It was a Saturday night, and as usual, I was at Lisa’s apartment, balancing a wine glass in one hand and a sense of reckless abandon in the other. We were celebrating her new promotion or break-up or maybe her cat’s birthday — I can’t remember. Lisa always had a reason for us to drink. The conversation, lubricated by several glasses of Merlot, inevitably turned to sex, because let’s be honest, it always does.
“I just don’t get why people make such a big deal about anal sex,” Lisa said, her eyebrows dancing suggestively.
“I used to be into it,” I replied, swirling my glass, “But I don’t do anal sex anymore.”
You’d think I’d just dropped a bombshell, given the way everyone’s head turned. The room fell silent, the kind of silence where you can almost hear the wine evaporating from your glass.
“Why not?” asked Tony, ever the inquisitive one, his eyes widening with genuine curiosity.
“Alright, settle in, everyone. It’s story time,” I announced, shifting comfortably on the couch. “You see, it all started with an ex-boyfriend, Brian. He was the kind of guy who read ‘The 4-Hour Workweek’ and thought he was a life guru. Naturally, he suggested we ‘expand our sexual horizons.’”
I took a deep breath, the memory of Brian’s overconfident grin flashing through my mind like a…
