When straight women's sex lives resemble gay men's, I'm always interested. Right now I'm reading The Sexual Life of Catherine M., an erotic memoir of a French woman who had a lot of sex—49 penises in a ten-year period which she could put a face to, but orders of magnitude greater for faceless phalluses (if I may be permitted the oxymoron)—and have just finished Toni Bentley's The Surrender, wherein a ballerina finds liberation, sexual and otherwise, by getting sodomized 298 times by "A Man". Unfortunately, it turns out, she was just dealing with daddy issues. All very reminiscent of Norman Mailer's all-time camp classic "The Time of Her Time" (a short story first published in his 1959 Advertisements for Myself).
The [!?] sexual revolution, it has been said, will have occurred when most straight men want to get pegged. On the basis of the latest episode of HBO's Girls (a younger and grittier Sex in the City) we're a ways off. Hannah is back in East Lansing from NYC, visiting her parents. She hooks up that night with Eric a cute pharmacist she knew in high school six years ago. They're under the blankets, near naked, making out:
HANNAH: What's your favorite part?
ERIC: Of what?
H: Of fucking me?
E: Don't know, I haven't done it yet.
[More making out, by which time Eric sheds the boxers he went down under the blankets with!]
ERICH: What are you doing?
HANNAH: Uhmm …
E: Please don't put your finger in my asshole!
H: You weren't telling me what it was that you wanted at all so I was just trying to guess what you wanted. You're allowed to just tell me what it is you want.
E (very patiently): I just want to have … sex.