I’m a straight male, 21 years old. I love women, I’ve always loved women, I’ve always loved having sex with women. However, in the last year, here and there, I’ve jerked off to transsexual porn. One night, after drinking with a friend and smoking some hash, I arranged a date with a trans sex worker. She was totally womanly, nothing manly about her, except for, you know. She licked my butt, gave me head, and fingered me. I’ve been on the receiving end of anal play before from girls, so nothing new. But somewhere during this encounter, I became the receiving partner during anal sex.
H. Rapp Brown once quipped that “violence is as American as apple pie.” It seems we’ve spent the last fifty years proving he was right. With each massacre of innocents we rekindle our resolve to do something, to change something to, somehow, prevent the next tragedy. Everyone of us has an idea, a plan, a cure; yet, it seems nothing changes.
It seemed to happen overnight. A new uprising for Indigenous rights and environmental justice has begun. Most of us heard about it through social media first. Flash mob Round Dance videos uploaded to YouTube of First Nations in Canada reclaiming public spaces to send their message of un-honored treaties have now reached all four corners of the globe.
More than a thousand people showed up for a recent Savage Love Live event at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. It goes without saying that the students at UW submitted more questions than I could answer in 90 minutes. As promised, Madison, here are some bonus answers to questions that I didn’t get to during our time together ...
Can an open relationship work if it’s this type: dating two people, separately, both serious, neither relationship is the “primary” one?
I just started an intense relationship with a guy who has a boyfriend. This guy and I love each other. However, he is uncomfortable with me meeting his boyfriend. I’ve asked if it’s okay that we’re fucking, and he said they’re in an open relationship so it’s okay. I asked if it’s okay that we’re in love, and he said yes. So why the secrecy? My lover’s only explanation is that his boyfriend doesn’t want to know about the guys he fucks around with. The whole situation is starting to make me uneasy. I can’t figure out why I want to know more about his boyfriend.
It’s time we face some uncomfortable truths. Last Friday, as the news poured in about Sandy Hook, I was teaching my peace studies class with my high-schoolers. It’s a class that investigates the roots of violence and war on personal as well as international levels. If that doesn’t sound important to you this week, I’ve got some questions for you.
Taxpayers are surely getting their money’s worth from hard-working Lane County Administrator Liane Richardson. In addition to her other duties, Ms. Richardson has now taken on the role of sheriff of Free Speech Plaza.
This is a touchy and gross subject. I am a 17-year-old girl growing up in an adoptive family in Australia. I was sexually abused by my birth family, and I think it really fucked up my sexuality. The only thing that gets me off is the idea of people absolutely destroying their lives for an orgasm. I started with mild S&M stories and then moved on to grosser stuff like murder (stories and online images), pedo (stories only), and lately I’ve been thinking about my (adoptive) parents. The thing is, it doesn’t have to be a particular category.
At a dinner party, a straight man put a question to my boyfriend and me. He assumed that we, being gay men, would have an answer for him. We did not, Dan, and so we turn to you. What happens to one if one has to fart while one is wearing a butt plug?
They’re baaack! The mosquito ferns have reappeared in the ponds on the east side of Delta Highway. They have been inconspicuous for three years, a normal population fluctuation. We recognize them by the dark, reddish-brown surface mat on the ponds. Duckweed stays green all winter but the mosquito ferns get color in the fall. That they are still reddish brown and not shocking purple tells us that by the beginning of December we still haven’t had a hard freeze.
Sometimes I kick the proverbial hornet’s nest intentionally — “bullshit in the Bible,” for instance — and sometimes I kick the hornet’s nest accidentally. I honestly didn’t expect the outraged response I got after I wrote that poly wasn’t a sexual identity in the “sexual orientation” sense of the term. Some people identify as poly, of course, just as some people identify as, say, dominant or submissive.
It is finished. For the next three years, we can rest until new candidates saturate our media, hit us up for cash, and bring us new hopes and talking points. Unlike us, however, these future candidates are not resting now. They are serving in our government. And they are looking for money.
I’m a straight man at that age where the general public still considers me young. Although I’ve attended many weddings, I have no interest in marrying or even being in a relationship. I never have. I’m not asexual. I’ve had and enjoyed sex. I just don’t feel the need to be with anyone. As long as I’ve got music and friends, I’m satisfied. Unfortunately, I seem to be the only one. My parents want grandkids. My friends want to set me up. My television set only ever shows people in or pursuing relationships. My government wants me to father and raise future dead soldiers.
No. That is not why you lost. You lost because retrograde movement only works for planets. We think it’s wonderful that 1952 was such a great year for you, but your Mamma’s not in the kitchen in shiny pumps and an ironed apron waiting to serve you meatloaf and cookies.
I am a 22-year-old straight female. I used to babysit for a wealthy family, but their children have outgrown babysitters. The dad of this family is very into martial arts/fighting and has invited me over several times for “self-defense training.” I have accepted his invitations a few times, and it has always started off as a normal workout in their home gym — treadmill, weights, swimming laps — but he is always pretty anxious to get to the self-defense part.