Stepping to the Rear: Backdoor Basics

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You have sexy questions? Eugene has sexy answers. Write. Now:

Your Anal Primer 

EUGENE, SIR: I was just reading your response to the letter from Jordan Barbeau (“Anal Adversaries”). What I’ve written below is based solely on my personal experience as a woman who engaged regularly in anal sex at some point in her past. There may be nothing new under the sun, but once in a while, there may be something you just haven’t heard before.

First of all, let me say that I was very fortunate to love a man whose favorite phrase was “Would you be interested in …?” and who always let it go if I said that I wasn’t interested in whatever he was suggesting. In any case, almost 30 years ago, he and I decided to try anal sex because we were both experimentalists and believed that you can’t have a valid opinion about something unless you’ve tried it. We always used a condom because the flora and fauna that belong in the digestive tract DO NOT BELONG in the urinary tract, and he didn’t want to accidentally get some horrific infection in his penis. We also always used a lot of lubricant because the anus is like a one-way valve that evolved to discharge certain things, but was never designed to voluntarily admit anything going in the wrong direction and certainly not something as large as an erect penis.

We tried three different anal entry positions.

Position 1: From behind, with me on my hands and knees.

Results: It was boring and did not result in any pleasure for me. It was not painful in any way either, so I would not counsel against this position.

Position 2: Also from behind, but with me lying facedown.

Results: It changed the angle of entry and was extremely painful, as in PAINFUL! It was not quite as painful once the penis was fully inserted, but the pain never stopped. I also experienced some tearing and bleeding even though we took things very slowly and used lots of lubrication. The next day, I woke up with hemorrhoids, which lasted three or four days and which were even more painful than the anal sex had been. I would counsel avoiding Position 2 under all circumstances.

Position 3: The traditional missionary position, with me flat on my back, my knees pulled up as high as possible. The only change from traditional sex was the insertion of the penis into my anus instead of into my vagina.

Results: Mind-blowing! It was addictive. First of all, there was no pain — none. Apparently, the angle of entry makes all the difference. And then there was the pleasure, the mind-blowing pleasure. Having sex face to face but with his penis in my anal cavity sandwiched my clitoris between us in a way that caused incredibly strong and pleasurable clitoral stimulation. The presence of his penis in my anal cavity combined with the weight of his body on top of mine simultaneously stimulated my G-spot, and stimulated it much more strongly than I had ever experienced during vaginal sex.

Imagine having two orgasms at the same time, and then imagine that each one is at least twice as intense as what you normally experience: That is what Position 3 was like for me.

It was so intensely pleasurable that it was almost painful. When it was over, I felt as if I were an electric circuit that had experienced such a strong power surge that it had tripped my circuit breaker and I couldn’t function anymore. I literally couldn’t move. Every nerve and muscle in my body was so relaxed that I couldn’t even lift my hand or twitch my fingers, let alone roll over or sit up.

Position 3 anal sex was so much more pleasurable than vaginal sex that I personally would never waste my time having vaginal sex again unless I wanted to get pregnant. And after my first experience with it, it was consistently my choice of activity every time it was my turn to choose what type of sex we had. I cannot imagine that there is any drug in existence that could make me feel as much pleasure as having anal sex in Position 3 did. A potential bonus, at least from a man’s point of view, was that Position 3 was quick! It was so intensely stimulating to all my lady bits that it became a game between us to see how long I could hold out before I couldn’t help but orgasm. No wonder I was addicted to it.

So, that’s what I can tell you about anal sex from a woman’s point of view. I hope it is in some way interesting, enlightening and/or new. — RM

Dear Regional Management: Thanks for sharing your rectal remembrances!

Peg of My Heart?

EUGENE, SIR: I’m a man who likes butt play. Is there a way to bring this up without freaking out my partners? Historically, I’ve had only a 10 percent success rate. Maybe I’m just saying something wrong? — Name withheld by request

Dear Buttie System: It may be that anyone’s success in getting their averagely heterosexual female partner to don a strap-on and peg him or in any other way stimulate his anus, could only be 10 percent. And that might be aggressive if the letters we get are any indication of what’s lurking in the hearts, and butts, of men. How to drive that number higher? Ask more often and choose partners who better accord with what you, and your ass, need. Good luck!

Bottoms Up!

EUGENE, SIR: I think it should be mandatory for men to have their partners put a dildo up their butts at least once. Just for some perspective. Could help. Won’t hurt. Well, not much anyway, right? — “Carly”

Dear Ms. “Fiorina”: I see what you did there. Clever. And I support your premise for those who are willing. But really and realistically, sex is supposed to be FUN. Tonally, your letter suggests it is anything but. In fact, the way you cast it? It sounds downright punitive. To what end? To make men more understanding? Is the road to understanding now populated with dildo’d bottoms? Perhaps a key to why ignorance is bliss.

Don’t Call Him the Next Aziz Ansari

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As Ravi Patel reviews the lines at the top of his curriculum vitae — actor, producer, writer, snack-bar entrepreneur — he sums them up in an unlikely, unassuming fashion: “I’m at the cusp of an existential crisis.” 

We could say the same of Hollywood these days. It’s been a banner year for conversations in Tinseltown about actors like Patel: Asian-Americans, long underrepresented in both cinema and television, often mocked, and now seeing a rise in prominence in media thanks to comedians like Mindy Kaling and this year’s Netflix star Aziz Ansari. Patel, who appeared on Ansari’s hit Master of None, has come up through the ranks of a changing industry that was not always ready to receive him in full color. Today, the 37-year-old is gaining a higher profile thanks to a successful documentary project, Meet the Patels  (2014), about his hunt for an arranged marriage, which pulled in more than $1.5 million at the box office.

Patel’s now trying dramatic roles, including a stint on Grey’s Anatomy. And he’s working on “This Bar Saves Lives,” a non-GMO snack bar that donates its proceeds to feeding children in the developing world. Patel’s next big vision: a journalistic-style comedy show (he’s mum on more details). He’s also writing a feature version of Meet the Patels with his sister, Geeta, hoping to go into production in 2017. Running through Patel’s work, past and future, is a reckoning with identity, and all that goes into playing beyond stereotypes.

Ten years ago, Patel had little room for nuance. While still working in finance, he landed a commercial that provided enough visibility for him to earn a Screen Actors Guild card, the holy grail most budding actors hope to achieve as they wait tables and tend bar. Then came a role as a hapless Indian call center operator in the first installment of Transformers. Patel’s friend, Los Angeles-based actor Sunkrish Bala, recounts the first time Patel took the stage while covering for former Daily Show  correspondent Aasif Mandvi to host a South Asian arts night. It was Patel’s first time trying stand-up, but “he had people rolling in their seats.” His bits are familiar; he mimicked a fresh-off-the-boat Indian, but then called out the audience. “You guys have all done the Indian accent, I’m sure. I don’t want to hear it. I’m better at it than you are.”

Patel’s been critiqued for his choice to play stereotypically “Indian” roles.

Transformers would lead Patel to Bones and Hawaii Five-0, and eventually to funding for Meet the Patels, which recounts his own story of searching for an Indian bride with his parents, the eponymous Patels. It became a surprise hit. Journalist and editor Parimal Rohit, who has spent the past eight years covering the Indian-American film scene in Los Angeles, says it worked because “the story dovetailed nicely with what white Americans think of Indians, and it was done in a very comedic way that made it easy to relate to.”

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The Meet the Patels cast with Ravi Patel’s real life parents

Source Courtesy of Meet the Patels

Patel and his sister were raised in North Carolina by hardworking immigrants from the western state of Gujarat. While Geeta expressed an interest in filmmaking during college, her brother majored in economics and international studies (fittingly stable for the son of an engineer). Ravi might never have landed where he is today without his sister. While Patel’s parents weren’t thrilled at the idea of him being an actor versus an investment banker (his first career), he recalls that early success with roles assuaged some of his parents’ concerns. 

Patel’s been critiqued — including publicly by Ansari, who didn’t reply to requests for comment — for his choice to play stereotypically “Indian” roles, from that call center employee to the doctor; in Master of None, Patel’s and Ansari’s characters engage in a debate about the pros and cons of such roles. Other actors are quick to decry the accusation: “In order to make inroads into the industry, you have to do roles you might not do otherwise,” says Bala. Another colleague, Raj Sharma, adds: “If you say no, there are 15 other actors who’ll say yes. I remember being at auditions, and some of them saying that this gig was their rent.” 

Patel is unapologetic about the roles he takes. “I definitely play to my brand,” he says, “because I know it affects the opportunities I get.” But now he has those long-awaited opportunities, and he’s thinking of larger questions, of the bigger American society. 

In one scene in Meet the Patels, very close to the end, Patel’s animated avatar is speaking on-screen, discussing how he lied to his mother about his white American girlfriend. He speaks plainly, simply, without hurt or wound. It’s an impactful moment that is juxtaposed by Patel’s jokester persona, and one that goes beyond stereotypes — it’s just good storytelling.

What It’s Like Being a Conflict Minerals Specialist

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In this occasional series, OZY takes to streets and neighborhoods across the globe to ask a simple question: “How was your day?” This story was shared with OZY via email. 

Andreina Rojas, conflict minerals specialist, Intel Corporation
Scottsdale, Arizona

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Andreina Rojas

Source Intel Photographer

When I went to Indonesia for my first smelter visits, I learned that the country is very rich in tin — you can actually grab a handful of sand in some regions that is already 70 percent tin — so it has many tin smelters.

As you can imagine, a common question I get from smelters in Indonesia is, “Why do I have to do this audit? Why would we import or smuggle tin from the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC) when we have so much of it here?” The market price of tin has fallen dramatically, so it truly doesn’t make economic sense for an Indonesian smelter to import tin. Even though we know Indonesian smelters are very low-risk for this reason, we still have to get them audited — and this is where my job gets interesting.

Just to clarify, “conflict minerals” are tin, tungsten, tantalum and gold, which are abundant in the DRC and have been used by armed groups to fund a deadly, ongoing war. Intel is able to track conflict-free tin from the DRC through the bag-and-tag system, an in-region program in the DRC that tags and gives bar codes to minerals that come from certified conflict-free mines.  

While the Intel name gets me a meeting with smelters, we are not their direct customer, and it’s hard to convince someone to invest money and time in yearly audits without getting something in return. It takes establishing relationships with the smelters, speaking with them face-to-face and showing them that we are committed to this cause. Not only is this important in convincing smelters to join the first time around, but to make sure they stay in the program. It also allows us to keep connections on the ground, which are important to continue our work and understand the state of the different industries. Every smelter that joins the program is a big achievement. We have seen smelters go from being absolutely opposed to joining the program, to being some of our biggest advocates. Some smelters can take years to come around, so we know to never stop working on them. One of the most exciting experiences for me was recruiting the first smelter of a specific region to join. In many cases, smelters are motivated by the fact that their competitors are getting certified. When that pressure isn’t there, it takes a lot more work to convince them.


Andreina Rojas (left) with members of a pre-audit visit to a smelter in Indonesia.

I’ve only been at Intel for a year and a half, but it feels like much longer. During that time, I have visited smelters in the U.S., Japan, Indonesia and the United Arab Emirates. I have learned so much in such a small amount of time about not only metals and industries, but about cultures and people in general. I’ve also learned to be persistent — if a smelter doesn’t answer your email, you better get creative in finding a way to get in touch with them.

“You can’t be offended — I’m there to do a job, and taking things like that personally will get in the way.” 

In my travels, I’ve also encountered many different obstacles. First of all, I’m usually the youngest person in the room, and I have also visited countries where it’s very unusual for a woman to be sitting across the table negotiating. At one of my very first meetings, someone asked me, “How is it that Intel sent a woman to do this?” You can’t be offended — I’m there to do a job, and taking things like that personally will get in the way. It is important to have an open mind and be prepared for the place you are visiting. I am there to influence and convince, so I have to make sure I’m prepared to adapt to different customs and situations.

It’s very interesting and exciting work, not to mention rewarding — the job isn’t easy, but it’s a lot easier when you know the quality of other people’s lives might be better because of it. Another one of my favorite things about this job is that the electronics industry truly collaborates to make a difference. In my day-to-day work, I frequently collaborate with people at other companies to establish contact with smelters and set up visits. 

Being from Venezuela, I know that natural resources can be both a blessing and a curse. It is unbelievable that a country so rich in minerals can go through so much misery, yet you will meet incredible people who are proud of the DRC and will go to amazing lengths to empower their people and work to make their country better. On a personal level, I go to work every day motivated by these people — and everyone who is part of this movement.

At this year’s OZY Fest, we shared an important new documentary, Merci Congo, that examines the tragedy facing the Congo through the eyes of several impassioned activists who are struggling to bring peace to a nation that’s known only war.  For more information on how you can see the film, go to

This World War II Starlet Can’t Stop Dancing

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In this occasional series, OZY takes to streets and neighborhoods across the globe to ask a simple question: “How was your day?”

Marie Dionyse Masselink
Burlingame, California

My granddaughters call me their “freaky, creepy, weirdo” grandma because I love dance, calypso. I grew up in Trinidad, was born in Port-au-Spain. Not just calypso, though, also Tahitian hula, tango, anything. I mean, I started taking ballet when I was 37. I was in class with 7-year-olds. I went from beginner to intermediate to advanced. I did a lot of TV and film in old Hollywood. I’m 86 now, the oldest of six. My five brothers are all still alive, and they would still be putting cockroaches in my shoes if they lived closer.


Marie Dionyse Masselink with Leonard Nimoy

Source Courtesy of Marie Dionyse Masselink

I was working at the Pasadena Playhouse while dancing all over Los Angeles when I was 17. The Little Club, places in Beverly Hills. Before then, my father had wanted his children to get an English education, and as he felt like the war was winding down, he moved us to England in 1944. Just in time to get us caught up in the German bombing of England. Seeing planes with swastikas on them as we ran for the tube station is something I remember like it was yesterday. So my father made a mistake there, even if I was getting to perform at the Old Vic. But we stayed until after the war, then headed back to Trinidad. In Trinidad I was doing radio and fell in love. My parents shipped me off to Los Angeles so I wouldn’t get married. 

LA was great. I was in movies with Jean Simmons, who cursed like a sailor. I was on a TV show, The Adventures of Jim Bowie, which was a Western, before your time. I worked with Judi Dench, who you know, of course. I danced more than I acted, though, because by Hollywood standards I was cute. I was, maybe, adorable, but I was not beautiful. As long as I could dance, though, I was happy.

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Source Courtesy of Marie Dionyse Masselink

My third husband — Ben Masselink, you should look him up, he was quite a good writer — and I were together for 30 years before he died. Now I’m about to walk over to my grandchildren’s school to do traffic duty. I take care of my daughter’s three children, my grandchildren, when I am not doing that. And now tango. I am having a wonderful day and feel lucky to be having it.

The Cycling Hero Who Took Down Lance Armstrong

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The camera lingered as the lanky cyclist hesitated on the side of the road, his hands twitching on the handlebars as he glanced back at the hill he’d just struggled to climb. Seconds later, Greg LeMond quit the hardest race in the world. He’d already won it three times, but he had been trailing this year’s leaders by minutes — an impossible margin at this point in the Tour de France.

When journalists caught up with him, the 33-year-old American sounded resigned. “Just one hill too many,” he admitted to a New York Times reporter in the hotel room he shared with teammate Lance Armstrong. “I ran out of juice.” No one realized it that day in 1994, but that seemingly innocuous phrase from one of the world’s greatest cyclists would prove ominously foreshadowing.

LeMond now holds the loaded title of America’s last cycling hero. He’s the first non-European to make it big in the sport, and now the only American to have won the Tour de France fair and square. But there’s a reason people outside of cycling circles don’t know his name: After he abandoned the 1994 Tour, he took a very different road — one that helped expose the 21st century’s biggest sports scandal.

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Former Tour winner Greg LeMond poses in the middle of the Champs-Élysées following the 21st and last stage of the 2014 Tour de France, a 134 km individual time trial staged between Évry and the Champs-Élysées in Paris on July 27, 2014. 

Source Jean Catuffe/Getty Images

… Armstrong’s victories were impossible feats and that doping was standard practice in professional cycling.

“LeMond should be remembered as American cycling’s true icon — not only for being the first U.S. Tour de France winner, but also for the manner in which he raced and challenged the sport’s integrity,” says cycling blogger Beth Dempsey. But the reality of his legacy, Dempsey explains, is far more complicated.

A geeky, wide-eyed young cyclist who took Europe’s old-school sporting scene by storm, LeMond’s wins often had a larger-than-life quality. In 1986, he emerged victorious from a Greek drama–esque rivalry with his teammate Bernard Hinault, a stocky, ferocious Frenchman and five-time Tour winner nicknamed “The Badger.” LeMond also had his own miraculous comeback story: Two years after a hunting accident nearly killed him, he returned to the 1989 Tour to beat another French rival, Laurent Fignon, by just eight seconds. As LeMond and his wife, Kathy, clung to each other giddily at the finish, the older Fignon collapsed, sobbing. It looked like the New World had decisively made it in cycling.

LeMond’s abrupt retirement in 1994, then, was a bit like a dream deferred. Many felt he could’ve won more races if he hadn’t been interrupted by injuries. It was a shame, people said, but at least he’d cracked open the sport for young non-European hopefuls like Armstrong.

LeMond got involved with real estate and restaurant management, did public appearances and founded his own bike line. But as his American successors started eating up the road, LeMond began to sense that something was wrong. The first hint of trouble came after the 2001 Tour de France, when LeMond first spoke out against Armstrong, who was at the height of his reign.

LeMond’s problem? Michele Ferrari, an Italian doctor and a coach notorious for doping, who Armstrong had inexplicably hired. “This is not sour grapes,” LeMond said then, shrugging off requests to comment further. “I’m disappointed in Lance, that’s all it is.” But no one wanted to hear it. Cycling had been transformed by a drug scandal in 1998, supposedly the tail end of the doping that had started in earnest as LeMond was finishing his career. Drug tests had changed, Armstrong was winning and Americans were pouring money into cycling. “The questioning of Armstrong lacks dignity,” sniffed Tour de France organizer Jean-Marie Leblanc.

A week after LeMond’s remarks, Armstrong reportedly called his former teammate and threatened him: Say anything else, LeMond alleged that Armstrong implied, and your drug-free reputation and bike business are in jeopardy. According to journalist David Walsh’s memoir, Seven Deadly Sins: My Pursuit of Lance Armstrong, this was the start of Armstrong’s permanent impact on LeMond’s legacy. But as Armstrong kept winning, LeMond’s suspicions deepened — as did his conviction to speak out.

LeMond’s anti-doping stance quickly infiltrated his personal life. Trek dropped its sponsorship of his bike business. Die-hard fans and respected cycling publications turned against him, and Armstrong repeatedly tried to undermine his reputation. LeMond stopped showing up at the Tour de France. But he remained on course, even confronting Armstrong at press conferences, where he always appeared earnest and eager to get to the truth.

The extent of the toll this campaign had on LeMond became clear in 2007, when he testified at the U.S. Anti-Doping Agency arbitration against Floyd Landis, the previous year’s Tour de France winner and suspected doper. LeMond had damning evidence: Landis had implicitly admitted to doping during a phone call with LeMond. LeMond coaxed Landis into talking by disclosing that he’d been sexually abused as a child and knew what it was like to be eaten up by a secret. Healing, LeMond advised, could begin by coming clean. Landis’ coach responded by reportedly trying to harass LeMond out of testifying — incredibly, by pretending to be LeMond’s abuser in a crank call. Landis was later stripped of his title.

When Armstrong’s doping finally came to light, LeMond briefly resurfaced. Heavier and gray-haired, he seemed tired as he explained what he’d been saying for years: Armstrong’s victories were impossible feats and that doping was standard practice in professional cycling. Despite the vindication, restoring LeMond’s winning reputation remains an uphill battle.

(Neither Armstrong nor LeMond responded to OZY’s requests for comments.)