friends and I were debating a troubling incident over drinks
and figured you would be the best person to ask: What should
you do when, while looking for a toilet, you accidentally
walk into the bedroom of someone you know, but don’t know
well, and discover a boy half her age tied to her bed? (Half
her age = very early 20s.) The boy is not just tied to her
bed, but also has a giant, leather muzzle-like thing buckled
over his mouth, clothespins on his nipples, his cock exposed—and
hard, which seems relevant—and, this is an important detail,
a look of panic in his eyes?
My friend said, “Oh! Sorry!,” shut the door, and quickly left
without saying anything. But should she have done something
more? Called the police, perhaps?
Women For America
the boy want to be there? His hard cock would seem to scream,
“Yes! Yes!” But what of his look of panic? It’s tempting to
credit that look to the bondage or the clothespins or his
helplessness and presume that he’s being held against his
will. But a naked boy sprawled out on a bed of rose petals,
a dozen tiny tea candles twinkling on the windowsill, dollops
of whipped cream on his nipples, will also look panicked when
a stranger walks into the room. So it’s likelier that this
boy was merely distressed—and humiliated and turned on and
thrilled—at being discovered by someone else, a stranger,
in this helpless condition, exposed as a perv and some kinky,
older femdom’s sex slave.
But this boy, unlike a boy rolling around on a bed of rose
petals, can’t bolt if whipped cream or clothespins are applied
to his nipples in a nonconsensual fashion. So here’s what
your friend should do if she ever finds herself in a similar
situation: Step into the room, close the door, walk over to
the boy, unbuckle his gag, and ask him if he’s all right.
If he says yes, ask him if he’s sure. If he says yes again,
ask him if he’s really sure. If he says yes a third time,
take the clothespins off his nipples, count to 10, give the
clothespins a half turn, put them back on his tits, and quietly
leave the room.
Then your friend should rejoin the party, hand the gag to
her host, and say, “You do know it’s not safe to leave a tied-up
person—particularly a gagged one—alone, right?”
Lost in the oohing and aahing over the outing of another
socially conservative lawmaker—something that no longer surprises
me—is the fact that there was an undercover police officer
in a bathroom at the Minneapolis airport specifically for
the purpose of rounding up men looking for sex. This concerns
me. Why shouldn’t someone, even a closeted senator from Idaho,
be able to pick up a sexual partner in a bathroom? I can understand
arresting someone for public sex, but for public hitting-on?
As a gay man, doesn’t this concern you?
And Scared Here
I answer your question about U.S. Senator Larry Craig (R-Idahomo),
CASH, I want to dispute the vicious assertion you’ve made
about my private life: that I am a “gay man.” Let me be clear:
I am not gay and never have been. Yes, it is true, as the
Idaho Statesman has reported, that as a teenager I “came out”
to my mother shortly after my father, a police officer, asked
her for a divorce. But I was motivated by a selfless desire
to take my mother’s mind off her marital woes, not a selfish
hunger for cock.
I want to put my state of mind into context on the day I told
my mother I was a homosexual: I assumed that my mother, a
practicing Catholic, would react negatively to my “coming
out.” I expected her to say, “Oh no! First a divorce and now
this! Why me, God! Why me!” And then I would say, “Psych!
Just kidding, Mom! I am so totally not gay! Never have been!”
I hoped this would help put her impending divorce into perspective—yeah,
divorce sucks. But at least none of her sons do.
Unfortunately for all concerned, my mother took the news so
well—she seemed quite thrilled—that I didn’t have the heart
to tell her that I was, in fact, not gay and never had been.
I have been living a lie ever since.
As an advice professional, I fully realize that my life is
open for public criticism and scrutiny, and I take full responsibility
for the mistake in judgment I made a decade and a half ago
when I “came out” to my mother. Maintaining this lie has forced
me to deceive more men than I care to remember—including my
lovely husband, Terry, who is everything I ever wanted in
a spouse, despite his large penis and stubborn refusal to
get breast implants. But I assure my readers that each time
I sexually serviced another man, which I did only to maintain
the facade of my homosexuality, I was thinking of warm, wet
Moving on: I’m sure that Senator Craig takes comfort in knowing
that some regard him as a victim of police entrapment, CASH.
And despite the fact that I am not gay and never have been,
I don’t think it should be illegal for one man to hit on another
man. But if a bill making it illegal for men to hit on other
men in airport toilets—or anywhere else—had come up for a
vote, Senator Craig—with his perfect antigay voting record—would
surely have voted in favor of it. So even if Senator Craig
is the victim here, as some are insisting, it’s hard to feel
much sympathy for him.
However, CASH, as I’m sure you and others involved in the
homosexual lifestyle are aware, the kind of man that plays
footsie in an airport toilet fully intends to have sex in
that same toilet, and a public toilet is a public place—and
public sex is illegal for gay people like you, CASH, and for
straight people like me and Senator Craig.
And while I would be the first to argue that most of the men
looking to get it on in toilets and other public-sex environments
are discreet and don’t bother anyone—and I argued just that
on CNN last week—some are not discreet and some do
bother people. (I also argued that most of the men getting
it on in toilets are straight-identified, just like me and
Senator Craig.) There were complaints about that particular
bathroom at the Minneapolis airport, and the police did what
the police are supposed to do when there are complaints—they
responded. If straight men, like me and Senator Craig, had
been fucking women in the toilets at the Minneapolis airport,
the police would no doubt have responded to those complaints,
Finally, part of the thrill of public sex—getting it on in
toilets or parks with strangers—is the delicious danger, the
exquisite risk, the trouble you know you’ll get into if you
get caught. So it’s hard to have much sympathy when someone
who is aroused by the risk of discovery is discovered. It
wouldn’t be a career-destroying event for an out gay man today—like,
say, a George Michael. It would, however, be career destroying
for gay-bashing, straight-identified hypocrites like, say,
a new Savage Love podcast every Tuesday at www.thestranger.com/savage.