On an episode of The Sopranos, a hunk went to the bathroom, where he died, and the camera caught the actor sitting in a position with his pants and shorts down around his ankles. It made me so hot I whacked off immediately. Later, I taped the episode for that purpose. Also, I found a picture of an opera staged in Barcelona where six men were sitting on the can with their pants and shorts around their ankles. I found that picture extremely hot. My question is, why do I find these pictures so erotic? I'm just a garden-variety gay, so I don't find pleasure in pain (so the death of the hunk had nothing to do with it), nor do I enjoy the sight or smell of shit, so these pictures and my reaction to them puzzle me. I hope you print this, as I'm sure I'm not the only one out there who finds these images erotic. --Hot Pants
What makes you so sure you're not the only one who finds these images erotic? I've been at this sex advice thing for a while, HP, and you're the first person I've ever heard from who gets off at the sight of a guy sitting on the can with his pants around his ankles. That means you're special. As to why this turns you on, well, why freaky stuff turns some people on is nearly impossible to determine. Perhaps it's seeing a man at a moment of extreme vulnerability, a moment when very few men wish to be observed. Perhaps the subtle violation of a man's privacy turns your pervy crank. Or hell, maybe it's something else entirely. Who knows?
What I do know, however, is this: there's a scene in Johnny English--one of the worst movies ever made--that you might want to add to your growing collection of pants-around-the-ankles erotica. In it, six or seven guys are sitting in a bathroom, pants around their ankles, taking a bizarre communal crap. Without a doubt, HP, you are the only person on earth besides A.O. Scott, a film critic for the New York Times, who will enjoy this movie. Scott gave Johnny English a mystifying rave, and Scott is the reason I found myself in a theater watching Rowan Atkinson, who was crawling up a sewer pipe, get shit on by six or seven men at once. What Scott enjoyed about this film remains a mystery to me--unless...
Perhaps Mr. Scott enjoyed Johnny English for the same reason you no doubt will, HP, which means that you aren't the only one out there who finds images of men taking a crap erotic. I mean, is there any other explanation for that review, Mr. Scott?
My girlfriend and I have only had sex maybe three times in almost as many months. Under other circumstances this might not bother me, but her total lack of interest in sex has worked on my insecurities of late.
Last night as I was about to leave her apartment she noticed that the knickknack box on her nightstand was open. She keeps our condoms in that box. Then she noticed that there were only two condoms in it. There were three the last time we opened it. She asked me to empty my pockets to see if I had taken one to use on God only knows who. (I hadn't.) I dutifully emptied my pockets and left without pressing the issue.
Why would there suddenly be one less condom if I hadn't taken it and we haven't used it? Obviously, it would make no sense for her to bring up its absence if she's the one that used it. So what's the deal here? Am I letting my fears run away with me or do I have reason to believe that she's being unfaithful? This wouldn't be the first time that either has happened. --Insecure and Suspicious
Here are three theories that might explain the Case of the Missing Condom: your girlfriend cheated on you and accused you of cheating on her to escape suspicion (a common enough stratagem for cheaters); if your girlfriend has roommates, perhaps one borrowed the condom (without returning it--shocking!); maybe there were only two condoms in the fucking knickknack box to begin with.
But the only mystery I'm interested in solving is this: why are you bothering with this woman? Between your insecurities, her history of cheating, and your piss-poor sex life, it's not like either of you is getting anything out of this but grief. Tell your girlfriend to shove her suspicions in her little knickknack box, IAS, and end this farce already.
My boyfriend likes ass sex, so I decided to let him have a go when I was drunk enough not to feel it too much. However for the next week my poor ass was in agony. It hurt to shit, it hurt to sit. I have since let him try it three more times. Each time is still just as painful. I don't have the heart to tell him this since he enjoys it so much. Should we use a different lube, or do I just have a freakishly small/sensitive anal opening?
--Ass Sex Sucks
A "freakishly small/sensitive anal opening"? I doubt it, ASS. It's more likely that you have a freakishly insensitive boyfriend.
If you're unable to shit or sit without pain for a week after he fucks your ass, ASS, then he's not giving you enough anal foreplay--and kissing you and groping your ass doesn't count, kiddo. More lube might help, ASS, but it's not the solution to your problem. He needs to get in there and rim your ass, finger it, and use small toys on it.
Here's your homework: have "ass sex" this weekend--without alcohol or butt fucking. Tell him he can do whatever he likes to your ass, ASS, short of sticking his dick in there. He can use his tongue, his fingers, your vibrator, some small toys, and, for the big finish, slide his dick between your ass cheeks and hump your ass crack until he comes, but without actually penetrating you. While he humps away, work your clit with your own hand or a vibrator. Keep this routine up for a few weeks, ASS, and make sure he understands that you're in no hurry to get his dick back into your ass. The goal is to get you to associate anal play with mind-blowing orgasms, so that one day soon you'll be so hot for actual ass sex that you'll want to take another stab at it.
But he has to let you set the pace, ASS, and you need to tell him that what you've been doing up to now hurt like hell. Unless he wants to turn you off ass sex forever, he can't rush or pressure you. And when you want to give it a shot, ASS, do it sober. You're likelier to get hurt if you're "drunk enough not to feel it too much." You should want to feel it, ASS, so that hopefully you can enjoy it or, if not, you can call a halt to the ass fucking before you wind up unable to shit or sit for another week.
Dan Savage's new book, Skipping Towards Gomorrah, is out in paperback.