got a confusing issue with my girlfriend. Our relationship
was going great until I caught her having an emotional affair
via MySpace. She swore to never hurt me again. Well, I recently
found out that she posted an ad looking for NSA sex. She responded
to several people who contacted her. When confronted, she
encouraged me to look through her e-mail, to prove her innocence;
but her e-mail proved her guilt. There was tons of evidence
that she had been planning an affair—naked pics in her e-mails,
contact information, pictures of guys. She says she doesn’t
remember doing any of these things.
My girl has told me that she is bipolar, obsessive-compulsive,
and has mental ailments. She’s been on meds since she was
12, but I never knew to what extent until now. She’s on four
different meds. I’ve since found out about lots of other lies
she has been perpetuating since the beginning of our relationship.
She claims to remember nothing. Is it possible that the drugs
could cause her to selectively forget things? Could her conditions
and the drugs she’s on cause this kind of amnesia? Or is my
girl just a liar?
By The Dope
dirty liar, victim of drug-induced amnesia; low-down dirty
liar, victim of drug-induced amnesia . . . Does it really
matter which it is, DBTD? Because here’s what we know for
sure: Stay with this woman and you’re going to be lied to,
cheated on, and manipulated. Does it make it better if she
can point to her meds and claim that the possible side effects—“drowsiness,
blurred vision, erections lasting more than four hours, selective
memory, serial infidelity”—made her post those ads, send those
pictures, and fuck those other dudes?
So the question you need to ask yourself, DBTD, isn’t, “Did
the drugs make her do it?” but, “Am I willing to put up with
this crap?” I think we both know the answer to that question:
I’m a single straight guy who really enjoys performing
oral sex on women. A few years ago, I experimented with coke
and Ecstasy. The combo made me incredibly horny, but I couldn’t
get an erection—so I gave girls head for hours and loved every
second. Now, I find myself seeking out escorts. I pay them
to lie back and let me eat. It’s even better if the girl is
nonchalant about it—sending text messages, doing my blow,
and drinking champagne while I eat. I lose control and bury
my face in muff for hours. Why does this turn me on? How do
I stop? What’s this about?
Over Oral Fixation
scoured the Partnership for a Drug-Free America’s Web site,
WOOF, but cunnilingus isn’t listed as one of the possible
side effects of mixing coke and Ecstasy. Still, I’m relieved
my blow-and-roll days are behind me—I wouldn’t want to wake
up from a drug-induced blackout with my face buried in muff.
While the side effects you’ve experienced haven’t made PDFA’s
Web site, I’m nevertheless required to say that Drugs Are
Bad. Some, in fact, are badder than others. According to American
Scientist, the dangers posed by various recreational drugs
are best measured by the ratio of effective dose to lethal
dose. (Effective doses get you high; lethal doses kill you
dead.) Two of the most toxic recreational drugs out there—heroin
and GHB—are lethal at five and eight times their effective
doses, respectively. The cocaine and Ecstasy you’re using
are slightly less dangerous, WOOF, with lethal doses 15 and
16 times their effective doses, respectively. But the deadliest
drug you’re abusing is champagne. A lethal dose of alcohol
is just 10 times its effective dose. So in the interest of
the health and safety of the escorts you’re eating out, I
urge you to pour out the champagne and set out more blow.
As to your questions . . .
Why does this turn you on? Because it does.
How do you stop? You stop.
What’s this about? Two hundred bucks an hour, I’d guess, not
including the drugs.
I am 33 and my sister is 40. We are only half brother
and half sister, as we have different fathers. A week ago,
my sister was massaging my back. Then she started rubbing
her hands over my chest from behind. I thought, “Um, OK, no
big deal.” Then she started giving me little kisses on my
neck. Then she kissed me on the mouth. No big deal, right?
Brothers and sisters sometimes do that. But this time she
Growing up, I heard, “Your sister is hot, blah, blah, blah,”
from my friends. But I never looked at my sister that way.
After we kissed, she pulled back and said, “This isn’t right;
we’re not in fuckin’ Kentucky.” I’ve talked to her a few times
on the phone since that night. She keeps bringing up what
happened and saying it’s not right. I told her I agreed, it
But I liked it, Dan. Am I some sick fuck? Are we both sick
fucks? I have no idea if anything will happen again. But I
know my sister. A bit of her history: married and divorced
three times, three kids, all raised by their fathers. She’s
also an alcoholic: Could that have something to do with this?
Right Up In The Southwest
deadlier than cocaine and Ecstasy—and mescaline, roofies,
peyote, and pot (which has no lethal dose)—and it’ll make
your half sister stick her tongue in your mouth. Eesh.
Okay, FRUITS, the reason your sister keeps calling to say,
“It’s not right,” is because she’s waiting for you to say,
“I know it ain’t right, Sis, but let’s do it anyway.” She
wants you and she’s using reverse seduce-ology to get you.
(“Eww! Gross!” “Yeah, gross!” “Yeah . . . pretty gross.” “But
kind of hot for something so gross, huh?” “Yeah . . . do you
wanna try it? I mean, just to see how gross it is?”)
If it were possible for you to have sex with the half of your
half sister that you aren’t related to—the back half, maybe,
or the top half—you might get my unambiguous, if slightly
nauseated, blessing. But as that’s not possible, FRUITS, I’m
going to urge you to deflect your sister’s clumsy attempts
at reverse seduce-ology—and for you to encourage her to smoke
Confidential to Beth Ditto: In New Musical Express you’re
quoted as saying, “If there’s anyone to blame for size zero,
it’s not women. Blame gay men who work in the fashion industry
who want these women as dolls.” That’s bullshit. If you want
to blame something for size zero, Beth, blame cheap and abundant
food. When food was scarce and most poor suckers were starving
to death, fat bodies were the beauty ideal and skinny girls
were oppressed. Now that food is plentiful and most dumb motherfuckers
are eating themselves to death, skinny bodies are the beauty
ideal and fat girls are oppressed. File it under “What goes
around, comes around.” But take heart, Beth: Food may soon
be scarce again, thanks to climate change, and fat girls will
rule the runways.
And, Beth, if gay men had the power to dictate beauty ideals
to impressionable straight men, we wouldn’t order boys to
lust after women—big or small, dieting or diabetic. We’d order
them to lust after cock, Beth—big and small, dockable and
a new Savage Love podcast every Tuesday at www.thestranger.com/savage.