To Bleach or Not To Bleach, That is The Question
To Bleach or Not To Bleach, That is The Question
Not particularly turned on by Porn and unable to answer a majority of the questions it raises, I instead choose to ruminate on one: Should I bleach my asshole?
It doesn’t seem to matter what type of Porn it is, whether I view it alone or with someone else, I’m always left mulling over one specific question; should I bleach my asshole? It’s not the only question I have. Unfortunately, Porn has the ability to stimulate my brain far more than my pussy setting off an endless stream of questions like…
Why is it that no one ever needs to remove a tampon or pee before
How did they get into porn?
Is that the sound of pleasure?
Is a gang-bang scene actually feminist?
Do their friends and family know they are starring in Porn?
Did the feminist wars that originated over the start of Porn, ever determine a winner?
Not particularly turned on and unable to answer a majority of the questions, I choose instead to ruminate on the one about bleaching my asshole.
Where do you get the product? Is it a cream? Does it burn? Who could I ask without them knowing.
All the while in the background I can hear Kanye West:
Now if I fuck this model
And she just bleached her asshole
And I get bleach on my T-shirt
I'mma feel like an asshole
Years ago there was a couple who had taken an interest in me. Unfortunately for them, likely more me, the idea of couple or partner play did not pique my interest. For no other reason than pure laziness. Sounded like a lot of moving parts, taking turns and waiting. One night, while casually chilling on my couch watching Breaking Bad, my phone chimed. When I opened to see the text, I was faced with an image of said husband and wife with his cock aiming directly at her asshole.
Her very white, bright asshole. Not blinding white, but white enough for me to think brown things have never come close to her rectal skin.
Does she bleach, I wondered? I didn’t ask because I was also slightly put out that here I was on my couch on a Friday night watching Breaking Bad and they interrupted me.
I’ve thought about that ‘me’ on the couch more than a few times over the years. Especially after I’ve dated someone and realized I don’t really want all the relationship stuff, and how I might have missed out on a great opportunity.
Maybe a couple was the answer. I could’ve just had fun, unattached, kinky sex. Maybe she could have told me what cream to use and how often.
While talking to a friend on the phone about all things writing, sex workers, aNd Playboy Centerfold, I mentioned my stream of consciousness about Porn leaving me to question if I should bleach my butthole. I think I said asshole. It didn’t matter because he was quick to interrupt me.
Wait wait wait, he said. My friends and I talk about this all the time.
Reassuring, I thought to myself.
Did you know there is a chart? He screamed laughing.
What do you mean by a chart, I asked.
It’s an anal bleaching chart with a variety of labeled shades! Here, you have to see this. I’m sending it now.
Stop it! I said as I came to a full stop on my walk.
Do you mean like they use at the dentist's office when you are getting your teeth whitened and they hold up a mold of teeth from bright white to coffee/wine stained?
YES! He said.
So I’m not the only one, I thought…
I flashed back to having my teeth whitened a few weeks ago. I was sitting in a reclining chair, with a bright light shining towards my mouth. The practitioner had placed a mouth guard on the interior of my lips forcing them to spread wide enough to reveal only my gums and teeth.
Standing above me, she held a mold of teeth up next to my mouth. With a smile she asked me to point to the tooth that I thought most closely resembled my teeth. At the very least, I knew I was the shade of coffee every day. I began feeling insecure in the moment that if I said that, she might not agree and nudge me towards coffee and chocolate everyday.
Embarrassed, I played it off like I was unqualified.
I tried to say, Gosh, I’m not sure. Can you tell me what you think?, but mostly drooled on myself. Looking down at me with her head tilted, she smiled and said, What about this one?
Uh huh, I moaned and nodded, simultaneously using my bib to wipe at the corners of my mouth.
I started to envision myself on all fours, looking back at an anal whitening practitioner asking me what shade I thought my asshole was. Would they have a tiny camera displaying the results on a large screen monitor in front of their patients so they could co-create the right shade? I could only imagine the experience would be much more humiliating.
I also imagined soft wipes on the counter and a card telling you how to prep before everyone takes their position.
The day came and I summoned the courage to order some skin bleaching cream from a doctor friend of mine. As vaguely as I could, I told her I wanted some lightening cream for sensitive parts of my skin that had dark spots. She didn’t inquire for more information, leaving me to believe she absolutely knew why I wanted it.
That quickly became the least of my worries.
I went to Peoples Pharmacy, an all natural grocery and supplement store that also fills prescriptions, to pick it up. Per protocol, the technician asked if she could go over the precautionary information and possible side effects.
Absolutely fucking not, I thought, but didn’t say that. I told her I was good, grabbed the brown bag and with my head down, quickly walked out of the store with my goods.
Once home I walked straight into my bathroom. I looked at the tiny little prescription bottle and opened it. It was full of a light white cream. I put my finger in it and felt around. It felt cool. What if I just bleached the tip of my finger first? Get an idea of what might happen. I found myself hesitating and filling with doubt.
My mind went back to the anal bleaching chart. Would it be noticeable to anyone down there? What shade am I starting at? What is my desired shade? How would I know what shade was natural for me?
I’ve seen that episode of Friends where Ross bleaches his teeth and they glow in the dark. The fear of my asshole lighting the room up like a lighthouse became very real.
Faced with starting the process, I realized Step One actually meant I would have to confront my own asshole in the mirror. Which seems like one small step for a woman, but was a giant step for me to take for mankind. It was a dark truth I wasn’t willing to face that day.