-- Clueless Undergrad Needs Trustworthy Sweetheart
Sorry, CUNTS, but no dating scene is free of drunks, gossips and psychos and, as a consequence, precious few people, lesbian or otherwise, get from single to partnered without dating or becoming a drunk, a gossip, a psycho or all of the above. I'm not suggesting that you should be happy about this -- I'm only saying that you would be cutting off your clit to spite your twat if you refused to go where the lesbo action is for fear of running into DGPs.
La la la. I hope that advice suffices, because honestly that's all I've got. I'm having a hard time concentrating on the sex-advice thing at the moment because the election is upon us! I know, I know: The election has come and gone for you, gentle reader. But I write my column a week before it appears in print, so while all of you out there reading this know the outcome of the presidential election, I, as I write this, do not. I'm still sweating it out here, six days before the election, incapable of thinking of anything else, literally sick with worry. All I can say is thank God I live in a state with medical marijuana.
Now that I'm high, I'm trying not to think about the election. I'm trying to think about other things, pleasant things. Hey, here's my boyfriend's childhood photo album -- what's that doing on my desk? That should take my mind off the horrifying prospect of four more years of George W. Bush. Oh, here's a picture of him at his christening. What a cute baby! And here's a picture of him at his 12th birthday party in 1983 when he asked his parents for a Donna Summer album! (And they claim they didn't know he was gay!) And here's a picture of him at 16 ...
water-skiing ... in nothing but a Speedo. Um. Hmm. I realize it's wrong to fuck 16-year-olds, and it's creepy to lust after 16-year-olds openly, but is it wrong to want to jump in a time machine so you can fuck your own boyfriend when he was a 16-year-old?
Geez, just thinking about this is making my head hurt. Where's my medicine?
There's only one thing in my mind that's not perfect about my girlfriend: The area around her anus is very hairy. I feel uncomfortable mentioning it to her as it could make her extremely self-conscious, but it does bother me a great deal. My questions are these: 1. Should I even bring it up? 2. And if so, how would you suggest I do so without hurting her feelings or making her feel uncomfortable? 3. Finally, how do you recommend removing hair in such a sensitive area?
Hairy Met Sally
2. The best approach in a delicate situation like this, HMS, is to use "I" statements. "I" statements will allow you to express how you feel about your girlfriend's hairy anus without putting her on the defensive. So don't say, "Your hairy anus is revolting." Instead say, "I think your hairy anus is revolting." Also, humor could help to dispel tension -- i.e., "Hey, when did they start making thongs out of dead ferrets?"
3. Duct tape. Put it on, rip it off.
OK, back to not thinking about the election. Back to thinking about 16-year-olds. Here's a concept that a straight male friend who wishes to remain anonymous introduced me to, a concept that might explain away my desire to fuck my scalding-hot thirtysomething boyfriend back when he was a scalding-hot teenage water-skier.
It goes like this: My straight male friend tells me that when he notices a particularly good looking teenage girl, he can't help but imagine how hot she'll be at, say, 20 or 25. He calls these good looking teenage girls "round ups," as in, "If you rounded up that girl over there to 25 or so, I would totally want to fuck her." He insists he's not a pederast, just an optimist. Discuss.
Is there a prize for most GGG spouse? For years I did the strap-on thing with my husband, which I very much enjoyed. (It helps that he's a runner and has a great ass.) Six months ago he expressed an interest in robot/mechanical sex. He bought a fucking machine and he likes me to strap him to a fucking bench we bought for strap-on play and leave him there with the machine drilling his ass while I putz around the house. I must say, knowing my helpless husband is upstairs being reamed sure makes doing the dishes or a crossword puzzle more titillating. When I free him, he turns the tables and fucks me absolutely senseless. That's my reward. Not much of a point to this letter, just wanted to share.
P.S. I've enclosed some pictures of William's ass and, in case you doubt my story, my lovin' husband strapped down and being drilled by our fucking machine.
-- William's Wonderful Wife
First, if anyone out there is interested in getting their mind off the election or anything else, I can attest that reading about fucking machines -- yes, they exist and, yes, they're commercially available -- is almost as good as these pictures of my boyfriend in a Speedo at 16. A good primer can be found at www.fuckingmachines.com, which features lots of women being, like, totally fucked by machines. For a look at some men being fucked by machines, check out www.buttmachineboys.com. And, finally, anyone interested in obtaining a fucking machine of their very own can order them at www.extremerestraints.com.
On to your question, WWW: Sadly, there isn't a prize for most GGG spouse, although there probably should be. I would be tempted to organize a GGG competition if I weren't convinced that a call for entries would only result in my having to slog through hundreds of fictional accounts of GGG heroics. I mean, how would I be able to tell honest accounts from invented ones? Not everyone would be so ... so ... kind as to send in photos. And even if people did, how would I know if the pics were genuine documentary evidence or just random kink pics swiped from the 'Net?
If there's a way around this -- if there's a way to organize and administer a GGG contest, a sort of love-and-kink Nobel Prize -- I'm all ears, folks. It's been a long time since we've had a contest at Savage Love, and I'd love to do a GGG Award, but how?