Savage Love

Hey, Faggot: I want someone to spank me. The problem is, I'm a straight, happily married guy who doesn't want sex on the side, just the punishment. My wife is aware of my desires but chooses not to accommodate them. She doesn't mind my getting outside help but is concerned I may hook up with some psycho freak who will rape or kill me.

I've tried personals and phone services to no avail. I'm not choosy: Anyone willing to redden my bottom without sex would be welcome. Isn't there any safe way to satisfy my needs, like a club or something?


Hey, RB: Phone-spankings? No wonder you're frustrated. Here are a couple of other ideas: If your choosy-lessness extends to gender as well as circumstance, a personal ad that began “Sexy Straight Guy interested in nonsexual spanking scenes” running in gay kink publications or a gay paper or the gay personals in a straight paper would get a couple of dozen responses, easy. Most “spanking clubs,” such as the New York Strap and Paddle, are gay. Meeting people through social/educational organizations for kinky folks, such as San Francisco's Society of Janus (985-7117), is an option, but women tend to be in short supply, and making a successful contact will require a time investment that your wife may be uncomfortable with.

You're probably looking for a quick spank and out the door, no strings attached, no emotional entanglement. Soooooo, as I see it, you can advertise for gay boys (plenty of us would be happy to oblige), or go to a professional girl. As for psycho killers, lots of people who go out in search of vanilla sex or “nice” people wind up in the garbage disposals and back gardens of psycho killers. Use your common sense — meet in public, learn a few things about the person before you play, tell someone where you're going, maybe play in public (a sex club, or S/M-fetish space) — and you should be just fine.

Hey, Faggot: I am a het woman. Is it terribly unusual to hate giving head? At best, it's uncomfortable, difficult, and tastes disgusting; at worst, it's degrading. To me, sex is love for another individual (I don't know why, but it's guys for me) carried over into a physical dimension. Sorry, but when your chin is against a hairy anus and your jaw is dislocated and all you can see is a stomach going up and down, thoughts for the individual seem a little obscured.

Every guy I've ever been with has reacted angrily when I've told them that I don't enjoy giving oral sex, then pretended they were joking. False facetiousness, the lifesaver. I'm not saying all men are bad, but why do they feel compelled to stick it in everything, in every orifice a woman has? If our ears were big enough, they'd stick it in there, too!

I just don't like using my means of communication, eating, and breathing as a masturbation machine for large, smelly, long, rock hard, veiny things that spew sticky stuff down my throat.

Not Liking It

Hey, NLI: Gee, I don't quite know where to begin. A generation or two ago, oral sex was considered outrageously kinky, and women of distinction didn't do it. But these days, geez, only John Updike, Hasidic Jews, and the Amish still consider oral sex particularly naughty or degrading.

All the problems you have with giving head are solvable: If the guy smells bad, he needs a bath; you don't have to let him come in your mouth if you don't like the taste; you can control the speed and depth of penetration by getting on top (maybe planting your pussy on his face) and wrapping a fist around the base of his cock, in effect, shortening it.

But if the real reason you don't want to give head is that you simply don't like giving head, and are unwilling to learn to like it, then say so. Don't sit there working up rationalizations about what lovemaking is and isn't, about what's degrading and what not, or about how icky and disgusting men's genitals are. Don't like men's genitals? Sleep with women.

And what of the discomfort? Being on the insertive end of oral, vaginal, or anal intercourse sometimes results in fleeting moments of physical discomfort, yet we endure these discomforts out of a hopefully genuine desire to pleasure our partners. There are times when I'm blowing my boyfriend where, OK, maybe my jaw is getting tired, but he's having fun, and I'm fond of him, and I … endure. If I'm in serious physical pain, I call a halt or take a break, and when I'm simply not up to it (headache, jaw wired shut, Real World rerun), he goes without. But the idea that enduring momentary discomfort somehow degrades me, or anyone else who's ever hung in there while the boyfriend (or girlfriend — cunnilingus can be exhausting too, ladies) worked his way home, is bullshit.

As for why men want to “stick it in everything,” well, speaking as a man, we like sticking it in things because it feels good. If my boyfriend's ears were big enough, I'd fuck them. Finding a man willing to forgo blow jobs ain't gonna be easy — and why should it be? We all have the right — male and female, gay and straight — to good head. A guy who announces to me on the way home from a bar that he doesn't give head won't be invited in, and I'm sorry: Love me, love my hairy anus.

Hey, Faggot: Recently, I hooked up with a woman with absolutely no inhibitions. The first time we had sex, my 75-pound basset hound, Bubba, was in the room. Before I knew it, she got a jar of peanut butter and had Bubba lick it off my penis!

The next night, she called me and requested Bubba's presence again. Reluctantly, I went to her pad with Bubba, and she seemed to enjoy Bubba more than me. I like this girl a lot, but she's more interested in Bubba's crimson red crayon than my own ballpoint pen. Should I break it off with the “Beauty and the Beast” or just throw the dog a bone?


Hey, J: Letters like yours, James, usually go right in the gross-out file, with the rest of the bullshit questions about gerbils and felching and eye-socket fucking and dogs and cats and the sanctity of human life and on and on. I get enough half-baked reworkings of dirty urban legends — in this case, a touching variation on “The Woman Who Gets Caught Smearing Peanut Butter on Her Genitals for Her Dog to Lick Off” — to fill my column with nothing else week after dreary week.

But something about your letter intrigued me. Specifically, the way your letter arrived on my desk. What about this fictional circumstance, this imaginary girlfriend and these nonevents (you don't even own a dog, do you?), so weighed on your mind that you felt the need to rush me this lonely piece of loose-leaf paper in a U.S. Postal Service Priority Mail envelope, overnight, at a cost to the return addressee, Kingsborough Community College in Brooklyn, of $3 American? The next time you boys in the mail room want to send me a mash note, send it regular first class and save good ol' Kingsborough $2.68, whydoncha?

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