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I’m
not sure what to do. I’ve had a fetish for straitjackets since
I was 15 years old. I’m now 35. I’ve only told two girlfriends
about it and absolutely no one else. The last one went along
with it just to please me; my current wants no part of it.
Problem is, I feel frustrated because whenever we have sex,
I have to fantasize about her wearing a straitjacket. When
I was single, the only way I could come when I jerked off
was by fantasizing about girls/women in straitjackets. It
feels like my fetish governs my sex life. What can I do to
“lessen” my dependency on this fetish?
—Mr.
Straitjacketed Tightly
I’m
not generally in the fetish-lessening business, MST. My specialty
has always been fetish facilitation—and you know that, right?
It’s why you wrote to me and not to, say, the awful, awful
Jeanne Phillips, the demon seed who writes Dear Abby now that
her mother, the original author of that column, is too old
and sick to break her idiot daughter’s fingers, right? And
as a regular reader of my column, MST, you must have read
all the columns in which I pointed out that fetishes don’t
go away. You can learn to live with them, you can choose to
indulge them or not, but you can’t reach into your erotic
imagination and yank ’em out.
That said, MST, there is a way to “lessen” your dependence
on this fetish. Unfortunately for your current girlfriend,
the only way to do that is to be indulged on a semi-regular
basis. Your fetish dominates your erotic thoughts at present
because in the last 20 years you’ve only been able to live
out your fantasies with one partner. Now you’re with someone
who won’t indulge you at all. Your fetish governs your sexual
imagination, MST, because it’s so absent from your sex life
that desire and despair are combining to make your fetish
loom larger in your erotic imagination than it would if you
were getting to fuck a woman in a straitjacket every once
in a while.
My advice? While there aren’t that many straightjacket fetishists
out there, there are plenty of women into bondage. A girlfriend—a
brand new girlfriend—who’s into bondage should be willing
to go there with/for you. Go find one.
I’m a hetero college male and I recently started dating
a hetero college female. I’m crazy about her and we’re taking
things slow. A few nights ago she asked me to go down on her.
I was more than willing to oblige. Trouble is, she wouldn’t
take off her pants. She explained to me that her last boyfriend
would do it to her with her jeans on. I don’t know what to
make of this. She claims she had multiple orgasms while he
was tonguing her Levis. Is this even possible? I want to get
her off, but I feel uncomfortable licking the crotch of her
jeans. How do I get her off with the jeans still on?
—Confused
Cotton Mouth
It’s
entirely possible that her last boyfriend chewed on her Levis,
CCM, and that she got off on it. It’s also possible that she
grew up masturbating with her jeans on, enjoys the sensation
of damp denim pressed hard against her clit, but is too shy
to come out to you as a denim fetishist and this “my last
boyfriend ate my pussy through my jeans” thing is a face-saving
fib. Either way, she must enjoy the kind of intense gnawing,
dampness, and pressure that only a guy chewing on her clit
through thick denim provides. For more detailed information
about how to get her off with her jeans still on, I suggest
you get down between her legs, place her hands on the back
your head, and start chewin’.
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My roommate uses condiments to lubricate his penis when
he beats off. He tries to be sneaky when he takes mayonnaise
or ketchup out of the kitchen, but I’ve seen him do it. When
he does, a rhythmic slurping sound can soon be heard over
the radio that he only turns up loud when he beats off. I
am seriously disgusted because he puts the condiments back
into the refrigerator when he’s finished. I don’t want to
make things weird, but I also don’t want to use the same condiments
he’s used to lube up his dick when he beats off. How do I
make him stop?
—Sloppy
Seconds
If
you just want to make him stop, SS, I suggest you empty a
bottle of Tabasco sauce into the bottle of ketchup in your
fridge, or a few tubes of BenGay into your mayonnaise. That
will put a stop to his condiment abuse. Or you can be a man
about it, SS, and tell him to go buy some actual lube or,
if he’s a wet-and-messy fetishist, suggest that he buy himself
play-time-only condiments and keep ’em in a small fridge in
his room.
I just need some clarification on your Big Three, your
list of perversions that you will never sign off on (scat,
bestiality, and pedophilia). All three make my list (although
I would include watersports with scat), but number one on
my list is necrophilia: Anything to do with dead people is
right out. Does your omission of necrophilia mean that you’re
down with it?
—Dead
Against Fucking Stiffs
I’m
certainly not down with necrophilia, DAFS, so I hereby amend
and expand my list to a Big Four. But I object to dumping
harmless ol’ watersports in with scat. After a six-pack of
beer and a liter or two of water, piss is nothing more than
clear, odorless hot water. And piss, even stinky piss, is
sterile and can’t make you sick—unlike shit, which comes packed
with bugs and microbes and can make a poop fetishist just
as sick as he is sickening.
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I never heard of your column until I started a new job.
I found out about it because every Wednesday, when the Village
Voice comes out in New York, this creep I work with comes
into the conference room at lunchtime, where the rest of us
are eating, and reads us the disgusting letters you print
from the perverts and degenerates that write to you. He asks
us what our advice would be before he reads your filthy answers.
If I were to speak my mind, my answer would be that you and
your readers should have your mouths washed out with soap,
but I’m new to this job and I don’t want to make a fuss. Sign
me (as I’m sure you would appreciate, Mr. Acronym):
—Doofus
Intentionally Reads Terrible Blather At Group
Knowing
that this would be the last time you ever read my column (or
had it read to you), DIRTBAG, I selected the letters above
with you in mind. Straightjackets, denim fetish, wet-and-messy
fetish, piss, shit, and necrophilia—it’s quite a sendoff,
no? As for your threat to wash my readers’ mouths out with
soap, I’ll certainly be hearing from readers who get off on
that after your letter appears—and all e-mails from soap fetishists
will be forwarded right on to you, DIRTBAG, in case you wanna
make good on your threat. But while we wait for those letters
to pour in, let’s consider this: Any employer in NYC large
enough to have a conference room must also have a sexual-harassment
policy in place. Perhaps you should be complaining to your
human resources manager about that dirtbag you work with and
not to me?
mail@savagelove.net
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