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SAVAGE LOVE

BY DAN SAVAGE

My husband was 28 when I met him, and a virgin. When we started having sex, he opened up about being “different.” He wanted to wear panties, he wanted me to have sex with other men, he wanted me to make fun of his tiny penis. Didn’t love the stuff, but whatever. Now it’s a thousand times worse. He goes to Victoria’s Secret and tells the salesgirls he is being punished by his wife for wearing her panties and that I am “forcing him” to go buy some of his own. He told me he could see our neighbor undressing, so he tried to contact her to see if she wanted to humiliate him while he was dressed as a woman. He thankfully failed to contact her. And I recently found an e-mail in which he “confessed” to a female coworker that he had a deep, dark, embarrassing secret he wanted to tell her. I confronted him, and he said he was going to tell her about me “forcing him” to wear panties and ask if she wanted to see his tiny penis!

He sees nothing wrong with this behavior. I feel like he is a fucking asshole and a pervert who is violating me, our marriage, and other women. I have children with this dude! What the hell do I do?!?

—My Husband Is Out

Here’s what the hell you do, MHIO: You make a credible threat to divorce your husband and his tiny dick—serve him with actual divorce papers—then you set some conditions for temporarily suspending divorce proceedings. No more trips to Victoria’s Secret, no more stalking the neighbors, no more inappropriate e-mails to coworkers. And he begins seeing a sex-positive therapist immediately.

The shit he’s into—humiliation, “forced” feminization, cuckolding—can be enjoyed with consenting partners, i.e., women who are either into it or willing to fake it for a reasonable fee. He has no right to drag his coworkers, neighbors, salesgirls, and other innocent bystanders into these extreme humiliation scenarios. A good, sex-positive therapist—someone who won’t be shocked by your husband’s kinks—may be able to help your husband see that he isn’t being humiliated by these women. He’s humiliating these women—and without their consent.

And that’s not OK.

Your husband is out of control—I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that—and sooner or later he’s going to get his asshole ass arrested. Stalking and sexually harassing women are actual crimes, crimes your loving husband has been so considerate as to implicate you in, crimes that could have a hugely negative impact on the lives of your children. So threaten to divorce him, MHIO, and if that doesn’t inspire him to get help and get a grip, make good on that threat.

My girlfriend of six months told me she found it “awkward” when early in our relationship I used lubricant from a half-full bottle. As the bottle was half-full, she says, it hinted at past relationships. To me, this was no more awkward than our using condoms from a half-full box—which did not bother my girlfriend. But she sees condoms as individually wrapped, single-use items, unlike a bottle of lubricant. Was I in the wrong for failing to purchase a new bottle of lubricant?

—Lubrication Etiquette, S’il Vous Plaît

I’m tempted to break into your apartment, LESVP, spike your lube with Frank’s RedHot sauce and open a live feed of the oil pouring into the Gulf of Mexico on both your laptops. Because you two clearly need something real to worry about. But in the meantime: Personal lubricants are expensive. If the girlfriend believes a fresh bottle should be cracked open each and every time she gets with a new partner, then she should carry a case around in the trunk of her car. And as a general note: Lube also comes in small, single-ass-serving packets—just like ketchup and mustard and condoms—and anyone worried about their partners reacting badly to the half-empty, 50-gallon drum of pubic-hair-bedazzled lube by the side of the bed is free to invest in a box.

I have a dilemma: My ex wants me to replace his mattress because I ejaculated on it. Apparently, there was an “unbearable” smell that came about recently due to the heat and humidity where he now lives.

I am not sure that this “stench” is entirely or at all mine. My ex has a cat that peed on items of furniture in the past. Can he be sure that the smell is not from the cat? I have been ejaculating for years now and have never had a problem with smell. No other lovers have ever complained about a smell. I also warned my ex before we had sex that I, a female, was capable of ejaculation. There was an opportunity to stop/grab a towel, but my ex did not stop. In fact, my ex caused me to ejaculate countless times and he seemed to enjoy every second of it. This ex now lives in a different city on the other side of the country, but we have friends in common.

Should I pay for the replacement mattress? I might have been open to paying half the expense, but the last time we talked, my ex was so negative toward me that I don’t feel any obligation at all.

—Should I Soak It Up

I don’t want you to pay for your ex’s new mattress—and I’ll bet your ex doesn’t want you to pay for his new mattress, either.

What’s really going on here, SISIU, is this: Your ex’s out-of-the-blue request for mattress reparations is an attempt on his part, conscious or not, to sever communications with you. He’s picking a fight, one he knows he’s likely to lose (because this is sopping-wet bullshit), so that he’ll have an excuse to stop speaking to you and an excuse to slag you off to your mutual friends.

And even if your ranky, stanky, janky lady spunk ruined your ex’s old mattress, SISIU, you would still not be obligated to replace it. When an adult invites another adult into his bed, he is or should be aware that sexual activity frequently leads to stained sheets and pillowcases, soaked and/or stained mattresses, and, every once in a great while/time, completely and thoroughly and utterly destroyed bed frames. A person who is unwilling to eat those losses should be careful to fuck on the floor, fuck outside, or fuck at his partner’s place.

Seeing as your ex should have been aware of the general risk sexual activity posed to his mattress, and seeing as you acquainted him with the specific risks you posed to his mattress, the responsibility and the liability are entirely his. So fuck him.

While we’re on the subject of lady ejaculators: Lots of folks wrote in with suggestions for WET, the woman in last week’s column who, like SISIU here, routinely soaked the bed when she came. While I suggested a wrestling mat and towels, numerous readers wrote in to plug the Fascinator Throe.

“It’s a large, double-sided blanket,” wrote one Savage Love reader. “It’s faux fur on one side, satin on the other, with a waterproof barrier in the middle. It comes in lots of colors and costs around $90. It goes anywhere you want to fuck, and then it’s easy to clean. This thing saved my bed, and it’s a hell of a lot sexier than a wrestling mat.”

Given a choice between a fake-fur bedspread and a genuine wrestling mat, I’d go with the mat—and the wrestler—every time. But lady ejaculators who prefer machine-washable faux fur to scorching-hot wrestling action can check out Fascinator Throes—“the moisture-proof playscape for sex”—at liberator.com.

mail@savagelove.net

Find the Savage Lovecast every Tuesday at thestranger.com/savage.



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