April 24, 2013

DEAR READERS: Last week was made of problems. The bombing of the Boston Marathon, the explosion that leveled a small town in Texas, the rising tide of anti-gay violence in France, the North Koreans being North Korean. And when I sat down to write this week’s column—while the manhunt was still under way for the second bomber in Boston—it occurred to me that the last thing the world needs right now is more problems. So instead of the usual sex problems, STI problems, CPOS problems, and DTMFA problems, this week I’m only running letters from people who don’t really have problems. Because we could all use a break.

Thanks for sharing, HSP!

Your letter reminds me of a funny conversation I overheard at the gym:

Guy #1: “You should grow a goatee—it would feel great when you rim me.”

Guy #2: “I have a goatee when I rim you.”

Sounds like you have a beard when you rim your new boyfriend, RIMS, and I would advise you to get used to bearded rimming for the time being. You’re only four dates and one fully naked Big Gay Sex Romp into this new relationship, RIMS, which is too soon to start asking for body mods. But once you hit, oh, 20 dates and a dozen Big Gay Sex Romps, I think you could offer to give him a hand with those clippers.

Some people are turned on by completely random shit, LHTB, and no one quite knows why. Probably something to do with our big brains—I mean, just think of all those billions of nerve endings, all those synapses making connections, all those formative childhood experiences that get all synapsed up and become adult erotic obsessions. Think of all that and then count your lucky stars that studying turns you on. If there were a way to bottle and sell your kink, LHTB, no one would ever need to take Adderall again.

There’s no working around an allergy so severe it can land you in the hospital—and with everything else you two have going for you, TIA, forgoing latex is the price of admission your new girlfriend should be willing to pay.

After reading that you intend to “support [your son] in any decision he makes,” I started to compose a mildly scolding response in my head. (“Why would you do that? Gay kids, like straight kids, need their parents to be their parents. Your son needs you to meddle lovingly, to criticize constructively, and to help him pull his big gay head out of his big gay ass when it needs pulling. And it will, PM, because gay kids make bad decisions, too.”) But you made it clear at the end of your letter—he was right to worry about those sleepovers being over—that you aren’t confusing “support my gay son” with “sign off on any damn thing my gay son wants.” Well done, PM!

Thanks for the lovely note, CC, and tell the older woman I said thanks—for honoring the campsite rule and for helping to build my readership in the U.K. by turning you on to my column.