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I’m
a successful guy with a beautiful wife who is a successful
executive herself. About two years ago I had a seriously stupid
affair with an attractive woman at my firm. It lasted six
weeks, and then my wife busted us. She did the usual and threw
my sorry ass out of the house; I deserved it, I admit. We
separated for six months and after major begging, promises
never to do it again, and some intense sessions with a marriage
counselor, my wife took me back. So you’re probably thinking,
“So what is the problem, pal?” Well, here goes:
A couple of weeks ago, I was snooping around in my wife’s
desk while she was out at the gym and found one of her journals
from around the time we were separated. While we were apart
she and her bisexual best friend had a fling. It wasn’t just
a minor little “Oh, I got drunk, we kissed and fondled each
other” thing. It was a full blown fuck-fest! My wife wrote
about having her brains fucked out by her friend using a strap-on
in every position imaginable. She even took it up the ass
from this woman! Not to mention she allowed her little bi-strumpet
to tie her up, spank her, and eat her pussy! I am now unsure
about our marriage. Am I wrong to feel threatened by this
affair? I went through her more recent journals and didn’t
find any other mention of incidents like this. Yet I am still
hurt and angry. Am I wrong to feel this way, Dan? Please tell
me if I am.
—Angry
Husband
You
were separated when your wife messed around with her bisexual
buddy, AH, and when married people are separated the assumption
is that their marriage is “on hold,” with their marriage vows
temporarily suspended. When you guys were working through
things with a counselor, your wife really should’ve come clean
about her own non-affair—it’s a non-affair since you were
separated at the time—if only because you were bound to find
out about it sooner or later. She didn’t, you found out, and
now it’s back to the marriage counselor to discuss the following
thrilling subjects: You shouldn’t have fucked around on her,
she shouldn’t have kept her fuck-fest from you, and you shouldn’t
have read her journals. Enjoy the sessions, they should be
a thrill.
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Any advice on how I can quickly yet
subtly cleanse my mouth after a long session of hair pie?
I get harder than a cruise missile when I lick the quivering
quim, and I feel like immediately entering and dropping my
payload, but my girlfriend and I don’t like to make out with
all that nectar on my face. I’ve done the quick swipe with
a towel, but that doesn’t eliminate all the juice in and around
my mouth.
—Better
to Give Than Receive
When
you’re done chompin’ on her hair pie, jump out of bed, dunk
your head in a bucket of bleach, inhale, gargle, and then
jump back on the girlfriend. Lord knows it’s what I would
do if I had to lick something as grotesque sounding as a “quivering
quim.” Ugh.
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Not a sex question, but had to write.
As the Republicans take over the Senate, I want to say FUCK
YOU to those idiot fuckheads who two years ago thought a vote
for Ralph “Vanity Candidate” Nader was a vote for Democracy.
If they hadn’t voted for that schmuck in Florida, Al Gore
would be the politician profiting off 3,000 dead people here
in New York instead of George W. Bush. Two more Scalias will
soon join the Supreme Court and we’ll be living with the fallout
of that for 20 years. You called it in 2000, Dan, when you
tried to talk sense to Nader voters who read your column.
Now you need to remind those Nader-voting assholes that the
death of Roe v. Wade—and of any progress on privacy and gay
rights in the United States—is all their fuckin’ fault.
—Pissed-Off
New Yorker
I
would remind those idiot Nader-voters myself, PONY, but you
did such a good job of reminding them that I don’t have to.
Thanks for sharing.
I’ve always thought that Mormon boys
on their missions, going from door to door seeking converts
and looking very innocent, are way hot. Then I locked myself
out of my house, and to get inside I tried to climb a fence
and—long story short—two very hot LDS rode by on their bikes
and helped me down after I got stuck. They proceeded to “spread
the word” to me for about an hour and they “made” me invite
them back. Every time they come by I sit and think very nasty
thoughts about them while they try to save me. They want to
baptize me and all I want to do is bone them both. Am I going
to be smote by the Big Cheese?
—Wish
They All Could Be Mormon Boys
While
these boys take pleasure fantasizing about saving your soul,
WTACBMB, you take pleasure fantasizing about stuffing their
holes. It sounds like a perfectly wonderful arrangement to
me, and it’s not one you should feel the least bit guilty
about. Enjoy the fresh-scrubbed face time, okay?
(Confidential to all the Mormon parents out there who read
my column: It’s a big, dangerous world outside Utah, and people
who welcome your boys into their homes may have more than
latter-day-sainthood on their minds.)
I rather enjoyed the letter from
the woman whose family was horrible to her at holiday gatherings.
It’s nice to know that I’m not the only one. Here’s a suggestion,
Dan: Why don’t you do a whole column filled with stories from
people about their awful, awful families and the shit that
goes down around the holidays? That would make a nice Kwanzaa
gift, don’t you think?
—Hellish
Holidays
Thanks
for the idea, HH, but I think I’ll pass. Much as I enjoy horrifying
holiday stories, my editor is pressing me to focus on sex,
sex, sex—which is supposed to be the primary concern here
at Savage Love. But . . . perhaps we can accommodate your
desire for horrifying holiday stories with my editor’s desire
for horrifying sex stories? One of the ways people cope with
horrifying holiday gatherings is by slipping away from mom,
dad, siblings, and grandparents for a little sleazy, furtive,
life-affirming sex. So I’m inviting Savage Love readers to
send me their stories of horrifying holiday gathering sex.
Mess around with your hot cousin in the basement while your
parents drank themselves into a stupor in the living room?
Your drunk aunt slip you the tongue on the last night of Hanukkah?
Meet some other miserable soul in town for the holidays at
a bar on Christmas night and wind up back at his place?
These are the kind of uplifting stories I want to hear. Send
your tales of Horrifying Holiday Sex to me at letters@savagelove.net,
and I’ll publish them over the holidays. Best depressing holiday
sex story wins a $75 gift certificate to Babes in Toyland.
Dan
Savage’s new book, Skipping Towards Gomorrah (Dutton),
is on sale now—and it makes a horrifying holiday gift. Send
your Savage Love questions to mail@savagelove.net
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