My line of work involves long stretches of seeming inactivity during which I’m supposed to be generating my artistic output (though if you ever catch me swanning around in public like a total poseur talking about “my artistic output”, please feel free to slap me), punctuated by frantic activity around the times I’m either pulling up to a big deadline or actively gunning for a new commission. Since April I’ve been dealing with both a deadline and trying to land a new gig; it’s my career version of one of those special eclipses involving a conjunction of events that comes around every seventy-eight years. The result, sadly, has been that I haven’t had the leisure to devote much time to my blog. Or, more sadly, my blog readers.
I apologize for that. I’m here to thank all of you for your patience with me . . . well, most of you. The ones that have been patient, anyway. I’m also here to request you all hang in with me a little bit longer, because I intend to take a break for two to three weeks.
Part of that time I’ll be spending on an actual, honest-to-god, getting-the-hell-out-of-Dodge vacation that I haven’t had for a year or more. The rest of it I’ll just be spending decompressing, spending time with the family, and letting my brain vegetate without the pressure of a deadline or a duty to perform. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll even be able to get around to the backlog of email that’s accumulated in the last couple of months.
In the meantime, let’s get to some reader questions.
What's the worst lie you ever told? Did you get caught?
I've told a lot of lies in my life. I think I wrote a blog post once about dozens of lies I've told to get sex.
I'm at a stage of my life now, however, where generally I like living as authentic a life as possible—plus lying is so exhausting. Keeping track of the fake name. Trying to remember how a famous astronaut would talk. Very wearying.
I think the worst lies I've told are those deliberately intended to wall me off from intimacy with perfectly nice guys. When I've determined that someone new I'm meeting will be just a one-time trick, and I've given him a false name or some reason why I'm not available to meet him more frequently than he wants, I tend to feel badly when he turns out to be a good person I'd like to know better.
The worst lies aren't those about trivial things, but those that keep you from fully experiencing the world and other people.
I've started hooking up with guys on the side. To my surprise, it's increased me desire at home and I'm fucking my wife like when we were newlyweds. Q1: Does this seem odd to you? Q2: Do I have to "come out" about it, or just let her enjoy the perks?
The increased desire might surprise you, but it doesn't surprise me—nor would it surprise a lot of men and women who are in relationships yet play with others. So no, it's not odd at all.
It's easy to fall into a rut at home. Daily living takes a toll on the sexiness of two people, no matter how blazing hot the heat was during their courtship. Your wife (or, for other folk, husband) has seen you slurp cereal out of a bowl without using a spoon. She's seen you scratch your gonads and pick your nose when you thought she wasn't looking...or when you didn't care if she was. She's seen you pee and poop and has listened and smelled your farts. She knows the stains you leave on your dirty laundry. Every little act of familiarity, no matter how comfortable it is, chips away at that façade of flawlessness and sexual desirability we present to another person before moving in with him or her. I don't care who you are. If you don't pay take exquisite care, your sexiness level is going to drop.
But when you start playing with others, you start paying attention again. You shave more carefully. You groom other parts of your body. You dress better in the morning knowing you're going to see your new buddy at lunchtime or in the evening. Then you come home after a hot session where you've had hot sex and attention and compliments lavished on you, feeling infinitely younger and more seductive and more handsome than when you left.
Of course that's going to pay off at home. If you're feeling sexier and looking better and roaring with erotic confidence, your wife's going to notice. You're going to want to spread it around and let her share in it. Unless the sex is totally dead between a couple, most people I know tell me they have much better sex at home when they're playing with others than when they aren't. And this goes for people who are in open relationships as well as those on the down-low.
Whether or not you tell your significant other about your fucking around is up to you; I'm not your scowling priest, nor am I the man who intends to enable your adultery. It's your life. Live it how you want.
I will say, however, that if you intend to keep your fucking a secret, don't be so foolish as to assume that it will never result in unintended consequences. Know what can happen to you, prepare for it, and If something adverse does happen, be prepare to deal with it.
hallo mr. i've just discovered my red-neck hubby reading your blog. i’m wondering if he's bi or gay,i had hot sex with bi guys in college, so wouldn't really have any problems however should i ask, or leave it to him? he was extremely upset when i saw what he
I'm kind of curious why you call your husband a redneck. It's not a very complimentary term even under the most generous of usages.
Unless your husband is a sociologist (who happens to be a redneck) or a psychologist studying human sexuality (who likes six-packs of cheap beer and hangs a Confederate flag in the rear window of his pickup truck), I'm guessing he's bi. If he's reading my blog, I'm deducing he has impeccable good taste.
If you've got no problems with it, good for you! Most men feel cornered when they're confronted with direct questions about their sexuality, however, especially when it's about activities they might not have known or expected to be observed; you might not want to tell him outright you saw him looking at my piquant prose.
You might broach the subject a couple of other ways, however. Tell him you have fantasies of a three-way with another guy, and see how he reacts. Buy or rent some bisexual porn and masturbate to it so that he can see, or ask him if he minds if you play it during sex with him. If the questions and fantasies sound as if they're originating from you, he might be more likely to enjoy your suggestions, even if he’s pretending to play along with them. And hopefully you'd both learn something new about the other and be able to enjoy each other in a more honest and playful fashion.
If you don't care for that approach, just make sure to make more noise when you get home early, and always leave a five-second modesty grace period for the poor guy to pull up his pants.
When a guy sucks your cock, what percentage do you think can go nose to pubes? Do you try and 'encourage' guys who can't to take more?
The percentage of men—or women—who can take my dick all the way down is pretty low. I'd say less than about five percent.
Of those five percent, there are vanishingly few who can deep-throat me and do so in a way that isn't either excruciating to witness/listen to—that is, who don't gag or choke or make me look around for a nearby ball-point pen just in case I have to perform an emergency tracheotomy—or who don't actually make my dick uncomfortable by biting it, squeezing it too hard in their throats, or by wrenching it to a truly painful angle. I'd say less than one in a hundred manage to make me enjoy their deep-throat efforts.
To be honest, I'd rather get really good head over five and a half of my inches than an indifferent-to-bad deep throating over all eight.
Why are so many self-loathing gay or bisexual men so bitchy?
There are a lot of self-loathing gay or bi men. And there are a lot of bitchy gay or bi men. But as I learned in two semesters of college statistics classes, a correlation doesn't imply causation. It may very well be that some men who've loathed their sexuality become bitchy. But it may just as well turn out that because some men are bitchy, they loath themselves.
I became very aware, about a decade ago, that among my circle of gay and bi male friends there was a very popular form of discourse in which it was popular to let loose with all kinds of scattershot little quips and barbs directed at each other. They were supposed to be playful, but none of the bon mots were remotely affectionate or really all that witty; they were just put-downs. Some of the people I knew communicated entirely through them, it seemed. Once someone started, it'd be like wildfire—everyone would join in. Sometimes they'd all dogpile on one unfortunate soul who'd get picked apart mercilessly. To add insult to injury, the victim would be chided as a bad sport if he didn't go along with it.
Now, I'm not saying I'm totally unbitchy. I definitely have my moments. I can be an ice-cold, sharp-tongued frost queen on the turn of a dime. I try save it, however, for the very small handful of people who have earned my sincere displeasure. I'll blast a person I despise with an icicle to his face; I don't send thousands of tiny, nearly invisible needles everyone's way every time I'm in public.
So I withdrew from that kind of bitchy discourse disguised as 'wit' as much as possible. If other people did it, I wouldn't join in. Later on I got brave enough to say to certain people words to the effect of, "Hey, listen, I like having you as my friend, but I don't find much actual friendship when you talk about me like that."
And hoo boy, did that ever offend people. It's not like I ever said "Wow, did you know you’re really a bitch-faced cunt?" No, I used adult language to express my discomfort with a particular type of behavior. Hearing it, some folk would fly off the handle and say I was weak, even though I'd had the strength to stand up to them instead of cowering and hoping no one would notice me. Others would try to misdirect their bad behavior by claiming that I did the exact same thing all the time—although they couldn't name a single instance when I had. Others doubled down and talked twice as badly about me as before, behind my back.
So I lost friends—a lot of friends—when I finally took a stand and very mildly protested a form of bad behavior for which I no longer cared. And you know what? Good riddance. I don't need that kind of negativity in my life, and neither do you. When I meet people now who have a tendency to make a 'joke' that takes the form of laughing lightly and ending their sentences with "...and you're a whore!", I smile politely and make a mental note not to engage with them very deeply or frequently. When I encounter people who make cutting remarks about their so-called friends behind their backs, I don't make plans to meet them for coffee. I don’t invite them to parties. I avoid people who proudly call themselves 'sarcastic.' They're often just bullies who think the label gives them immunity to hurt feelings at whim, and that everyone should laugh along with them—especially their victims.
There are plenty of unbitchy people, gay, bi, and straight, with whom I can surround myself. I suggest you do the same, even though it might mean making totally new friends.