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I have a swim-cap fetish. I don’t know why; it’s not like I saw my grandmother bathing with a shower cap on or anything like that. My GGG girlfriend is willing to wear a swim cap during sex, and I think that’s wonderful, but it goes beyond that. I go to the pool several times a week on the way home from work. Not because I like swimming or need the exercise, but because I want to see women in swim caps. My girlfriend doesn’t know about this; she thinks I am just working late. I feel bad about lying, but I can’t bring myself to tell her. Is this cheating?

— Swim Caps Are Really Erotic

You’re not cheating, SCARE, but you’re acting like you are—and that has to be the dumbest fucking thing you could possibly do. If you lie and sneak around and hide the fact that you’ve been swimming—swimming—then your girlfriend is going to react like you’ve been cheating on her when she discovers that you’ve been swimming—swimming—behind her back.

Any girlfriend GGG enough to wear a swim cap during sex is going to be GGG enough to let her boyfriend check out other girls in swim caps at the pool. She may laugh and roll her eyes—with affection, hopefully—when you ask for her permission, but a little good-natured ribbing from an indulgent partner is a small price to pay.

Please tell all the “better than everyone else” Bible thumpers out there that I’m not a perv. I am an Adult Little Girl, or LG (a person who enjoys age-regress play), and a Bible-thumping “friend” verbally bashed me after finding a picture of me in my LG persona on a Web site. He called me a perverted faggot and a child molester.

First, like most crossdressers, I’m straight. Second, I’ve been happily married for 10 years to a loving and understanding woman. Third, I’ve never been molested and I don’t have mommy or daddy issues. I’m more sane than most!

The comment came from a man who has been divorced four times. He is also a serial adulterer who caught at least one STI from a prostitute!

—Someone’s Little Girl

I’m happy to tell all the “better than you” Bible thumpers out there that you’re not a perv, SLG, but it’s not going to do any good.

Your friend, like a lot of Bible thumpers, needs to feel morally superior to someone. And looking down his nose at you in your little-girl dresses and me in my big fag relationship allows him to feel morally superior at absolutely no cost to himself. He doesn’t have to refrain from fucking hookers or cheating on his parade of spouses to get right with his make-believe God. He need only refrain from doing things he has no desire to do—sucking dick, dancing around in dresses—in order to go to his wholly imaginary God’s entirely fictitious heaven.

So, SLG, who cares if he thinks you’re a perv? You are a bit of a perv. So am I. And we’re happily married pervs and he’s a miserable “normal man” with multiple alimony payments to make and kids who despise him and, without a doubt, one or two sexual urges that he’s too terrified to act on. We’ve got the much better deal, SLG, even if we have to put up with being called “perv” by scum every now and then.

I’ve been happily married for eight years. My wife and I have sex once or twice a week. But I have a serious problem: I’m addicted to pornography.

I keep a stash of porn in a drawer at work. Three times a week, my lunch hour is spent jerking off in the handicapped stall of a public restroom. And that’s only the beginning. I have a fetish for shit. An ideal experience for me is to save up my bowel movement until my lunch hour, go to my favorite restroom, and time it just right so that I empty my bowels right before the moment of ejaculation. An extra bonus is if someone arrives at one of the other stalls and takes a shit. The sound and smell of it excites me even more (I am definitely not gay). And once the person leaves, I finish with a head-shattering orgasm.

After a really good one, I sometimes smear my shit on the walls of the stall. I feel very disgusted afterward. I’m not hurting anyone, but this seems wrong. Should I talk to someone?

—Addicted In Los Angeles

Yeah, AILA, you should definitely talk to someone: the janitors who have to clean up after you. You owe them an apology and tens of thousands of dollars worth of restitution. Eesh.

I’m trying to decide what’s more hilarious about your letter—that you think a “porn addiction” is your problem or that you felt obligated to include “definitely not gay” in a parenthetical. Uh, AILA? There are lots of straight guys out there with porn stashes and thrice-weekly-or-more masturbation routines who somehow resist the urge to smear shit all over bathroom stalls. But, hey, on behalf of gay men everywhere I want to thank you for identifying as straight. And we encourage you to be particularly insistent on that point when you finally get arrested. We don’t need any more toilet-related bad press just now, thanks.

I have been with my girlfriend for over three years. Our relationship has come to the point where we feel that we should either get married or go our separate ways. She is a great girl: smart, nice, trustworthy. We have a lot of fun together. There’s just one problem: She hates sex. In her opinion, “sex isn’t supposed to be fun.” She also thinks our sex life is fine. But every time we talk about marriage, all I can think about is a lifetime of bad sex!

—Not Totally Screwed

Don’t marry this woman, NTS. Not unless you want to be sending me a letter like this one in two short years . . .

My wife of two years has no interest in sex. My “love life” consists of my right hand and Internet porn. I’ve tried giving her time without bringing it up, bringing it up, setting the mood with candles, taking care of all the housework, cuddling—everything. But our sex life is dead like Dillinger. I don’t want to DTMFA because we have a kid. But I can’t stay in this situation forever. Is there some age at which kids are best able to handle a divorce?

—Think About The Child

The literature is all over the place on the least worst time in a child’s life for his parents to divorce. If you’re sure the sex life is not just really dead but really most sincerely dead—if it’s not hormones or depression or stress—divorce now and get it over with.  

Download a new Savage Love podcast every Tuesday at www.thestranger.com/savage.

mail@savagelove.net


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