Love, Lust & Faking It

by Jenny McCarthy

  Did you know …

  … that sex burns 120 calories for a 130-pound woman every hour? Every hour! I’d rather grow a ton of cellulite than have sex for over an hour.

  Did you know …

  … that impotence is grounds for divorce in twenty-six U.S. states? Right on, girls!

  Did you know …

  … that dolphins are the only known animals other than humans that have sex for pleasure? (I wonder if they have hooker dolphins.)

  … that male bats have the highest rate of homosexuality of any mammal? (So that’s why Batman and Robin wear tights and are BFFs.)

  Did you know …

  … that only 17 percent of women can have orgasms during sexual intercourse? All others fake it. Then it’s no wonder that sex feels like a chore most of the time!

  Did you know …

  … that 85 percent of men who die of heart attacks during sex are found to have been cheating on their wives? Karma is a real bitch.

  Did you know …

  … that the first couple to be shown in bed together on prime time television were Fred and Wilma Flintstone? Maybe that’s because Fred was as hard as a rock. Hahaha.

  [23]

  Man Junk and Lady Bits

  I asked my tweeters, “Why are we so attracted to boobs and penises when boobs are just clumps of fat and penises are clumps of tubing stuffed with blood?”

  I was overwhelmed by responses from women who said they don’t find penises attractive. I thought I was the only one! I’m so happy to hear that something that resembles an anteater’s nose doesn’t send all women into a frenzy. Women basically want to do things to the penis to turn on the man. We like the “doing,” not necessarily the look or feel of it. My friend Chelsea Handler tells me that not everyone likes the “doing,” and that I am particularly slutty for enjoying “doing” anything to it. Now don’t get me wrong, penises do feel good, which is why we want to go skiing on them. But when a guy pulls out his man junk and waves it around or makes it throb all by itself, women are completely faking any excitement. We might go, “Oooooh baby, that’s hot,” but we are really thinking, Ew, it looks like a throbbing worm slug wearing a top hat.

  Now, to be fair, let me tear into our lady bits. The vagina, which I like to call the canooter, has to be the second grossest looking thing, next to the penis. It’s a bunch of skin all bunched up. I’m not saying men and women are not attracted to a canooter, I’m just saying it’s not the prettiest girl in the class, if you know what I mean. Boobs and butts are curvy and sexy, but the canooter is just a hot mess that is almost impossible to maintain. It is ever-changing and ever-challenging. Sometimes, we are able to control it, and other times, it takes on a life of its own, just like a penis, but if possible, even more unattractive.

  I’m also amazed that vaginas are all shaped so differently. Some girls have innies and some have outies. If you don’t know what that means, please by all means Google an image. There’s also a pretty enlightening Web site called RateMyMuff.com that shows you a picture of a girl, and you get to guess what kind of heat she’s packing. This is not only informative, but a great way to burn a Saturday night.

  Back in Chicago my girlfriend Mary and I went through puberty together and shared any and every detail with each other. We were complete opposites, sort of like Laverne and Shirley; she was short and dark-haired and I was tall and blond. In any case, at one point she confided that she thought she had a tumor growth on her canooter. I told her to let me have a look. I was stumped by the extra flap of skin.

  “What is that?” I asked.

  “I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking you.”

  I pulled down my pants to take a look at mine. I had a button of stuff, but not the meat pillows she had. “Maybe you should go ask a doctor,” I said.

  “Oh my God, I have cancer.”

  “You don’t have cancer. But it’s definitely something. It just looks like some skin got caught in a machine, then got turned around and redirected, and then it got pulled … long.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about? It just grew like this overnight,” she replied.

  “Well, you need to go see a doctor,” I said in an alarmed tone. Mary went off to the doctor’s office and found out she had an “outie.” When she told me the news, I once again pulled my pants down to check out mine. I guess I also had an outie, but nowhere near what she had. The next time we hung out, I asked her if she could ever wear jeans again, since her mud flaps might get bunched up. She replied, “Yes, actually, it does bother me. I have to move it or tuck it back inside when I wear jeans or work out. I also have problems riding a bicycle for too long. It’s like I need an extra sidecar to put my groceries in.” A few years ago she had surgery to get some roast beef sliced off, but it still has at least a quarter pound left. Labia reconstruction happens to be one of the most popular plastic surgeries going on right now. I spoke to one woman who had labia reconstruction, and right after they gave her the anesthesia, two cute male doctors walked in her room to talk with her about the surgery. “Horrifying,” was the word she used to describe the experience. “Shouldn’t there be an understanding that when you’re getting one of the most humiliating surgeries available, the gender that you’re trying to please doesn’t make up the first two people you see in the OR?” she asked me. Who knew so many girls had canooter problems?

  I started asking all of my friends in Los Angeles about their canooters. Half of them have outies and the other half innies. The majority of outies seem to have many more orgasms than girls with innies. Then I went and researched a bunch of guy forums and found many that talked about innies vs. outies and which they liked better. It was pretty much a tie down the middle. Some guys said that having something to nibble on was nice, and the other ones said they liked innie cuz it was smooth. Whatever the case, be proud of your lady bits. And if anyone has a problem with it, go get your situation reduced or tell him to go find a taco without the meat. The bottom line is, most men don’t really care, and it’s not like they’re running out to get their penises fixed for us.

  More funny/gross names for canooters:

  Hot dog bun

  Mammal hole

  Fetus flaps

  Afro clam

  Prayer muffin

  Mrs. Sphincter’s next-door neighbor

  Baby zipper

  Bagpipe

  Meat massager

  Old catcher’s mitt

  Hairy harmonica

  The toothless blowjob

  And my favorite of all … front butt

  [24]

  Me So Horny

  Okay, ladies. I don’t know about you, but it used to be that I only wanted my bell rung during ovulation. Which meant that the other twenty-five days of the month I was either needing a drink, or having to go through the motions to make my partners happy. This was so frustrating because I’m a Scorpio. We are sexual beings, but my bell wasn’t ringing nearly as much as I wanted. I prayed to the universe for help, and then came a book by the name of Breakthrough by Suzanne Somers. She talked about hormone replacement and how well it worked in terms of sex drive and mental stability during PMS and/or menopause. So I made an appointment with a doctor and was prescribed 50 milligrams of compound-grade progesterone. All I had to do, he said, was rub the cream on my forearm, day 14 after my period thru day 28. So off I went and started my cream. I shit you not, the stuff worked! I didn’t fall into a murderous rage during PMS. I was calm. I felt a sense of peace within that I hadn’t experienced since prepuberty. Then I started to feel my bell ringing again. Not only was I horny, but I had to take care of myself constantly or beg for it. I felt like a dog in heat but was so happy that I didn’t have to have a glass of wine to get in the mood.

  Now that I’m single again, I’m even more grateful that I got my hormones in balance. I did experience a problem with my dosage just last month, however, and experienced what it felt like to be a man for seven days. I started my new tube of cream and unbeknownst to
me, I was putting too much on. The upshot was that I was so horny I couldn’t even walk. I’m not exaggerating. I almost masturbated to Celebrity Apprentice. I kept saying to myself, Something isn’t right. I found myself thinking about sex all day and night. My vibrator was so worn out, it actually started to make a screaming noise like it was getting eaten by a coyote. I called my best friend to ask her for advice. I was too embarrassed to call a doctor to tell him that I wanted to go hump a lamppost. My friend said that she goes through horny phases, but nothing that resembled my insanity. So days passed and I found myself writing this book and getting completely turned on. I even twittered about it. I then locked myself in my bathroom for three hours and had about fifty orgasms. That’s so messed up, isn’t it? I called my friend Chelsea, and all she had to say was, “You’re a perverted loser.” So another day passed, and the clock of horniness kept on ticking. I struggled to have thoughts that weren’t about sex. If this is what men go through, I feel a little bit bad for them. (Only a little bit.) All joking aside, I was miserable because I couldn’t function. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t talk to anyone. I even borrowed a Vicodin in hopes it would mellow me out. It didn’t work. I was locked in a world of sexual fantasies, and I knew that if I masturbated any more, my uterus was going to fall out. But of course that didn’t stop me. The crazy train of sex continued when I remembered about a cute guy-friend from out of town I’ve known for ten years. I decided to text him to see if he still had a girlfriend. Just my luck, he didn’t. So I began sexting him. (Which I suck at, remember?) I was beyond forward in my messages and even insisted on flying to meet him for a quickie. How insane is that? After I made the arrangements, I decided it was time to call my doctor to see what the hell was wrong with me. I was scared to death because he was a very religious man. I decided to just be blunt as usual because this was an emergency situation.

  “Hi doc, I don’t know how to put this but… being a hooker never sounded so good to me.”

  “Um, how so?”

  “Well, I’m so horny that I think I might die from it.”

  “Aren’t you single now? Do you think that you could just be excited about dating?”

  “I’m excited about dating, but this is abnormal horniness. My vagina feels like a venus flytrap that hasn’t eaten in a year. I’m seriously dying. I can’t even walk into the next room without having an orgasm.”

  (Silence.)

  “Hello?”

  “Yes, hmmmm.”

  (I can’t even imagine what my doctor might have been thinking at this point.)

  “Have you taken anything new that could have caused this?”

  “No.”

  “Hmmmmm.”

  (WTF!!!)

  “Well, it’s obviously not normal. We will have to do some hormone testing.”

  “Oh, wait! I just started on a new container of progesterone. Could the bottle be a different mixture or something?”

  “You could be getting a double dose without knowing it, which would cause this type of abnormal response.”

  (I love how doctors can put things into words that would normally be embarrassing. He said “abnormal response” instead of orgasming like a thirteen-year-old boy.)

  “My dispenser seemed a little off this time, so maybe too much cream is coming out.”

  “Don’t use any tonight, and let me know how you feel in the morning.”

  So I listened to the doctor’s orders and skipped a night of cream and woke up with a peaceful vagina. I was able to start writing again and learned a valuable lesson in hormone replacement. Too much can turn you into a horn dog, but the right amount can bring back your sex life in a fun way. I’m still keeping the out-of-town booty call. I can’t imagine what would have happened if I slept with him during this hormonal tornado. I think I might have broken his wiener. I’m sure I’ll let you know how my booty call goes in an upcoming chapter.

  [25]

  The Perfect Booty Call

  Okay, I couldn’t wait to tell you.

  I was less than a week away from the rendezvous with my friend in Arizona. I’ll name him Mike for his own protection. Like he would really care. He would probably want me to put his first, middle, and last name in the book. I was really excited because I always thought he was hot, and whenever I hung out with him he was always just really cool and sweet. We both enjoyed each other’s company but never had any opportunities to play Twister, as we were both in relationships.

  Now that we were both unattached, I called him and said, “Listen, I want to be safe, so do me a favor and go get tested for STDs. I’ll do the same.” I was happy with his response, which was, “It’s the only way to be.” I set up an appointment with my gyno the next day to get tested. To my horrific surprise I woke up with my period. I wasn’t due to get it for at least twelve more days. My hormone cream must have totally screwed up my cycle. I cried to my gyno to make it stop. He told me the only thing I could do was to use a diaphragm. I was horrified. I decided to just pray to the gods that my period would end before I met up with Mike.

  But the day before I was supposed to fly out to meet him, my freaking period was still flowing like a faucet. I was having a heart attack because I had my flight and hotel booked, so I couldn’t back out. I called up my hormone doctor and begged him for help. He had me come to his office, where he put these laser light machines on my belly in hopes his quantum infra ray light machine would zap my uterus closed.

  I couldn’t believe what I was putting myself through just to have sex. I know I am at my sexual peak and have waited ten years to have sex with Mike, so if I didn’t give it everything I had, I would have been so pissed off at myself. After I left that doctor, I went to a Theta healer. Theta healers help you unblock belief systems that you hold on to. This early bleeding thing had to be some type of emotional blockage. So she muscle-tested me, and she said that I was scared of letting someone new into my heart. I replied, “No, I just want to let him inside my vagina. My heart is under construction right now.” She said, “Well, your muscle is testing positive for fear of getting hurt.” Ugh, how annoying. She was probably right on a subconscious level. Our energy fields can be real assholes sometimes. She finally cleared that belief system, but I continued to go see one last doctor. He was an alternative medicine doctor. He listened to me ramble on about how my period must be stopped and giggled a few times at my desperation. He told me the only hope I had was to put on triple the amount of hormone cream, and that might just do the trick. He handed me the cream, and I sat in my car staring at this tube, thinking, Do I really want to mess with my hormones more than they already are? I threw the tube away and just prayed that my period would somehow magically disappear by the next day.

  Taken with my iPhone.

  Once I got home, I began to make an iPod playlist for having sex. So I tried to think of all the songs that would have the right beat, and which weren’t too cheesy. Hours had passed, and I had only purchased one song, “What Goes Around” by Justin Timberlake. I know it sounds childish that I was making a music playlist, but having the right environment is really important to me. Along with dark lighting and a penis that works. All very important things. So, now four hours had passed and I had only added two Rihanna songs to my playlist. My sister Jojo, who lives with me, was making fun of me because I was having such a hard time. She said, “Jenny, you can put on Clay Aiken and he would still f*ck your brains out.”

  I replied, “I would be horrified to have sex to a Clay Aiken song. I think my vagina would actually seal shut.”

  Jojo went on to say, “Just pick R&B songs. Black people know how to have sex.” So with that, I downloaded three more Rihanna songs, Jay Z, and Alicia Keys. Jojo was right. After six hours of downloading my booty-call playlist onto my iPod, I went to sleep praying to the period gods that my vagina would be open for business.

  I woke up the next morning, ran to the bathroom, and my period was gone. I couldn’t believe it! Who knows which machine or spiritual healing worked on my
uterus. I didn’t care. Something had worked. I hopped on a flight to Arizona, and Mike was waiting for me at the gate. I was a little nervous because we had been friends for a really long time, and now I knew we were gonna do it. Scary, but fun.

  Later that night I drank margaritas for the first time in my life. I had four of them and felt buzzed enough to go back to his place and get naked. I pulled out my iPod and hooked it up to his speaker and jumped in bed with him. He started kissing me, and I felt sixteen again. I would have been completely satisfied if the only thing we did that night was kiss. Okay, well, I think we all know that’s not true. In any case, luck was on my side. Being that he is only thirty-six years old, all power tools were charged and working. Things were getting hot and heavy and just as he was about to reach orgasm, the next song started in, and I almost died. F*cking CLAY AIKEN started playing. JOJO PUT IT ON MY PLAYLIST!!! Oh my God, I wanted to kill her!!! I didn’t know what the hell to do. Mike looked like he was almost there, so I didn’t want to leap up and shut off the music. So I had the brilliant idea to moan louder than Clay was singing. I could tell from Mike’s expression that he was confused as to why I was screaming so loudly. He kept saying, “You okay?”

  “YES … OH GOD … YES!!” I shouted at the top of my lungs.

  I had no idea what to say, so I just kept screaming the same thing over and over. Finally the damn song ended and I moaned a sigh of relief. Just then ANOTHER F*CKING CLAY AIKEN song came on!!!! I had images of murdering my sister. It was my first time back in the saddle, and I was having sex to Clay Aiken. Just when I thought things couldn’t get worse, I heard Mike ask again, “Are you okay?”

  I answered, “Yeah, great.”

  He says, “Well, you’re kinda bleeding …”

  “OH MY GOD!!! OH MY GOD!! I’M SO SORRY!!” With superhuman, cracked-out strength I flung the bedding over in one move and then ran out screaming. I was horrified!!! I was beyond embarrassed. First we had sex to Clay, and then I unleashed Nightmare on Elm Street sex. What a disaster.