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Back in the Saddle

I am a young, straight male—but I
have this obsession with male-on-male dino-dragon porn. I don’t get it.

Dino Really Are Gonna Overtake

You’re not psychotic, DRAGON, just

I don’t mean pathetic in the “laughable or
contemptible” sense of the word, DRAGON, I mean it in the pitiable
sense. You’re one of those poor unfortunate souls saddled with an
unrealizable sexual fantasy. Like a man with a giantess fetish or some
dude into boytaurs, you will never meet the object of your peculiar
affections in the flesh, scales, and tails.

Well, not for at least 50 years or so.

In his newish book Love and Sex with
, author David Levy predicts that in five decades or so,
people are going to be fucking and falling in love with humanoid sex
robots. Levy believes that some people are going to have a problem with

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...ars or so. In his newish book Love and Sex with Robots, author David Levy predicts that in five decades or so, people are going to be fucking and falling in love with humanoid sex robots. Levy believes that some people are going to have a problem with the humanoid fuckbots in our future. I disagree. People aren’t going to have a problem with dudes fucking and/or marrying humanoid robots. It’s dudes like DRAGON, here—men and women fucking and/or marrying dino-dragon robots, robot centaurs, 50-foot-tall female robots, and, it pains me to say, kid robots—who are going to freak people the fuck out. There’s going to be a lot more to fuckbots than Levy imagines in his philosophy. While Levy foresees fuckbots that can be programmed with voices, eye colors, or “particular personality traits” that their owners/mates find sexy, I foresee a future in which every last unrealizable fetish or fantasy is suddenly within the grasp of all—well, not all. The first few generations of fuckbots will most likely be available only to the superwealthy and/or those willing to spend a small fortune on a visit to a robot brothel. But the coming of fuckbots is going to make fantasies that are currently unrealizable for reasons of biology, logistics, or morality suddenly very, very realizable. Including yours, DRAGON, if you should be lucky enough to live so long. As for your supposed-to-be-straightness… I’ve got a folder full of letters from supposed-to-be-straight guys—guys with wives and girlfriends and a passion for pussy—angsting about their urge to suck cock now and then. Many of these guys prefer to suck cock that isn’t attached to anything recognizably male—e.g., shemales, transvestites, American Idol contestants, et al.—because it somehow makes their gay desires less troubling, less destabilizing, less, you know, gay. Your passion for male-on-male dino-dragon porn, DRAGON, may be motivated by the same subconscious impulse. You don’t want to let go of your supposed straightness but you’re turned on by “the cock,” as the kids like(d) to say. And by seeking out porn that features nonhuman males, you don’t have to confront your hunger, however mild, for cock. I’m a straight woman. The sex with my boyfriend of four years is great, but we recently began to experiment with anal. He enjoys it, he takes his time and warms/lubes me up, but it is still painful. I don’t let on because I know how much he gets off. Any tips? Silently Whimpering Smoke pot, SW. Don’t break any laws, of course, but if you’re using lots of lube, if he’s going very, very slowly at the start, and if you’ve read Tristan Taormino’s The Ultimate Guide to Anal Sex for Women, you might want to smoke a little bit of pot before you give it another go. And pot or no pot, SW, you MUST tell your boyfriend that, whatever he’s doing back there, it’s not working for you. THAT’S AN ORDER. Read or reread Taormino’s book, and then try some other positions, longer warm-up sessions, anal-play sessions without any expectations of penetration, and, of course, a consciousness-raising session that involves you doing the boyfriend’s ass with a dildo that’s roughly the same size as his dick. I’ve been reading your column for a few months, Dan, and I’m wondering a few things. What are your academic credentials (if any) that qualify you as some kind of sexpert? I suspect you have none. Are you a guy or a girl? Are you straight, gay, or bi? Single, married, or divorced? I’m sure your readers would love to know the answers to all of these questions. However, I suspect you haven’t got the balls to print this letter. Chaz The Spaz P.S.: The Playboy Advisor replies to ALL questions submitted (even those he doesn’t print). Do you? Look up “advice” in the dictionary, CTS, and it says, “opinion about what could or should be done.” The only qualification you need to offer someone your opinion, of course, is having been asked for it. As my mail comes addressed to me, I see myself as uniquely qualified to offer advice in this space. Look my ass up on Google, CTS, and it says that I’m a fag. I’ve been with the same guy for 13-plus years, we’re husbands in Canada, boyfriends in the United States, and our young son’s loving parents wherever we go. I have never claimed to be a “sexpert,” whatever that is, and while I do not doubt that the Playboy Advisor is a better man than I in every respect, the volume of mail I get prevents me from answering everyone personally. I am a 23-year-old female whose boyfriend has a piss fetish. He enjoys it when I urinate into his mouth. While this is not something I find erotic, I have no issue with indulging him. My only problem with it is that I don’t like to kiss him afterward because of the taste. Is there a tactful way to ask him to brush his teeth afterward without COMPLETELY ruining the mood? Thank you very much for your help. Embarrassed Non-Urine Fan Seeing as there’s no tactful way to ask someone to piss in your mouth, ENUF, you’re under no obligation to be tactful. Saying, “Go brush your damn teeth, piss-boy, and you better be back here before I decide to eat asparagus at every meal for the rest of my fucking life,” in a low and sexy voice should not only do the trick, it will ensure that his dick is still hard when he gets back. Hey, Everybody: Thank you so much for all the thoughtful condolence e-mails after the death of my mother. Your good wishes, to say nothing of the many pictures of your boyfriends’ butts, lifted my spirits. My tickets to the Friday night performance of The Drowsy Chaperone in Chicago—they were supposed to be my mother’s birthday present—wound up going to a lovely and very deserving mom. And I got to see the show, too—thanks to Ted at Broadway in Chicago—at Sunday’s matinee. Download a NEW Savage Lovecast (my weekly podcast) every Tuesday at www.thestranger.com/savage. mail@savagelove.net