I was in my teens to mid-20s, I fought a burgeoning weight
problem. My heaviest was 235 pounds on a 5-foot-10 frame.
Now I watch what I eat and I work out. I have a six-pack.
And here’s my problem: I get too much attention from women.
When I was out of shape, women paid attention, but not as
much. Now, if I wanted to, I could get all the pussy I wanted.
Single pussy, married pussy, all-different-color pussy.
Is it normal for a guy to turn down so much of the pussy that
gets pitched at him? I am a tall Asian guy, six foot one,
165 pounds, cut and lean, 32 but look 28. But I like to go
after the hard-to-get pussy. The easy pussy that gets thrown
at me, I’m not interested in. What’s wrong with me?
In Pussy Land
not enclosing a few dozen pictures with your e-mail, there’s
nothing wrong with you that I can tell, LIPL. More pussy gets
tossed your way than gets tossed into a Dumpster behind a
vet’s office—good for you. Why isn’t that slow-pitch pussy
turning you on? Maybe you like to work harder for your pussy,
LIPL, or maybe you’re not a catcher (as the gays say), or
maybe you’re an arrogant douchebag who likes to brag to gay
sex-advice columnists about all the pussy he isn’t banging
for whatever reason. Or, geez, maybe you’re just turned off
by sexually aggressive women—and that’s fine. No one is obligated
to be into sexually aggressive women (they certainly leave
me cold). But you might want to look into your heart—it’s
that tiny, undeveloped muscle beneath your left pec—to make
sure you’re not a dumbassmotherfucker turned off by sexually
aggressive women because he believes “good” women don’t or
shouldn’t have sexual desires or agency.
Oh, and speaking of sexually aggressive women: Did you
catch Abigail Van Buren’s advice column last Monday? (That
woman—she’s the Johan Fucking Santana of pussy pitchers.)
Now, I generally try to avoid policing the work of other advice
professionals—life’s too short to read Jamie “Get Naked” Bufalino—but
I’m going to make an exception. In her March 17 column, Abby
responded to a man whose wife was seduced, in the middle of
the night, by one of his three brothers. The man’s wife doesn’t
know she had sex with one of her brothers-in-law, and the
husband doesn’t know what to do about it. Abby suggested that
his wife may have had an “inkling that it wasn’t [her husband]
that crept into her bed” that night, and recommended that
her correspondent demand “chapter and verse” from his wife
before packing her off to the docs for an STI screening.
Feminist bloggers were outraged—a highly unusual occurrence—because
the only correct response, according to Jezebel.com, was something
along the lines of, “Your wife was raped! Kill your brothers—all
three of them! Now! NOW!!!”
The problem with Jezebel’s reaction is this: That woman wasn’t
raped, because that woman doesn’t exist. Regular Savage Love
readers are schooled in the art of spotting bullshit letters.
So here’s the letter, kids—let’s see if you can spot the clues:
am 27, and my wife, ‘Marybeth,’ is 26. We recently went to
my folks’ house for supper. That evening, a heavy snowstorm
was starting and . . . we decided to stay overnight. My old
bedroom is upstairs, as are the rooms of my brothers, ages
25, 24, and 22. The guest room is downstairs. [Because] Marybeth
said she felt a cold coming on; we decided I’d sleep in my
old room. The next day, while we were driving home, Marybeth
told me she was glad I had come to her room after all and
made love to her. Abby, it wasn’t me! She had mistaken one
of my brothers for me in the darkness. We are all about the
same size and build.”
Okaaaay, Savage Love readers, let’s pause here. How do we
know this is a fake? Well, for starters, there are the ages
of the protagonists: 27 and 26. Not 37 and 36, not 67 and
66, but 27 and 26—which just so happen to be, for most folks,
the years of maximum hotness. Fake letters about sexual scenarios
always involve the young and presumably hot, never the old
and presumably average. Next, there’s the cascading set of
circumstances that are, as is typical with fakes, utterly
beyond the control of the letter’s author: a snowstorm, a
cold coming on, a far-off guest room. And all of his brothers
were at Mom and Dad’s for dinner that night, too. Or they
all still live at home. And they’re all in their 20s.
Now back to the letter:
have talked to each of my brothers (they all know about this),
but they won’t say who it was for fear of causing a rift .
. . I told them that unless I find out who it was, there will
be a permanent rift between all of us. (Marybeth still doesn’t
know it wasn’t me.) How do I handle this?”
How does he handle this? With his right hand wrapped around
his cock, that’s how. And how does an advice professional
handle this? With the delete key, Abby.
Huge numbers of straight men—those lovable sickos—fantasize
about their wives cheating on them with coworkers, siblings,
sports teams, governors of New York, etc. Any advice columnist
who runs letters that touch on sexual issues has to be cognizant
of that. And when someone seeking advice spins out an improbable
set of circumstances—including, in this case, a wife who can’t
recognize her husband in the dark—that literally climaxes
with the realization of a thoroughly common male fantasy (cuckolding),
well, that should set an advice professional’s bullshit sensors
So, Jezebel, let’s not get too worked up about the “rape”
of this man’s wife. Repeat after me: She wasn’t raped, because
she doesn’t exist. That letter in Dear Abby was the work of
a cuckold fetishist or cuckold wannabe. Yes, yes: Abby took
the letter seriously, accepted its premise, and her answer
was a bit clueless. (As was your credulousness, Jezebel.)
But calling for Abby’s resignation while Jamie Bufalino still
has a column? Puh-leeze.
I just wanted to respond to the letters in your column from
TALI and CPAC, gay teenagers being mistreated at home and
school. While I loved your response, I think it’s very important
to let your young gay readers know that there is support out
there—even if they’re stuck in small towns. The Trevor Project
(www.thetrevorproject.org) has a hotline (1-866-4-U-TREVOR)
for kids contemplating suicide or who just need someone to
talk to. The GLBT National Help Center (www.glnh.org) has
a large database of gay and lesbian organizations. And finally,
your readers can check out the National Coalition for Gay,
Lesbian, Bisexual & Transgender Youth (www.out proud.org).
And to TALI and CPAC and all the other gay and lesbian youth
out there who feel like they are alone, remember that this
is temporary. My brother came out in high school and went
through hell. I never expected him to make it past his teens.
He’s in his 30s now, he has two degrees, he’s traveled all
over the world, and he has many friends and loved ones.
Of My Baby Brother
for sharing, POMBB, and give my best to your baby brother.
There’s a lot more advice from Savage Love readers for TALI
and CPAC and other gay teenagers at www.thestranger.com/sav
a new Savage Love podcast every Tuesday at www.thestranger.com/savage.