In the mid-2010s, Time’s pronouncement that America had reached the transgender tipping point overshadowed another startling edict from Salon a few months later: Ass was the new pussy.
Licking it. Suckling it. Introducing it to a curious finger. Dicking it down with fleshy and artificial phalluses. The world had caught up to Mozart, who, in 1782, penned “Leck mich im Arsch,” translated from German as “Lick me in the ass.” He probably meant kiss my ass, but who are we to presume the inner workings of a genius who loved poop and fart jokes.
Though the practice of darting fast and deep between the cheeks is indeterminably old, psychiatrist Richard von Krafft-Ebing didn’t coin the term anilingus until 1886. The Romans defined cunnilingus and fellatio for us centuries earlier.
Salon’s 2015 ass supremacy proclamation quoted porn star Asa Akira. She was right. Culturally, by then, everyone was talking and singing about tonguing ass, even the straights. Nicki Minaj sang about a guy tossing her salad in “Anaconda” around the same time disgraced NBC Nightly News anchor Brian Williams watched his daughter Allison Williams act out anilingus on the season four premiere of Girls. A father’s dream.
How times change. A month after his daughter got rimmed on TV, NBC suspended Williams because he told a BS story about Iraq, claiming that he’d been on a helicopter that was forced to land when it took rocket-propelled grenade fire. It never happened. Minaj has moved on from ass to shit—she’s gone MAGA.
Some of those who helped move ass eating into pop culture may be gone from our hearts, but rimming remains evermore. Still, I worry. Whenever a sexual practice hits the mainstream, the discussion tends to focus on licking invisible, cultural barriers and not speaking of the actual, physical barriers and practices that make sex safe. I get why. Taboos are more fun to talk about than STIs, or giardia, one of the microscopic parasites one can ingest when rambling south of the taint.
The two primary risks are sexually transmitted infections and bacteria. Australian studies have shown that men who have sex with men (MSM) were having steadily more oral-to-anal sex between the 1980s and early 2000s. An Australian study from 2016 found that among 1,312 MSM, 70.5 percent had received anilingus. The authors of the study concluded that the use of saliva during sex—from rimming and as lubricant for anal sex and fingering—“may play a key role in gonorrhea transmission in MSM.” Data from another Australian study in 2022 suggested that both kissing and rimming were “important” practices in gonorrhea transmission. We know that bacteria like shigella and campylobactor can also transmit this way.
In regard to the sex pests we’re all more familiar with—gonorrhea, syphilis, hepatitis, Mpox, and so on—anilingus is not unusually risky. But there’s risk. It’s sex.
Gonorrhea can pass from the throat to the asshole, no problem. In its early stage, syphilis spots can bloom on the mouth and tongue. Mpox, formerly known as monkeypox, is transferred by skin-to-skin contact if lesions are present. You can also catch HPV, chlamydia, herpes, hepatitis A, and hepatitis B (a lower risk) through anilingus. However, your chance of HIV infection from oral-anal contact is basically zero in the absence of bleeding gums or open sores.
If I ever had the MAHA crowd, by now I’ve lost them, so please get vaccinated against common STIs if you have the means. It’s an easy way to help yourself and your community.
Concerning heterosexuals, yet another Australian study found men were far more likely (25.5 percent) to have rimmed their partners than women (9.3 percent). Whether this has to do with straight men washing or not washing their ass cracks in the shower, I cannot speculate.
I’m not saying the data should dissuade you or anyone else from rimming. I simply believe information is both a sword and a shield. Dr. Chase Cannon, a provider at the county’s Sexual Health Clinic at Harborview, whom I called last month, didn’t want to rain on anyone’s parade either.
“Folks can have their pleasure as long as they’re being mindful,” he says.
Here’s a practical question before you go down: Hey, [partner X], are you feeling well? If the answer is “no,” give rimming a pass, at least for the night.
Joshua Lumsden, a physician assistant certified at the queer-focused clinic Capitol Hill Medical, concurred. If a partner is vomiting or having diarrhea, it’s “not a good time to fill your mouth with joy.”
There’s always the risk that partner X is sick and does not know it. Asymptomatic transmission is possible. Dr. Cannon knows this might not be the “most popular” suggestion, but he says consider using a barrier like a dental dam, or taking a regular condom, slicing it lengthwise, and laying down that raincoat like a picnic blanket between two hills. Consider a dab of lube for anal comfort.
A gentle, external wash of the anus with soap and lukewarm tap water can also reduce the chance of a bacterial infection. The poop-sensitive among us who cannot tolerate the thought of another human being discovering shit in their ass may be tempted to reach for the douche. Drop it!
Dr. Cannon says research shows douching can increase the risk of certain infections because it wears down the lining of the rectum by creating microtears and bringing immune cells to the surface. But if you must power wash your hole, opt for lukewarm tap water. Commercially available enema solutions are too harsh. As are hot water and high pressure.
And if you are using soap on the outside of your hole, avoid anything scented or dyed, as they can also carry an STI risk from irritating the rectal lining, Lumsden added. “Probably, more practically, you just don’t want an irritated butthole.”
Here are a few more wise words: While you’re washing your ass, wash your hands, and consider the order in which you do those two things. Following a sexual PEMDAS is generally a good idea. (Please Excuse My Dear Ass, Sexually.)
It is no easy task in the heat of the moment. If you’ll allow me to speak directly to your lizard brain: ass last. Pole before hole. Pink before stink. Alternating between the ass and the genitals is like inviting a UTI into your living room and offering it a tall glass of anything but cranberry juice cocktail.
If you want to rim a partner and are unsure their hygiene is up to snuff—either because you don’t know them or know them all too well—Lumsden suggests you incorporate showering into foreplay. That way, nobody gets their feelings hurt or an unpleasant, surprising flavor with a sickening after-effect.
But ass eating is not all biological. It’s a matter of the heart as well. Asking to lick someone’s ass, or asking them to lick yours, is vulnerable.
Zoey Watson-Hanson, a LICSW in Seattle, talked about how it may be easier for people seeking casual and spontaneous sex on Tinder or Feeld to ask for what they want than it is for people in established partnerships with long-term partners. It depends on how comfortable they’ve been sharing their sexual interests in the past. Either way, “what you got to do is just come right out and say it,” she says—preferably not while you’re in the middle of sex, when someone might feel more pressured.
Just be normal about it: Pick a casual setting, during a non-aroused conversation, and deliver that ask as an ask, not an ultimatum. Emphasize pleasure and consent, and let your partner ask questions. Eating ass may be simpler for you than for a germaphobe or reformed fundamentalist who connects a “dirty” act to moral impurity. In other words, you gotta go deep to get deep.
