
How anal play works, why lube is not optional, which toys are safe, and why a flared base is the one rule that really matters.

Glossary
A standard item on every checklist, and the one that draws the most questions before anything happens.
Anal sex is penetration of the anus, with a penis, fingers, or a toy. It shows up on almost every sexual checklist, usually listed separately for giving and receiving. Unlike vaginal sex, the body makes no fluid of its own, and that shapes almost everything about how it goes in practice.
| Category | sexual acts; that page lays the forms out side by side, with the split that law and healthcare each draw differently |
| In the literature | often split into insertive and receptive, that is, giving and receiving |
| Also known as | anal, anal penetration |
| How common in the Netherlands | 8 percent of people had anal sex the last time they had sex |
| What the body doesn’t do | make its own fluid, which is why lube isn’t a luxury but a requirement |
| Biggest risk | the chance of STI transmission is higher than with other sexual acts |
Less often than its visibility suggests. In Rutgers’ Monitor Seksuele Gezondheid 2023, among 12,551 Dutch people, anal sex was part of the last time they had sex for 8 percent. For comparison: penis-in-vagina sex was for 85 percent and oral sex for 58 percent.
That figure says something useful. Anyone wondering whether they are the only one who has never done it is, by a wide margin, in the majority. And anyone who does do it belongs to a group small enough that few ordinary conversations touch on it, which is why so much nonsense circulates about it.
The difference from vaginal sex is anatomical, not moral. The anus has two sphincters, one of which you can’t consciously relax, and the wall of the rectum makes no lubricant of its own. Without plenty of lube, small tears form in the mucous membrane.
Those tears are exactly why the risk profile is different. Patel and colleagues calculated in AIDS a risk of 138 HIV infections per 10,000 exposures for receptive anal sex, the highest of all the sexual acts they studied. That same study shows how much of that can be taken off: with condom use combined with treatment of the partner who has HIV, the risk dropped by 99.2 percent.
The appeal runs along two lines that have little to do with each other. The first is physical: the sphincters are full of nerve endings, and in men the prostate sits along this route. The second is psychological: it is an act that calls for surrender, and that makes it weigh heavier for many people than other things.
It is not pleasant for everyone, not even after practice. Anal sex that keeps hurting is not something to push through. It is a signal to stop.
The usual route is slow and does not start with penetration. First with the hand and lube, then with one finger, then with a butt plug or several fingers, and only much later with more. Plenty of couples get no further than that and are perfectly happy with it.
What separates the careful approach from the sloppy one is not experience but pace. Anyone who wants to reach penetration in a single evening is almost guaranteed to be doing it wrong; anyone who takes three dates over it usually is not.
Toys belong in the same category of caution. Dahlberg and colleagues counted in International Journal of Colorectal Disease that sex toys were involved in 41 percent of cases of objects left behind in the rectum, with a 17 percent chance of abdominal surgery against 4 percent for other objects. Anything that goes in anally should have a wide base or a cord.
“It’s supposed to hurt.” No. Pain is the signal that there is too little lube, that it is going too fast, or that the receiver is not relaxed. Pushing on through pain produces tears, and tears are exactly what raises the STI risk.
“With a condom it’s as safe as vaginal sex.” Not quite. The figure of 138 per 10,000 from Patel and colleagues’ study is the starting point without protection; a condom takes a lot off that, but the starting point is higher than for other acts.
“This is something for gay men.” The Rutgers figures cover the Dutch population in general. The 8 percent is made up of people of every gender and every orientation.
This is the topic I get the most questions about before anything happens, and almost never during.
Technique is rarely the question. It is about being dirty: whether it is gross, whether it smells. Whether I would mind. Asking that costs people more than the act itself. My answer is always the same. We take it slow, stopping is not a failure, and most people need two or three tries before it becomes pleasant.
And one practical thing I see a lot: people bring too little lube. Almost always too little.
On this site the butt plug is worked out, the toy most people start with, and the page on consent covers what we agree beforehand. If you want to explore it slowly and without any rush, there is all the time for that with intimate togetherness.
Beyond this site, Rutgers’ Monitor Seksuele Gezondheid is free to read and the best Dutch data there is on what people actually do.
Frequently asked questions
Victor, a gigolo with twenty-five years of experience in BDSM and a background as a psychotherapist. The question people struggle with most is rarely about technique and usually about shame. You can ask him a question with no obligation through the contact form or first chat for free.
Blog
The first time, the lube, the pace, and the two sphincters, only one of which you control yourself.

How anal play works, why lube is not optional, which toys are safe, and why a flared base is the one rule that really matters.
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I'm Victor. On this topic I get the most questions beforehand and almost none afterward, and they are rarely about technique. Feel free to ask yours. No obligation, I'll message you back whenever suits you.
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