am a 30-something, happily married woman except that I’ve
never had satisfying, passionate sex with my husband. But
I love him and am, for the most part, resigned.
Here’s where it gets complicated. I survived cancer a few
years back. I’m having symptoms again, but I haven’t told
anyone. In a few months a business trip will give me the opportunity
to hook up with a very skilled ex-lover—who I know, based
on experience, will lose interest if I’m bald and chemo-scented.
So do I come clean with my husband and oncologist and openly
beg for a last hurrah? Or do I keep quiet about my symptoms
for a few months, have a glorious but presumably final great
fuck, and then slink home for a cancer treatment that may
or may not have any affect?
For the record, I know my priorities are messed up and that
cheating is wrong and that cancer doesn’t absolve me from
ethical dilemmas. But the question I need answered is this:
What price great sex?
letter, DB, illustrates why there will never be a “Make a
Wish Foundation” for adults. Most grownups, when forced to
stare death in the face, aren’t going to want to go to Disneyland
or meet Oprah. No, most grownups with terminal illnesses are
going to wanna do shit like fuck their exes one last time
before they croak. If I were about to die, I would want to
spend a day locked in the trunk of a small car with Andy Roddick—preferably
a small black car that’s parked in the sun somewhere hot.
This isn’t about me and what I want, though; it’s about you,
DB, and what you want. But before I give you my advice, there
are a few questions I need you to answer:
Are you really, truly terminal? If delaying your treatment
isn’t tantamount to suicide, it’s not irrational to prioritize
one last night of mind-blowing sex over a hopeless course
of physically exhausting cancer treatments.
Can you absolutely, positively pull this off without your
husband finding out? Dying
doesn’t give you the right to be an inconsiderate, cancerous
cow, you know. While you can’t help leaving your husband a
grieving widower, you shouldn’t do this if there’s any chance
you’re going to leave a grieving widower and a humiliated
Do you have to choose between sex and delaying the treatment?
It seems to me that an ex who’s willing to bang you on a business
trip might be willing to make a special trip and mercy fuck
you right away.
If you can answer yes to all three questions—yes, you’re truly
terminal; yes, your husband won’t find out; yes, the choice
is between sex and chemo—then, Christ Almighty, you should
go for it. Just don’t tell anyone I told you so, DB, OK?
I have a question regarding medication transference
in semen. My husband is currently taking Zyloprim 100 mg and
K-Phos Neutral for kidney stones (he has a lot, 19 in one
year alone). I’m too embarrassed to ask our pharmacist, as
we live in a very small community and are on a first-name
basis with everyone. But I need to know if his medications
could transfer to me during sex, and if so, would it react
with the medication I’m taking (Atacand HCT)? I know with
intercourse chances are slim that there would be any problems,
but I give my husband a blow job at least once a day, very
often twice, and I do swallow his semen. (By the way, we have
been married 31 years.) A friend suggested I ask you.
the Fun Girl
sounds safe to me,” says Savage Love’s overworked resident
medical expert, Dr. Barak Gaster. “Drug companies don’t measure
drug levels in semen much. Some more obvious drugs, such as
Viagra, have been tested in this way, [and only] extremely
tiny amounts, often zero, have been found in semen.” Even
if traces of these drugs were to show up in your husband’s
semen, “the medications he’s taking should not interact in
any serious way with the meds she’s taking,” says Dr. Gaster.
But if your husband were taking more toxic drugs, “such as
those given for cancer, it’s a good idea to stay cautious
and avoid daily ingestion.”
I’m 32 year-old gay man with some serious kinks. I’m
into medical restraints and sneakers. My ultimate fantasy
is being strapped down to a gurney by a hot stud in scrubs
who proceeds to use medical tape to secure one of his stinky
sneakers to my face, covering my mouth and nose, so that I
have to breathe through it. It’s hard to meet guys who are
into this kind of elaborate medical/humiliation scene, but
I live in city where you can buy anything (Toronto), so I
advertised for a muscular guy who would help me out. A cocky
college boy answered my ad and for the last two years I’ve
been paying him two hundred bucks a pop to run a few miles
(so his shoes are sweaty) and then come over, strap me down
(I bought a gurney), and tape one of his sneakers to my face.
About six months ago I started dating a great guy and at first
I didn’t tell him about any of this. When I did, he insisted
that it stop. He was willing to do it for me—he’s GGG—but
it just doesn’t work. He’s not cocky, he’s got small feet,
and he’s not a runner. Am I a bad person for wanting to see
the college boy again? My boyfriend says it’s cheating. I
disagree. The college boy hardly even touches me once I’m
strapped down. He just hangs out, drinks my beer, and plays
video games for a couple of hours. Then he frees my right
hand and grinds his sneaker into my face while I jerk off.
After I come he frees me, puts his shoes back on, and runs
home. I’ve never even seen him naked!
My boyfriend reads your column religiously, and he agreed
to submit to your binding arbitration. We await your orders,
Day I Dream About Sneakers
I hand down my verdict—and the suspense, I suspect, is killing
no one—a word about your boyfriend’s anxieties. While you
may not be having intercourse with this cocky college boy
(CCB), ADIDAS, it’s understandable that your boyfriend would
feel threatened. You’ve been seeing CCB a lot longer than
you’ve been seeing him, for starters, and it’s only natural
that your boyfriend wants to be the person with whom you realize
your “ultimate fantasy.”
However . . .
It’s curious that your boyfriend would submit to my binding
arbitration, ADIDAS. Anyone who reads my column religiously
has to know that I would come down on the side of college
boys, medical restraints, and sweaty sneakers. Don’t I every
time? So your boyfriend is, on some level, cool with you seeing
CCB again. But before you make a date, ADIDAS, give some thought
to how you can involve your boyfriend in this elaborate humiliation
scenario. Perhaps your boyfriend would like to be there, strapped
down right beside you, with CCB’s other sneaker taped to his
face? Or if it’s humiliation you’re after, what could be more
humiliating than knowing your boyfriend is hanging out with
CCB—drinking your beer, playing video games—while you’re strapped
to a gurney? If you can find a way to include your boyfriend
in your ultimate fantasy, he won’t feel so threatened by it.