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OK:
Female, married 15 years, one young child. No sex with husband
over last five years. Have tried therapy, talking, not talking,
confrontation—you name it, Dan, I tried it. Lingerie, kink,
porn. Seriously, everything. A year and a half ago, I got
into a relationship with a married guy, a man who also wasn’t
getting any at home. Our agreement is basically this: no strings,
no ties that could hurt our families, have as much fun as
we can.
My husband just got diagnosed with late-stage cancer. He is
dying. Six months. Leaving him is not an option. On some level,
I feel horribly guilty about still seeing my lover, but it’s
the only outlet I’ve got.
Am I a complete skank/CPOS?
—No
Good Acronym
You
were doing what you needed to do to stay sane and stay married
before your husband’s diagnosis, NGA, and you should continue
to do whatever it takes to stay sane and stay married—for
your own sake, for your husband’s sake, for your kid’s sake.
If seeing your lover helps, I think you should continue to
see your lover.
But see him less often, NGA, and redouble your efforts to
keep the affair secret.
You are less the spouse and lover now, and more the nurse
and caretaker. In consideration of the good years you had
together and with the knowledge that his undiagnosed illness
could have been behind his lack of interest in sex, let go
of whatever lingering resentments you have. Do everything
you can to make your husband comfortable and make his death
“good”—and that includes keeping your affair from him.
Realistically and logistically, NGA, I think you won’t be
able to see as much of your lover over the next six months
as you have over the last 18. And six months isn’t that long
to go without. But if you need to see your lover a few times
in order to stay sane and stay married and get through this
awful time, then you should see your lover—for your own sake,
for your husband’s sake, for your kid’s sake.
I’ve been with my current boyfriend for a little over
a year. Since the get-go, he has refused to give me oral sex
because he just plain doesn’t like it, doesn’t like the taste.
He says he doesn’t even like looking at my vagina. He does,
however, like me to give him oral sex. I’ve tried explaining
the importance of oral for me, but he thinks I’m obsessing
and says the act just grosses him out. I’m resenting this
situation more and more. So much so that now I really don’t
feel like giving him oral sex. Any suggestions on how to improve
this situation?
—Needing
Oral Tonight
Your
situation will not improve, NOT, until you find yourself a
boyfriend who isn’t a fag.
There may be a few straight boys out there who don’t like
to eat pussy, sad to say, but a straight boy who doesn’t even
like to look at pussy? Unless there’s something
very seriously wrong with your pussy’s appearance—a web of
scars from a waxing gone horribly, horribly wrong; the Fox
News logo tattooed on your pubic mound; the glowering face
of a parasitic twin where your clit should be—your boyfriend
is a fag, NOT. Do to your boyfriend what my one and only girlfriend
should’ve done to me: DTMFA.
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Just wanted to share a funny story with you. It’s also,
we think, a great example of being GGG. My ladyfriend generally
requires more foreplay than I do, but on rare occasions we
focus on me exclusively. Two nights ago, after three years
together, we figured we’d give a high-school classic a try:
I was going to get a handjob. I must’ve been temporarily transported
back to my Little League days, because as she was contentedly
pumping away, I asked if she could adjust her grip, saying,
“Baby, could you choke up a little bit?”
“What,”
she said, the sweetest, most GGG look on her face, “you mean,
like, cry?”
I really think she would’ve done it, too, if I hadn’t laughed
so hard I nearly fell off the bed.
—Choked
Up In Toronto
Thanks
for sharing, CUIT, and now . . .
WHEREAS you’re writing from Canada, and WHEREAS my Canadian
readers patiently endure my rants about conservative American
politicians (like last week’s rant about New Hampshire state
representative Nancy “Wiggle in Excrement” Elliott), and WHEREAS
my American readers might assume that Canada—where gay marriage
is legal, everyone has health care, the boys are hot, and
the girls are hotter—doesn’t have any batshit-conservative
politicians of its own, BE IT RESOLVED that I will make an
effort to write about Canada’s batshit-conservative politicians
every once in a while.
No time like the present: I could write about your batshit-conservative
prime minister, Stephen Harper, who’s always proroguing the
shit out of your parliament. (I don’t know what proroguing
is exactly, but like the shit in French on breakfast-cereal
boxes, it sounds pretty fucking filthy.) But a better example
of conservative batshittery would be Vic Toews. Canada’s unofficial
“Minister of Family Values,” member of parliament Toews—surprise!—doesn’t
like the gays because we’re a threat to the family and the
institution of marriage. Toews has described gay marriage
ceremonies as satanic “Black Masses” and insisted that adding
gays and lesbians to existing Canadian civil rights statutes
would bring the “jackboot of fascism [down] on the necks of
our people.”
You know where this is going, right?
It turned out that Toews—who once warned that gay marriage
could lead to polygamy—was cheating on his wife of 25 years.
After getting a much younger woman pregnant, Toews wound up
getting divorced. Another marriage destroyed not by gays stomping
around in fabulous jackboots, but by another straight “Christian”
shitfuck politician slamming his dick into someone who isn’t
his wife.
Toews’ affair became public two years ago, but the scandal
didn’t destroy him—he became minister of public safety this
January—because the Canadian press sniffed that Toews’ affair
and divorce were private. Excuse me, Canadian-press
pansies, but a politician who scares up votes attacking the
private lives of others, a politician who insists that other
people are out to destroy his marriage, can’t be allowed to
hide behind “my private business!” when it turns out that
the only threat to the politician’s marriage was the politician’s
own greasy cock.
Here’s hoping that all straight folks everywhere one day realize
that anti-gay ravers come in just two flavors: assholes who
are externalizing their own internal struggles against homosexual
desires (Ted Haggard, Larry Craig, Charlie Crist, Joseph Ratzinger,
et al.) and assholes who are attempting to compensate for
and/or draw attention away from their own moral shortcomings
(David Vitter, Mark Sanford, John Ensign, Vic Toews, et al.).
Toews is pronounced “taves,” and it seems to me that it
should be a word for something nasty. Get on it, Canada.
CONFIDENTIAL TO EVERYONE WHO ASKED: If the mother of the 13-year-old
boy with the latex-glove fetish had written to me and not
to Prudie—and she probably didn’t write to me for a reason—I
would’ve advised her to leave her son alone, told her that
fetishes aren’t mental illnesses, and suggested that her son
might be feeling “horribly embarrassed and guilty” about his
fetish because HIS MOTHER IS HOUNDING HIM ABOUT IT. And I
would’ve told her that any wife or girlfriend who wouldn’t
indulge her son’s kink—once he’s an adult—wouldn’t be worthy
of his time or affections.
Download
a new Savage Love podcast every Tuesday at www.thestranger.com/savage.
mail@savagelove.net
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