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My
boyfriend recently moved in with me—the first straight guy
I’ve ever shared an apartment with. I’m very clean and take
great pride in my apartment. However, since he moved in, I’ve
tried to be mindful of the fact that there will be certain
things I’ll need to adjust to. Still, I think it’s important
to clean up after oneself, so when I found an empty liter-sized
Sprite bottle among half-unpacked boxes, I figured I’d leave
it there and let him pick it up along with his other trash
in our bedroom. The surprise came a couple of days later when
I noticed that the liter bottle was not only still in our
room, it was full. Was it a new bottle of Sprite? Why wasn’t
it in the fridge? I opened the bottle and caught a whiff not
of Sprite, but of piss.
WTF?
I’m a heavy sleeper, so I guess I don’t hear him pee into
a plastic liter-bottle in the middle of the night. I’ve already
mentioned not leaving dirty dishes around, making sure to
use coasters, etc., and I’m beginning to feel like a nag.
But isn’t this crossing the line?!
—Pretty
Insulted Seeking Solution
It
doesn’t cross any lines of mine, PISS, but it clearly crosses
a line of yours.
And you know what else probably crosses a line for you? Peeing
in the tub—and I can guarantee you, PISS, that any man too
lazy to walk to the toilet in the middle of the night is,
without a doubt, too lazy to get out of the tub if he realizes
he needs to piss after he’s stepped into the shower.
Just sayin’.
So what do you do? Well, you cut him a deal. You promise to
stop nagging about the little things—dirty dishes here and
there, inconsistent use of coasters—in exchange for his solemn
promise not to piss in bottles or bathtubs. If your boyfriend
is smart, he’ll take the deal and stop pissing in bottles
and bath—well, he’ll stop pissing in bottles anyway, since
it’ll be easy for you to bust him on that. Pissing in the
shower, on the other hand. . . .
Is there a word for the act of filling a woman’s vaginal
canal (appropriately lubed, of course) with latex, waiting
until it hardens, pulling it out, strapping it on, and then
fucking someone up the ass with it? If not, I would like to
propose “channeling.” My girlfriend prefers “verting,” but
whatever you call it, it sounds like fun. I know there’s a
host of kits supporting the penile “plaster caster” hobbyist,
but I haven’t seen the feminine equivalent advertised anywhere.
—Congenital
Invert
You’re
free to spend your free time dreaming up wild and crazy hypothetical
sex acts and scenarios, CI, and christening them, if that
floats your boat. But the world will little note, nor long
remember, the names you come up with for your long list of
impossible and/or improbable sex acts. For a term to stick—pegging,
GGG, santorum—it has to describe or define an act, an attitude,
or a substance that is regularly engaged in, assumed, or wiped
up by a critical mass of sexually active people. And there
just aren’t enough willing women or interested men out there,
CI, to bring a term for vaginal-canal-as-dildo-mold into popular
use.
But in case I’m wrong: I don’t think “channeling” or “verting”
quite captures it. If vaginal-cast dildos catch on, CI, I
believe the act should be known as a “Rachel Whitereading.”
I am a 20-year-old straight female dating the boy of
my dreams. The only problem is that the sex is awful! His
dick doesn’t get hard half of the time, he doesn’t like blowjobs,
and he never seems to enjoy anything I do to him. The only
thing he doesn’t have a problem with is penetrating me from
behind, or “doggy-style.” I’ve asked him once or twice if
he might like men, but he never gives me a straight answer
and I can’t shake the feeling that he might be gay. He says
that he never has a problem coming or getting hard when he
is masturbating. I am his first relationship. Could he be
gay or is he just insecure?
—Real
Confused
When
I was a 20-year-old gay male, RC, the “boy of my dreams” was
a lot of things—soft and pink as a nursery, for starters—but
insecure, inept, and incommunicative? Those weren’t the traits
I dreamed about, RC, and they’re traits that should disqualify
a guy from boy-of-dreams status.
As to the matter of his sexuality, RC, there’s no way for
me to know for sure if your boyfriend’s a fag, short of fucking
his ass. (And even then I couldn’t tell you for sure—I mean,
what if he cried the whole time?) But a guy enjoying doggy-style
sex with girls is no more evidence of latent homosexuality
than a gay man’s preference for face-to-face anal is evidence
of latent heterosexuality. (And, yes, face-to-face is usually
how it’s done, people.)
But gay or straight, it doesn’t sound like this boy is the
right boy for you. Dream another dream, RC.
How long will come keep? Even when my boyfriend blue-pills
it and works my hole for a few hours, by the time I push it
out there’s hardly enough for ONE gulp—to say nothing of filling
a champagne flute. As hot as it sounds, I’m NOT going to invite
10 of our closest friends to dump loads in me. I figure my
boyfriend and I could freeze our loads, push them up my butt,
and he can churn them as he works my hole. But can come go
bad? I’d rather not ask my doctor.
—Desperately
Seeking Semen
P.S.
We’ve been together for five years and stopped using condoms
four years ago after testing. No risk of the pest.
Gross-out letters from teenage straight and/or closeted boys
pretending to be disgusting fags don’t usually include information
about testing and the length of the relationship, which leads
me to believe that you might actually be disgusting fags.
So I will answer your disgusting question:
You and your boyfriend will gulp down loads—or sip ’em out
of champagne flutes—after you’ve pushed them back out of
your ass, DSS. Do you really think that frozen-and-then-defrosted
come, even if it’s gone “bad,” is going to be any worse than
the slop you’re already putting in your mouths?
My good friend Sarah tells me that you said you would
give me a shout-out in your column last week for my birthday.
I probably would have shit my pants and exploded with birthday
happiness. But you didn’t. So I just wanted to say thanks
for ruining my 21st birthday. Oh, and if I could get the $3.25
back that I paid for the hardcover of The Commitment I found
in a bargain bin, that would be fantastic.
—Patrick
From Portland
P.S.
Just kidding. You’re still my favorite sex columnist. But
seriously: my birthday? Totally ruined.
Sorry about that, PFP. I will make it up to you by personally
administering a belated birthday spanking the next time I’m
in town.
Download
a new Savage Love podcast every Tuesday at www.thestranger.com/savage.
mail@savagelove.net
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