Everything I Know About Butt Sex, I Learned From My Neighbor

girls talking
Sex, Self

It's tight as a girdle on my Aunt Ginny.

Every evening at 9PM, I put on my sports bra and nylon shorts, lace up my Nikes, and step onto my front porch. I see my best friend and neighbor waiting for me beneath the street light at the end of our cove. I give her a wave, stretch my legs, and jog her way.

We're training for a marathon that neither one of us thinks we will actually finish. I'm convinced I'll pass out before I make it to the first beverage station and she's sure she'll plummet to the concrete soon after. But we are training every night, nonetheless. Since running, we feel better, look better, and really want those coveted 26.2 bumper stickers on the back glass of our grocery-getters.

We can actually speak while we run now, which is an improvement from our early days of barely panting, "Are you okay?" after 5 minutes of light jogging. 

So we dive right into the girl talk. 

We usually start off discussing the children and how they did in school that day, our thoughts on the newest lice outbreak, and how we feel about the soccer coach. I think he's hot. My neighbor thinks his teeth are weird. 

Then we talk about our husbands.

I bitch about mine forgetting to take out the garbage and she bitches about hers eating like a toddler. She said he left pretzel crumbs all over the floor. We both hate that.

Then we feel slightly guilty for complaining about them, so we redeem ourselves by praising them for being the hard-working, faithful, caring (albeit forgetful and messy) guys that they really are. 

But then our topic of conversation turns to sex. It always turns to sex.

My friend has four children. They are all two years apart, her oldest is 8 and her youngest is 2. Having so many big-headed healthy babies in such a short amount of time has left her, well, stretched (for lack of a better word).

I have two kids, and my vagina certainly isn't as fit as it was in my college days, but I haven't experienced quite the dilemma that she has. To hear her tell it, her nether regions are so sloppy since child birth that her vulva practically lounges in her underwear.

I am curious. I would like to have more children, and I want to know the fate of my crotch. I ask her to tell me more.

As our heart rates climb and perspiration drips down our boobs, she says the only way for her husband to achieve a snug fit is to enter through the back door. The mental picture of her large bald significant other, who I think resembles The Rock, taking her from behind on their Pottery Barn quilt causes me to flinch a bit and break my stride.

As somewhat of a prude, I've always assumed that the back door is exit only, but she assures me that it's most definitely not. 

"It's tight as a girdle on my Aunt Ginny," she says. "It's amazing."

I can't imagine anything sensual coming from the same orifice where dirty things happen on the toilet, but she says it's extremely pleasurable for them both. While going at it back there, he's been known to sing 80s love ballads while she begs for more. 

It's time for us to slow our pace. We pant and welcome the crisp night air against our sweaty, heart-palpitating bodies, but I can't stop thinking about my friend's favorite sex position. We walk past the quiet, dark houses in our neighborhood and I wonder who else is using the back door this evening.

"Oh, you'd be surprised," she says.

And I'm sure I would.


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