting carefully on my headboard: Unmarketable, Dandy in the Underworld, Portrait of Dorian Grey and The Elements of Style.

I have started all of them, nearly finished a couple and have fully skimmed through one. Each having its own meaning to me. Why else would I have 4 books on standby? These books fit neatly in a stack on my headboard, but I can't bear the thought of cramming them in to a box.

What if they don't fit neatly, perfectly?

What if these 4 books aren't the interpretive summation of myself that I have deemed them to be?

What if I go back and I still don't belong?

I can't get Molson 8.5 in Ottawa.

I Need Your Help

UPDATE: I have sold a number of pieces already. Thank you so much to all of you who have helped me out! I've still got a ways to go. If you haven't taken a look yet at what I have for sale, please do so here: http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=185861599969&ref=mf Thank you!


You may have seen blogs recently like HelpOttawaSteph, wherein the person behind the blog sheds their pride and asks for donations from whomever is kind-hearted enough to donate money to help them get out of a miserable situation they've gotten themself into.

I won't lie, I've never donated to any of these. Just like I don't give money to pan-handlers. However, I've always been a firm believer in giving money to those who are willing to work for it. If you're on a streetcorner with a guitar, at least you're doing something. If I have some change to spare (which I rarely do) I will give it to you. As a struggling writer and artist, there's nothing I can relate to more than starving for your work.

Now it's my turn. I've gotten myself in to a ridiculous set of circumstances.

I had just gotten myself [nearly] out of credit card debt when my apartment was destroyed by a flood [caused by firemen putting out the apartment upstairs that was destroyed by fire] and OC Transpo went on strike. I racked myself up a sizeable debt just by finding places to stay and paying for transportation to get to and from work. I was such an emotional wreck, though, that I could hardly make it through a whole day of work and thus my paycheques were abysmal.

I managed to scrape by with minimum payments for the next year. Because of the misery I endured at the hands of these circumstances that were out of my control, I became very irate with Ottawa. I no longer wanted to live there. A large part of me still doesn't. I vowed to get the fuck out of dodge and started planning to move to Montreal.

Not that I managed to save any money. My vacation pay came at a good time and I used that to pay for a moving van.

I will point out that I had been promised a job before I moved, but, like everything else in my life, it fell through. I have not been able to find stable work. I have been here [Montreal] for 3 months and I can not get the creditors off my back. I am finally being taken to collections, several times over.

I will not explicitly blame anyone else for my situation. I made these decisions, but I would not have made these decisions if it had not been for the bus strike. I would not have gone back in to such serious debt.

So here I am, broke, depressed and in Montreal for another 5 weeks. My mother's been kind enough to lend me enough money to catch up on rent, but I still need to come up with the funds to rent a u-haul and to get the creditors off my back for a month or so.

This is where you come in.

I do NOT want donations. I would not feel good about myself taking them. I will gladly accept if you want to overpay for a piece of art, however.

With nothing but time on my hands, I will be creating as much as I can and I ask, nay, beg you to buy a piece if you like it.

I paint and I make pasties, facinators and other burlesque accessories. I can do custom work. I am better at custom accessories than paintings, as I prefer to paint from the heart, but if you like my style and want something specific, I can try my best to make it happen for you. I'm also an excellent vegan baker, but alas, I have no oven and can't offer cupcakes & the like from here. I can promise that there will be cupcakes aplenty for everyone who helps me out, once I am back in Ottawa.

I'm not putting a price on anything - I'd like for you to make an offer if you like something. If I think it's too much or too little, I will be sure to let you know.

Thanks for reading. Below are a few examples of what I have available for sale. I am going to create a facebook event with more photos, I'll post that link once it's ready.

I can be reached via ask.raw.knee@gmail.com

Thank you.