parryblog . home . posts


humor \ 2012-03-08

When I signed up to work in a nature reserve on the border of China and Russia, I was told to expect biting Siberian wind … not biting Siberian women. But let me back up first. I'll be honest, when I first took off my pants and entered into the world of sexcapadery, I was really quite vanilla. If you could do it with your eyes closed, without moving and could finish in the time it took for your dad to go the grocery story and back, that was for me. I didn't have a fetish or a kink — and to be honest, I didn't want one. In my head I thought that simple was good.

Then one winter break I had the opportunity to shadow a nature reservist working on the Russian border with China. They even gave me my own drafty apartment and that’s where things got interesting. I had a coworker, Sveta, who, while not the most seductive of women, to this poor, sex-starved lad, was the hottest thing since that afternoon’s borscht. Needless to say, I wasn’t the only one who was sex-starved on the borders of the Siberian wasteland and I soon found that out. Three weeks of well executed flirtatious Russian and one night of too much vodka and Sveta and I were stumbling back to my apartment from the bar.

However, not even vodka could erase the last vestiges of my overwhelming awkwardness in this type of situation. We talked and looked away a lot doing the pre-hook-up-between-co-workers dance (similar to the Fox Trot) and then her hand brushed up against my pants and she said what would be loosely translated as “I’m going to fucking tear you apart.” My drunken brain and limited Russian was momentarily distracted by trying to figure out what she just said and what exactly it meant — but both of those questions were soon answered for me.

When we first started doing the bump and grind (do people still say that?) I was definitely hoping for something quick and painless — I needed time to practice composing my face the next time I saw her sober. However, it was mere moments after my parka, sweatshirt, t-shirt and long johns were removed that I found out that, hey, fetishes are kind of a great thing. Sveta was the kind of girl who Iooked like she always ate her fill, but that night it seemed (and felt) like she hadn’t eaten in years — and I don’t mean we were making out in the kitchen (though, that is also a fetish of mine, but for another column).

Yes, that’s right, biting’s my thing. At first it was just playful biting of the ear or lips — things that weren’t too far removed from the most vanilla of the vanilla, but it quickly moved into “your arms look like chicken wings.” Up, down, all around, back forth, fingers, toes, I never said stop and she never stopped. Unfortunately, like scratching or precoital tattoo work, biting can leave marks … in a fair number of potentially visible places. The next Monday at work, I’m lucky that the biting Siberian wind (contrary to the biting Siberian woman) forced me to stay all bundled up.

Moral of the story, kids? Siberia is damned cold. But seriously — if you’re just starting your sexual adventures, don’t worry; everybody (except perhaps my fellow sex columnists) had to start somewhere. However, unless you’ve got a thing for missionaries, don’t let your acceptance of the vanilla keep you from finding that little niche of sexual pleasure that really makes you feel it. Also, for those of you who read the sex column and actually take what we have to say to heart: If this is your first time, ask your partner first. Also, if you’re a girl, he’s probably not going to react too kindly to you biting his dick (but you never know).

Written under the pseudonym Jimothy Singh for the Cornell Daily Sun