I am a straight, monogamous man with normal sexual predilections. I don't need someone to pee on me, paddle my butt, tell me about fucking other men or anything else too weird. So why am I writing to you? First, I wanted to thank you for printing all the letters from the perverts. I feel lucky that my sexuality is wired the way it is, and I'm thankful every time I read your column and am reminded of the sexuality I might have gotten. Second, do you have any idea how many Americans are muff-divers, percentage-wise? Being one myself, I wonder what kind of company I'm in.
Tom In Denver
You're in good company, TID. Like dogs, all men who muff-dive go to heaven. And while I could dig up a stat for you somewhere — hell, you could dig up the stat yourself (have you heard of Google?) — what difference does a stat make? Like the perverts who fill you with that there-but-for-the-grace-of-God-go-I feeling, you like what you like. And that thing you like, Tom? Muff-diving was once considered the height of kink — and not all that long ago, either. Hell, muff-diving was illegal in a few of these United States until the U.S. Supreme Court finally struck down all sodomy laws in 2003.
I laughed reading your column today, but it's not always so. Sometimes it is just plain disgusting. I always thought of human sexuality as something deeply poetic and beautiful, the greatest ecstasy that is afforded human beings this side of the grave. But reading your column one gets the feeling that human sexuality can be downright disgusting — people who like piss, sadomasochism and orgies. Is there any way that we can salvage the poetic beauty of human sexuality?
I laughed reading your letter, JC, because only a person who has never had sex, poetic or otherwise, could write something so thoroughly idiotic. Anyone who has had sex knows that poetry, beauty and ecstasy are so subjective that there's no point in looking down your nose at people who find poetry, beauty and ecstasy in ways that you do not. One man's piss-soaked sadomasochistic orgy is another man's poetic ecstasy.
Recently my boyfriend became a born-again Christian and made a bunch of new friends who have influenced him in his godly path. He told me we could still be together but couldn't have sex. Needless to say, there's no fucking way I'm going to regress to a middle-school relationship as an adult, so it's over. The other night I had a dream that I saw him and he was wearing high heels and makeup and he told me that he really hadn't found God but was actually gay. "This is who I am now," he said in my dream. Do you think my subconscious mind is on to something?
More Angst Darling
First, MAD, my condolences. It is always a tragedy when someone close to us succumbs to fundamentalist Christianity. But there is hope. There are many, many ex-fundamentalist Christians out there, and they're living proof that the fundamentalist Christian lifestyle is something that a person can successfully leave behind.
As for your dream, I suspect it's a case of wishful thinking. What woman wouldn't prefer to think that her ex-boyfriend dumped her for hot, sweaty cock and not for some fuckwitted religion?
i been in relationshp 4 five years. off on. i gave him a disease 3 tim es. should he stay am i crazy
It's wonderful that modern technology allows my readers to send me text messages via cell phone when they're drunk and alone in bars. However, drunken text questions are not generally the questions that make it into the column. I'm only running your text, MNC, so that I can point out the shortcomings of this mode of communication. Setting aside the lack of punctuation and capitalization, to say nothing of the seemingly arbitrary use of numerals in place of words (why "4 five years" when "for 5 years" would have saved you one additional character?), the simple fact that the author of a text message cannot, perforce, go into detail about his or her problem makes this technology unsuitable for communicating with advice professionals such as myself. For instance, MNC, what disease did you give your boyfriend 3 tim es? Gonorrhea? Shingles? Lupus? Polio? That's the sort of detail I need to do my job.
We now resume your regularly scheduled advice column, already in progress.
This is not a plea for advice, but an observation. Since I don't have a television, I took to the Internet for a look at Andy Samberg and Daniel V., the objects of your masturbatory inclinations. I was shocked at how un-hot these two guys looked! In a way, this exercise was helpful: You are turned on by average, ordinary and not-so-cute guys. Knowing you were gay, I naturally assumed that they were supermodel-hot. Thanks for the learning experience and for defying my assumptions about the average gay male!
It's a sad fact: Andy Samberg and Daniel V. do not photograph well. That means you will have to catch Samberg on Saturday Night Live and Daniel V. on Project Runway to fully appreciate their all-around hotness. For instance, Daniel V.'s eyes? Dreamy. His basket? Impressive. Andy Samberg's hair? Shaggy. His mouth? He could suck your dick sideways.
Spend the day at the house of a friend who has cable, Lola, and you'll see that I'm just as shallow as the average gay email@example.com