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.