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...
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...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 fuckfest! 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.
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,” and their marriage vows are temporarily suspended. When you guys were working through things with a counselor, your wife really should’ve come clean about her own non-affair–again, 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. You shouldn’t have fucked around on her, she shouldn’t have kept her fuckfest from you, and you shouldn’t have read her journals.
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 your 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.
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 tried to climb a fence and–long story short–two very hot LDS’s 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?
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 drunken 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 kinds of uplifting stories I want to hear. Send your tales of Horrifying Holiday Sex to me at firstname.lastname@example.org, 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 email@example.com.