Mind Of Man: What Is This “Pegging” You Speak Of?

My editor, a fashion-forward cyborg with champagne instead of blood, asked me to write about the sexual activity “pegging,” to which I responded that I’m open-minded and fine with two consenting adults dressing up like pirates behind closed doors.

But that’s not what “pegging” means.

Abstractly, I understand why a man could be into this sexual practice. Taboos are mental chains, and nothing is sexier than liberation.

“Pegging” is when a woman wears a strap-on dildo and penetrates a man’s anus. Did you know that? Now you do. The term “pegging” was coined in a contest by pioneering sex advice columnist Dan Savage. Here’s my opinion on “pegging”: Hey, look, I just found a shiny quarter! I bet it’s a lucky quarter! I’m going to make a wish and that wish is that I don’t have to write about “pegging.”

Wishes don’t come true.

I’ll be bluntly honest and admit that “pegging” really brings out the awkward bro in me and lights up my masculine fear center like a slot machine. Every gender-normative synapses in my brain fires and I want to make jokes about how my pooper is an “exit only” orifice. Seriously, it turns me into such a homophobic frat boy that I suddenly want to watch UFC. But the rational part of me understands my apprehension to the concept probably says more about me than the practice. Twenty years ago, I might have been asked about “pegging” and gay bashed myself, and 20 years into the future, men might have evolved to the point that an average evening between male friends at the marijuana bar might end with “Gotta roll, man. My girlfriend’s strapping on the chocolate thunderbolt and I am psyched to get my guy-spot punched!”

Because I am a consummate journalist, I reached out to my friends for their opinions and here’s what I learned. All of my female friends had tons of thoughts about “pegging.” None of my male friends had any opinions. The people I asked are all educated professionals, with a couple bizarre degenerates thrown in for color, and pretty much 100 percent of the ladies had passionate reactions. The most I got out of my male friends, who range in age from mid-20s to late-30s, was one dude who typed, “I don’t know. A finger is okay?” Then both he and I shut the conversation down.

A couple of the women who I was instant messaging with wrote me New Yorker-length essays about men, sexuality and gender issues. Which was cute, but I don’t think people are conscious of their social programming. Humans are creatures of habit. We don’t really like new things. I tell you, I didn’t want to try McDonald’s McRib when it first came out. But man, am I glad I took a leap of faith, because it is the best pork gruel pressed into a grotesque rib-like shape and smothered in syrup currently on the market.

Another pair of women wondered if a man who wants to be “pegged” is, in fact, a latent homosexual. Which is vaguely offensive to gays, I think. There isn’t a “gay button” buried deep in the colon that, if pushed, unleashes the fabulous. The gay men I have met, the ones who love and dream of marrying their partner or a partner in the future, love with their hearts, not their asses.

I am not anti-butt. I support light butt-foolery. The male posterior is a network of highly sensitive nerves and dark Freudian implications. But “pegging”? I have never been “pegged,” and no one has ever asked if they can “peg” me, and I’m going to return to that last part in a moment.

Abstractly, I understand why a man could be into this sexual practice. Taboos are mental chains, and nothing is sexier than liberation.

I can only guess that it is a rush for a heterosexual man to allow himself to assume such a vulnerable position and to allow a woman to control him and be inside of him. In that sense, “pegging” is a potent toy in a game of sexual give and take. I have always hated the words “top” and “bottom.” I prefer “Senor or Senorita Grande” and “sweet biscuit.”

Would I want to be “pegged”? My gut reaction to the concept is no, no, no, no. I don’t want a mop in my bucket. I suppose in the spirit of fairness, I’d have to consider it, especially if she’d agreed to anal sex. I would hope that some honest consideration would win me some, er, brownie points and just the act of me intellectually challenging my masculine sexual stereotypes would satiate her.

I have a policy about bedroom kinks – ask and ye shall receive, after I think about it. That goes both ways. When it comes to sex, vigorous communication is preferable to emotional extortion or surprise digits and devices in orifices. If I were in a trusting sexual relationship with a woman, and she wanted to frak me doggy-style, she’d have to really, really want it for me to even address the topic. It would have to be something that turned her on, because that is what is sexy – a sexual playmate who is slippery with desire. Then, maybe, we could start slowly, maybe, after a long debate where I’d have the option to filibuster. I’d really have to love her, of course. She’d also have to be Scarlett Johansson and I’d have to fall off the wagon and bong rum. She’d probably also have to agree to a list of demands from me too, where she’d also have to thoughtfully consider a threesome or to dress up like Princess Leia and play a little game I like to play called “Jabba’s Been A Naughty Space Worm.”

Playful and honest sexual negotiation is essential for couples who want to escape the gravity of Planet Missionary. But, ultimately, you have as much right to say “please” as I do “nooooooooooooo.”

Follow John DeVore’s preening narcissism on Twitter.

Posted Under: , , , ,
  • Zergnet: Simply Irresistible

  • HowAboutWe

  • afc-right-ad

  • Popular
  • afc-right-ad-2

  • We’re Loving