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When I was a kid, my little sister and I would fight a lot, as siblings typically do. She would battle with her physical strength, and I would weaponize my two year age gap in schooling against her because I was smaller and weaker than her. One day, while having an inane argument where I used all the long vocabulary words I learned in school to torment her, she decided that she would try to play me at my own game. Frustrated after a particularly stinging insult, in an equally exasperated and angry tone, my sister decided to use a Bad Word: “Sal, you’re just……..you’re just so……YOU’RE JUST SO SEXY!” I decided that this Bad Word hurt my feelings, so I cried to my mom about it. We laugh about it now, but as you can imagine, this word has terrorized me my whole life.
I had been following Angela Trimbur for a few years before I decided to try out her new dance class. I admired the way she danced with full confidence, and in turn, a fearless sense of self-knowledge of the intrinsic sexiness she wielded. This is why, on my very first walk to her dance class a few years ago, I quite literally was shaking with nerves that I would too, have to be sexy. I was horrified at the idea of shaking my ass; the thought made my stomach churn and my palms sweaty. This fear was one I tucked away from everyone because I knew how silly it was. Sexy felt like some kind of private club everyone else was a part of but me, because I was too awkward, too naive, too weird, too gender confused.
When I learned that the routine that very first week I took class was to “In The End” by Linkin Park, I was relieved, and had the time of my life. I can do this! I can do melodramatic nu-metal obsessed emo! I easily decided to come back for another class next week.
Lo and behold, the routine was to “Pony” by Ginuwine. I’m very familiar with this song, because I have seen both Magic Mike and Magic Mike XXL (the second one is actually one of my favorites). Angela showed us the routine before we learned, and it features hip thrusting, gyrating, and the infamous Magic Mike body roll. Instead of fleeing the scene with a face the color of a tomato, I gave it a shot. Newsflash: I shook my ass and didn’t die or fall on my face or nervously fart on accident! I enjoyed myself so much that it’s one of the routines I still know by heart even two years later.
Looking back on my dance video, I look like someone having fun. My face is permanently plastered with a goofy smile. I learned that sexy, after all, is just a word like any other. Feeling sexy and looking sexy are different things. And I look sexy when I do a Magic Mike body roll, as it was designed to. Thank you Channing Tatum.
It would be a few classes later that I would meet Jan. At first, I was convinced that they were actress Michelle Williams, but I would soon learn what a talented playwright and awesome friend they are. They were the first close friend I made in dance class, and we both performed in Angela’s Balletcore Recital, something we both were scared to do, but did anyways. We met each other by being brave and challenging ourselves, how nice is that? I am so lucky to have their delightful and funny writing on Our House, and I encourage you to stay tuned on what’s next for them, because they’re a star.
And remember: when you want to look sexy on all fours, arch your back like you’re vomiting, then stick your butt up like you’re spraying diarrhea out of your butt. Repeat as needed. I promise it works. Angela told me.
Stay Sexy,
Sal <3
Hum If You’re Horny
By Jan Rosenberg
“Weird question for y'all: what are some songs that you associate with sex and/or being horny?”
This is a text message I send out to a group chat consisting of my five best friends from high school.
Their responses are illuminating. Immediately, my phone blows up with “horny” song suggestions. Some of them are very on the nose. “Let’s Get It On” by Marvin Gaye. “Pony” by Ginuwine (“If you’re horny, let’s do it, ride it, my pony”). [Side note: the comma after ‘pony’ confuses me. Is he referring to his dick as a pony that one would ride on, or is he talking to his hypothetical sexual paramour and calling them a pony? I imagine it’s probably the first].
Other honorable mentions: “WAP” by Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion, “Sex With Me” by Rihanna, “Animal” by Trey Songz, and “Watermelon Sugar” by Harry Styles. All of these songs contain very explicit (whether it’s innuendo or not) suggestions of sex.
“So songs about sex turn you on?” I ask.
The answer is affirmative.
I find this fascinating, as someone who does not experience much sexual arousal or attraction. After a lifetime of assuming I was broken in some fundamental way, I discovered that there are lots of folks out there like myself who fall under the umbrella of asexuality. I find other human beings aesthetically pleasing, but for the most part, my interest in physical intimacy ends at a good old fashioned hug or handshake. Mouths are smelly and food goes in there. I don’t feel the need to explain myself further. It’s something that used to cause lots of shame and mental anguish. Today, I accept that my low libido and disinterest in sex is just a part of who I am, like having blue eyes and attached earlobes.
However, while I don’t experience much by way of sexual attraction (I’m in my thirties and I’ve experienced sexual attraction to exactly two human beings during that time), there is one thing that sometimes initiates a, how you say, a certain stirring in my loins.
I am sexually attracted to songs.
Okay, certain songs. And probably not the songs you’d guess. Not the traditional ‘horny’ songs of my youth that had teens grinding against each other while I watched from the corner, wishing I could teleport myself somewhere far, far, away. Nelly’s “Hot In Herre” got a rise on the dance floor at our high school prom (especially because there was a crowdsurfing blow-up doll. Neither the doll or her partner won Prom King and Queen).
It’s getting hot in here, so take off all your clothes…
Before I knew I was asexual, songs with explicit lyrics gave me the heebie jeebies. I famously cannot stand John Mayer’s “Your Body Is A Wonderland”. The lyric, “one pair of candy lips and your bubble gum tongue” is enough to send me into a dissociative period. Not even because I find it gross, it’s just corny as hell.
I’m used to being the lone ace in any given scenario. For that reason, I wasn’t shocked by how much I couldn’t relate to my friends’ definitions of songs that could get them in the mood. One friend went so far as to take an edible and listen to some sexy music and report back to me. (Findings: in her experience, taking an edible while listening to her musician crush didn’t enhance the experience).
I don’t find anything inherently sexy about the aforementioned songs. But certain songs do ‘do it’ for me.
The first instance of a song crush that I can recall was in 2016. David Bowie released the first single of what he knew would be the last album he would ever record. God, just typing that sentence makes me want to cry. So not compatible with sexy feelings. The song was “Black Star”.
It’s hard to describe the experience of “Black Star”. It’s nearly ten minutes long. It’s eerie. It’s percussive. There’s a fucking saxophone. It has all of the fixings of what I’ve always referred to as ‘sandwich songs’, where the song starts in one place, and then travels to several unexpected musical places before returning to the original sound. (The bread is the matching beginning and end of the song. The inner layers of the song are the sandwich fixings: the protein, the veggies, the sauce…it makes visual sense to me. Did I mention I’m neurodivergent?). If the first part of the song is the prologue bread, it takes nearly five minutes for the song to get to the meat. Bowie then sings, “Something happened on the day he died…” (GOD, it still gives me chills. Godamnit, I miss Bowie).
Listening to that song for the first time late at night, a kind of light, lazy, almost drunk feeling came over me. It was the rare desire to, how shall we say, rub one out. Is that actually what people say? Something about the tempo, the beats, and Bowie’s creepy lyrics and vocals stimulated something in me. To be clear, while I didn’t have a crush on David Bowie, I found him undeniably hot in the way that I find many people undeniably hot in a strictly platonic way. What I found stimulating wasn’t Bowie himself, but the sounds he was making, as well as the instruments. I like sounds that are groovy and curvy. Sounds that make shapes in my head.
Bowie died two months later. The tragedy of losing such a monumental artist changed my relationship to the song. It’s still one of my favorites of his, but listening to it now makes me feel sad. Revisiting it for this essay was stimulating in the way taking a drug you’ve abstained from for years can feel stimulating, but it doesn’t deliver the same high as the first time you tried it. Such is the case with most drugs, in my humble opinion.
The same feeling – is ‘horny’ the correct adjective? I’m pretty green in that department; ithappens to me when I hear certain instruments. I’ve noticed that classic rock sounds do it for me. Loud electric guitar riffs and heavy bass? Hello. The instrumental that happens in the middle of Pink Floyd’s “Hey You”? So hot. Like sitting on top of a dryer. You don’t even have to be high like I was the first time I heard the song. The intro guitar in The Who’s “Pinball Wizard”? It makes me see stars when I listen to it with the volume all the way up. I’m probably going to end up with Tinnitus, just like my drummer Dad. More recently, St. Vincent’s “Broken Man” has a similar effect with its jarring bassline that crashes in like a rock through a window. Oh yeah.
When I ask my friends what songs they find ‘hot’, I’m gauging whether my physical response to sounds is strange. I doubt I’m unique in my experience, just like I know I’m not unique in having very little interest or desire when it comes to physical intimacy.
One time, I met a guy who made me feel seen. We met on one of those apps. Don’t ask which one, it’s embarrassing. We skipped the small talk of where’d you go to school and how long have you lived in New York and went straight to sharing songs.
This song makes me think of high school.
I listened to this song over and over when I went through a deep depression.
This song makes me feel like I’m eating cotton candy.
This song helps me cry.
Back and forth we went, sharing songs that made us feel something. It was so. Hot. To this day, it’s the most I've flirted with another human being. Sharing a song with someone can sometimes feel like being naked with someone. I think.
We’re no longer dating, but we’re still friends and share an uncanny ability to find musicians and songs the other would appreciate. He’s currently obsessed with The Last Dinner Party. I follow up with Chappell Roan. I remind him that the new St. Vincent just dropped and it is good. He agrees. He finds songs to add to my playlist of music that contains the essence of the cheesy eighties The Neverending Story theme song.
It’s no shocker that listening to music is a pleasurable experience. I imagine the inside of my brain looks something like a LED light peg board when I hear a song. Certain instruments and vocals have different color codes. What brain cells I have left enjoy a little rave. When I hear a song like David Bowie’s “Black Star”, it’s white light.
I wonder if anyone else can relate. Maybe there’s someone out there who orgasms every time they hear a car horn. Hey, honk if you’re horny. And let me know what songs get that dopamine and oxytocin flowing for you.
Jan is a playwright and screenwriter living in NY with their four-legged creature. Their plays have been recognized, workshopped, and produced with lots of cool folks, most notably the O'Neill National Playwright Conference, Seattle Rep, IAMA Theatre, The Shotgun Players, The Farm Theater, and Stella Adler Studio. Their short film guts premiered at Sundance Film Festival and is currently screening at various film festivals both in the U.S and internationally. They are a horror connoisseur, an amateur dancer, and a bibliophile. JanRosenberg.com @emotionalsupportsnack
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the disparity between songs you think are supposed to be sexy vs what you actually find sexy is funny as fuck. reminds me of the time when I was first trying to figure out sex i put on tame impala bc it felt like the right thing to do and proceeded to completely nuke the mood laughing my ass off