I’m a straight male college student in a relationship, which had been going great. The only incongruity was that, for a religious reason, I don’t want to have penetrative vaginal sex before marriage. I’m up for anything else—I would eat her out, piss on her, whatever else—but not vaginal sex. I made this clear at the beginning. My girlfriend started bringing up how she wanted to have “actual” sex. I told her, “I love you, and if you need to fuck other guys, go for it.” To my relief, she was offended by the suggestion.
A week later, she confessed that she had slept with someone. I feel like I can’t trust her now, and I can’t bring myself to sleep in her bed anymore. I feel like a hypocrite, since I brought up the idea of her sleeping with someone else in the first place. But I was unprepared for the reality, since...
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...e I brought up the idea of her sleeping with someone else in the first place. But I was unprepared for the reality, since she berated me for making the proposal at all. Still, I told her to do this. She regrets the hookup. I don’t know if I’m even asking for advice. I just wonder if I’m acting childishly.
Wishing Ancillary Fucking Felt Less Emotionally Ruinous
Your dilemma is interesting, WAFFLER, but you know what I’m more interested in? I’d really be interested in finding out which particular faith tradition frowns on penetrative vaginal intercourse before marriage but smiles on eating pussy and piss scenes and okays women having vaginal intercourse before marriage so long as they’re having it with guys they don’t intend to marry. That sounds like a church I’d like to visit. Hell, that sounds like a church I should be tithing to.
Look, WAFFLER, doing everything-but-sticking-your-dick-in for religious reasons is deeply silly. If you’re going to be in a sexual relationship, be in a sexual relationship. I promise you that any God who frowns on fucking-pussy-before-marriage also frowns on piss-play-before-marriage and eating-pussy-before-marriage.
As for your dilemma, WAFFLER, either you need to find a girlfriend who wants what you want—or doesn’t want what you don’t want—or you need to stop playing bullshit games and start fucking the girl you’ve got.
To say that I have recently been bored at work is a gross understatement. I have turned it into an opportunity to read all the archived Savage Love columns I can find on the internet, which has led me to three questions:
1. Your advice has always been sassy and matter-of-fact, but it seems to me that your advice is becoming less acidic as time passes. How has your attitude toward the sex-advice business changed over the years?
2. Why don’t women brag about their clit size?
3. Are you still into Ashton Kutcher or do you have a new fantasy flame?
Your Devoted Reader
1. I get a lot of mail from people telling me I’ve changed. Half write to tell me that I’ve become an insufferably bitchy sacky twatty cunt prick, and half tell me I’ve gone soft, I’m too nice, I’ve lost my edge, etc. Not sure what to make of that.
2. Clits aren’t inserted into anything—not typically—so a big clit doesn’t earn a woman any bragging rights. And a small clit, harder to locate and harder to stimulate, is nothing to brag about either. And while the clit—all of it, not just the exposed part—is central to a woman’s sexual pleasure, it’s not the showiest part of a woman’s package. That would be the labia. And it’s not the part a man is most interested in. That would be the vagina. So while the clit is hugely important to her, it’s not necessarily all that important to him.
3. I still admire Ashton Kutcher’s work ethic—the man is an acting, producing, tweeting machine—but my crush on Ashton evaporated halfway through the first episode of Punk’d. My current celebrity crush is Bill Hader as Stefon on SNL‘s “Weekend Update.”
I have recently started dating a sexually adventurous man. He is the first person to successfully fist me, and it’s fantastic. When I orgasm, I squirt. Lots. Afterward, the sheets are soaked and I’m in a puddle. We’ve put towels down, but the sheer volume of liquid soaks through them. Without towels, it soaks all the way through to the mattress. I’m not super-pleased about ruining my mattress, and the postcoital sleeping on very wet sheets is not ideal.
I don’t really want to sleep on a plastic-wrapped mattress and change my sheets every time we have sex. Does anything exist that’s super-absorbent that I could put down during sex, or even something that might go under the sheets to at least protect the bed?
Wasting Endless Towels
The bed is a nice place to sleep, a good place to read, and an obvious place to fuck. But you can have sex elsewhere, WET, and you can acquire just-for-fucking furniture/furnishings without going to hell with the vaginal-before-marriage crowd. Go to a sporting-goods store and pick up a large, folding wrestling mat. Store it under the bed, WET, and when your sexy time involves fisting—and hopefully you’re not fisting every time you have sex—GET OUT OF BED, pull the mat out, throw some towels down, and fist and squirt to your heart’s content. Then when it is all over—all over the towels, the mat, the floor—you’ll be able to crawl back into your warm, dry, comfortable bed.
HEY, EVERYBODY: Jason Robinson is—was—the football coach at Mandarin High School in Duval County, Florida. He was fired last month for sending “adult-oriented pictures” to a student. Robinson didn’t send the pictures to one of his students, but to a 20-year-old college student who is his girlfriend. The mother of Robinson’s girlfriend found the pictures on her daughter’s phone and forwarded them to the principal of the school where Robinson worked and scores of other people.
“We hold our teachers to a higher standard,” principal Donna Richardson told reporters. “They’re in front of our students. They’re talking with our students. They’re teaching our students how to become good characters.”
This is sex-negative bullshit. Robinson is a consenting adult; Robinson’s girlfriend is a consenting adult. And what consenting adults do on their own time—and with their own cell phones—is no one’s business but their own.
Savage Love readers stuck up for Constance McMillen after she was victimized by the homophobic morons who run her high school. Now we need to stick up for a straight high-school coach being victimized by the sexphobic morons who run his. Send an e-mail to Donna Richardson at firstname.lastname@example.org. Let Richardson know that she is in the wrong. And let others know to let her know.
AND: Apparently, Steve Jobs isn’t such a prude after all. The Savage Love iPhone app is now available on the iTunes store.