October 29, 2008
My boyfriend recently moved in with
me—the first straight guy I've ever shared an apartment with. I'm very
clean and take great pride in my apartment. However, since he moved in, I've
tried to be mindful of the fact that there will be certain things I'll need to
adjust to. Still, I think it's important to clean up after oneself, so when I
found an empty liter-sized Sprite bottle among half-unpacked boxes, I figured
I'd leave it there and let him pick it up along with his other trash in our
bedroom. The surprise came a couple of days later when I noticed that the liter
bottle was not only still in our room, it was full. Was it a new bottle of
Sprite? Why wasn't it in the fridge? I opened the bottle and caught a whiff not
of Sprite, but of piss.
WTF?
I'm a heavy sleeper, so I guess I don't hear
him pee into a plastic liter-bottle in the middle of the night. I've already
mentioned not leaving dirty dishes around, making sure to use coasters, etc.,
and I'm beginning to feel like a nag. But isn't this crossing the line?!
Pretty Insulted Seeking Solution
It doesn't cross any lines of mine, PISS, but it
clearly crosses a line of yours.
And you know what else probably crosses a line for
you? Peeing in the tub—and I can guarantee you, PISS, that any man too
lazy to walk to the toilet in the middle of the night is, without a doubt, too
lazy to get out of the tub if he realizes he needs to piss after he's stepped
into the shower.
Just sayin'.
So what do you do? Well, you cut him a deal. You
promise to stop nagging about the little things—dirty dishes here and
there, inconsistent use of coasters—in exchange for his solemn promise
not to piss in bottles or bathtubs. If your boyfriend is smart, he'll take the
deal and stop pissing in bottles and bath—well, he'll stop pissing in
bottles anyway, since it'll be easy for you to bust him on that. Pissing in the
shower, on the other hand…
Is there a word for the act of filling a
woman's vaginal canal (appropriately lubed, of course) with latex, waiting
until it hardens, pulling it out, strapping it on, and then fucking someone up
the ass with it? If not, I would like to propose "channeling." My girlfriend
prefers "verting," but whatever you call it, it sounds like fun. I know there's
a host of kits supporting the penile "plaster caster" hobbyist, but I haven't
seen the feminine equivalent advertised anywhere.
Congenital Invert
You're free to spend your free time dreaming up
wild and crazy hypothetical sex acts and scenarios, CI, and christening them,
if that floats your boat. But the world will little note, nor long remember,
the names you come up with for your long list of impossible and/or improbable
sex acts. For a term to stick—pegging, GGG, santorum—it has to
describe or define an act, an attitude, or a substance that is regularly
engaged in, assumed, or wiped up by a critical mass of sexually active people.
And there just aren't enough willing women or interested men out there, CI, to
bring a term for vaginal-canal-as-dildo-mold into popular use.
But in case I'm wrong: I don't think "channeling"
or "verting" quite captures it. If vaginal-cast dildos catch on, CI, I believe
the act should be known as a "Rachel Whitereading."
I am a 20-year-old straight female dating the
boy of my dreams. The only problem is that the sex is awful! His dick doesn't
get hard half of the time, he doesn't like blowjobs, and he never seems to
enjoy anything I do to him. The only thing he doesn't have a problem with is
penetrating me from behind, or "doggy-style." I've asked him once or twice if
he might like men, but he never gives me a straight answer, and I can't shake
the feeling that he might be gay. He says that he never has a problem coming or
getting hard when he is masturbating. I am his first relationship. Could he be
gay, or is he just insecure?
Real Confused
When I was a 20-year-old gay male, RC, the "boy of
my dreams" was a lot of things—soft and pink as a nursery, for
starters—but insecure, inept, and incommunicative? Those weren't the
traits I dreamed about, RC, and they're traits that should disqualify a guy
from boy-of-dreams status.
As to the matter of his sexuality, RC, there's no
way for me to know for sure if your boyfriend's a fag, short of fucking his
ass. (And even then I couldn't tell you for sure—I mean, what if he cried
the whole time?) But a guy enjoying doggy-style sex with girls is no more
evidence of latent homosexuality than a gay man's preference for face-to-face
anal is evidence of latent heterosexuality. (And, yes, face-to-face is usually
how it's done, people.)
But gay or straight, it doesn't sound like this
boy is the right boy for you. Dream another dream, RC.
How long will come keep? Even when my boyfriend
blue-pills it and works my hole for a few hours, by the time I push it out
there's hardly enough for ONE gulp—to say nothing of filling a champagne
flute. As hot as it sounds, I'm NOT going to invite 10 of our closest friends
to dump loads in me. I figure my boyfriend and I could freeze our loads, push
them up my butt, and he can churn them as he works my hole. But can come go
bad? I'd rather not ask my doctor.
Desperately Seeking Semen
P.S. We've been together for five years and
stopped using condoms four years ago after testing. No risk of the pest.
Gross-out letters from teenage straight and/or
closeted boys pretending to be disgusting fags don't usually include
information about testing and the length of the relationship, which leads me to
believe that you might actually be disgusting fags. So I will answer your
disgusting question:
You and your boyfriend will gulp down
loads—or sip 'em out of champagne flutes—after you've pushed them
back out of your ass, DSS. Do you really think that frozen-and-then-defrosted
come, even if it's gone "bad," is going to be any worse than the slop you're
already putting in your mouths?
My good friend Sarah tells me that you said you
would give me a shout-out in your column last week for my birthday. I probably
would have shit my pants and exploded with birthday happiness. But you didn't.
So I just wanted to say thanks for ruining my 21st birthday. Oh, and if I could
get the $3.25 back that I paid for the hardcover of The Commitment I found
in a bargain bin, that would be fantastic.
Patrick From Portland
P.S. Just kidding. You're still my favorite sex
columnist. But seriously: my birthday? Totally ruined.
Sorry about that, PFP. I will make it up to you by
personally administering a belated birthday spanking the next time I'm in town.
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