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I am a 26-year-old gay guy with a strange fetish. Mine feels like itís the strangest one out there because Iíve never read anything about it anywhere. Consequently, Iíve always felt the embarrassed and ashamed.

Even before I was consciously aware of my attractions to guys, Iíve been aroused by bread. My sexual attraction to men was confirmed when a friend who wrestled found it humorous (or arousing) to pin me in such a way that his buns were pressed down on my face, smothering me. Something about being dominated in this way excited me. As I became more in touch with these desires, I began doing auto-asphyxiation using bread to smother myself when I masturbated. The only time Iíve been able to recreate this sensation with a guy is when Iíve been lucky enough to rim a perfectly smooth guyís bottom. But I canít imagine Iíll ever be able to experience my deepest, darkest fantasy: finding an aggressively dominant bottom who will sit on my cock while smothering me with a loaf of white bread. Knowing that I may never experience this has lead me to feel extremely alienated from, and weird about, my desires, and ultimately left me never truly satisfied from sex.

There are several issues at work here that you could address. Iím not really quite sure what it is Iím asking for.

óThe End Eater

Youíre asking for the same thing most of the people who write me are asking for, TEE: permission to open your mouth and ask your sex partners for what you want. Your fetish is oddóany fetish Iíve never heard of has to be considered oddóbut itís not an unworkable fetish, provided youíre willing to tell the guys youíre sleeping with about it. Start opening up and sooner or later youíll come across a guy whoíll happily indulge you. Some guys may laugh you out of their bedrooms, of course, but thatís a small price to pay on the way to finding a guy who runs to kitchen for a loaf of white bread, isnít it?

And look on the bright side, TEE: While youíre fetish is rare, youíve got one serious advantage over guys with similarly rare fetishesóe.g., guys with a boner for dress socks, or guys who want to have pies smashed in their faces. Fact is, TEE, there are an awful lot of guys out there who are into breath control, the fancy fetish term for choking, suffocating, and/or smothering someone during sex. (Please note: breath control is an inherently dangerous, varsity-level kinkóanyone interested in breath control should, at the very least, Google ďbreath control fetish FAQĒ and read all about it.) All you need is to find a guy whoís into you, into breath control, and willing to use white bread to cut off your air. Compared to finding a guy whoíll splatter pies all over his sheets, that should be a cinch.

With respect to your reply to MUTT, the woman aroused by the idea of having sex with a dog, I must ask the following: Since when did you get so moralistic? Applying your usual logic, as long as two partners are in agreement then, hey, anything goes. Well, Iíve met plenty a family dog that is more than happy to hump a guestís leg if allowed to. Iím sure they would be happy to go ďall the wayĒ if they found a willing participant.

Perhaps you are a little too prudish to see the big inconsistency in your advice to MUTT. Namely, you presume that animal sex is somehow very bad without justifying your decision. Iím sure your readers would appreciate some knowledgeable and well-reasoned advice on the issue of bestiality.

óLet The Dogs Out

If I started giving out knowledgeable and well-reasoned advice on the issue of bestiality, LTDO, then Iíd have to give it out on other subjects too. Iím not sure I want to work that hard, particularly in August. Still, as I wrote once on this subject: If I were a sheep Iíd probably prefer to be fucked every once in a while and live to an old age than be brutally murdered and turned into kabobs. That said, LTDO, bestiality is one of the ďbig threeĒ perversions that Iím simply never going to budge on. I will always disapprove of fucking animals, molesting children, and eating poop. (A scat scene with a lamb would hit the trifecta of my disapproval.) Yes, yes, I know: a mind is like an umbrellaóit only works when itís open. But if youíre going to have a closed mind about just three things, fucking animals, molesting children, and eating poop are good picks, donít you think?

In reference to Mistakes Were Made, the college boy who participated in a wild orgy with six of his best friends after taking ecstasy, I doubt his story is true. However entertaining the situation sounds, the story sounds made up.

1. Ecstasy doesnít make men horny. Of all the men I know who have tried E (including myself), none of them could sustain an erection if they tried. Even if it does work for some, I doubt it would simultaneously make seven people horny and facilitate such a photogenic event.

2. I doubt one girl would be willing to provide seven fifteen-dollar pills to her friends.

3. Didnít you notice how the number of girls at the event changed from three to four?

óSkeptical Much

1. Tragically, SM, ecstasy these days is often cut with other drugsóincluding drugs that can make people horny, like speed and even Viagra. Itís possible that MWM was given adulterated E. Also, ecstasy, like all illegal drugs, doesnít come in clearly labeled, sealed packages for your protection. Itís possible that MWM wasnít given E at all, but some other, boner-inducing drug.

2. You doubt one girl would be willing to provide seven fifteen-dollar pills to her friends? Itís obvious that our social spheres have been widely different, SM. Iíve been to parties where rich girls freely shared drugs worth thousands of dollars. The idea that someone might pass out a measly $105 worth of drugs to a group of friends seems entirely plausible to me.

3. My bad. While editing and condensing MWMís letter, I mixed up the numbers of girls and boys. In my defense: As Iíve mentioned many times, I frequently write my column in bars. I confess that I wrote my response to MWM drinking at Philís, a terrific little bar in Saugatuck, Michigan, while I was in the Midwest visiting family. If youíre ever in Saugatuck, stop by Philís and have a margaritaóall four of the ones I had were very, very good.

5. I donít like to run fake letters, SM, and I do my best to keep the fakes out. But does it really matter all that much if MWMís letter was a fake? Or if TEEís letter about bread is a fake? After all, SM, with the exception of the one person Iím addressing when I respond to a letter, for all my other readers the problem is really just a hypothetical situation, no? Bearing that in mind, SM, I resolved long ago not to lose sleep over the occasional fake slipping into the column. I mean, look at poor Ann Landers: That woman was always stressing out about fake letters making it into her columnóand where is Ann Landers today? Dead, SM! No doubt from the stress of worrying about fake letters making it into her column! Personally, Iíd rather have margaritas carry me off.

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