March 26, 2008
When I was in my teens
to mid-20s, I fought a burgeoning weight problem. My heaviest was 235 pounds on
a 5-foot-10 frame. Now I watch what I eat and I work out. I have a six-pack.
And here's my problem: I get too much attention from women. When I was out of
shape, women paid attention, but not as much. Now, if I wanted to, I could get
all the pussy I wanted. Single pussy, married pussy, all-different-color pussy.
Is it normal for a guy
to turn down so much of the pussy that gets pitched at him? I am a tall Asian
guy, 6-foot-1, 165 pounds, cut and lean, 32 but look 28. But I like to go after
the hard-to-get pussy. The easy pussy that gets thrown at me, I'm not
interested in. What's wrong with me?
Lost In Pussy Land
Besides not enclosing a
few dozen pictures with your e-mail, there's nothing wrong with you that I can
tell, LIPL. More pussy gets tossed your way than gets tossed into a Dumpster
behind a vet's office—good for you. Why isn't that slow-pitch pussy
turning you on? Maybe you like to work harder for your pussy, LIPL, or maybe
you're not a catcher (as the gays say), or maybe you're an arrogant douchebag
who likes to brag to gay sex-advice columnists about all the pussy he isn't
banging for whatever reason. Or, geez, maybe you're just turned off by sexually
aggressive women—and that's fine. No one is obligated to be into sexually
aggressive women. (They certainly leave me cold.) But you might want to look
into your heart—it's that tiny, undeveloped muscle beneath your left
pec—to make sure you're not a dumbass motherfucker turned off by sexually
aggressive women because he believes "good" women don't or shouldn't have
sexual desires or agency.
Oh, and speaking of
sexually aggressive women: Did you catch Abigail Van Buren's advice column last
Monday? (That woman—she's the Johan Fucking Santana of pussy-pitchers.)
Now, I generally try to avoid policing the work of other advice
professionals—life's too short to read Jamie "Get Naked"
Bufalino—but I'm going to make an exception. In her March 17 column, Abby
responded to a man whose wife was seduced, in the middle of the night, by one
of his three brothers. The man's wife doesn't know she had sex with one of her
brothers-in-law, and the husband doesn't know what to do about it. Abby
suggested that his wife may have had an "inkling that it wasn't [her husband]
that crept into her bed" that night, and recommended that her correspondent
demand "chapter and verse" from his wife before packing her off to the docs for
an STI screening.
Feminist bloggers were
outraged—a highly unusual occurrence—because the only correct
response, according to Jezebel.com, was something along the lines of, "Your
wife was raped! Kill your brothers—all three of them! Now! NOW!!!"
The problem with Jezebel's
reaction is this: That woman wasn't raped, because that woman doesn't exist.
Regular Savage Love readers are schooled in the art of spotting bullshit letters.
So here's the letter, kids—let's see if you can spot the clues:
"I am 27, and my wife,
'Marybeth,' is 26. We recently went to my folks' house for supper. That
evening, a heavy snowstorm was starting and… we decided to stay overnight. My
old bedroom is upstairs, as are the rooms of my brothers, ages 25, 24, and 22.
The guest room is downstairs. Marybeth said she felt a cold coming on; we
decided I'd sleep in my old room. The next day, while we were driving home,
Marybeth told me she was glad I had come to her room after all and made love to
her. Abby, it wasn't me! She had mistaken one of my brothers for me in the
darkness. We are all about the same size and build."
Okaaaay, Savage Love readers, let's pause
here. How do we know this is a fake? Well, for starters, there are the ages of
the protagonists: 27 and 26. Not 37 and 36, not 67 and 66, but 27 and
26—which just so happen to be, for most folks, the years of maximum
hotness. Fake letters about sexual scenarios always involve the young and
presumably hot, never the old and presumably average. Next, there's the
cascading set of circumstances that are, as is typical with fakes, utterly
beyond the control of the letter's author: a snowstorm, a cold coming on, a
far-off guest room. And all of his brothers were at Mom and Dad's for dinner
that night, too. Or they all still live at home. And they're all in their 20s.
Now back to the letter:
"I have talked to each of
my brothers (they all know about this), but they won't say who it was for fear
of causing a rift… I told them that unless I find out who it was, there will be
a permanent rift between all of us. (Marybeth still doesn't know it wasn't me.)
How do I handle this?"
How does he handle this?
With his right hand wrapped around his cock, that's how. And how does an advice
professional handle this? With the delete key, Abby.
Huge numbers of straight
men—those loveable sickos—fantasize about their wives cheating on
them with coworkers, siblings, sports teams, governors of New York, etc. Any
advice columnist who runs letters that touch on sexual issues has to be
cognizant of that. And when someone seeking advice spins out an improbable set
of circumstances—including, in this case, a wife who can't recognize her
husband in the dark—that literally climaxes with the realization of a
thoroughly common male fantasy (cuckolding), well, that should set an advice
professional's bullshit sensors flashing.
So, Jezebel, let's not get
too worked up about the "rape" of this man's wife. Repeat after me: She
wasn't raped, because she doesn't exist. That letter in Dear Abby was the work of a
cuckold fetishist or cuckold wannabe. Yes, yes: Abby took the letter seriously,
accepted its premise, and her answer was a bit clueless. (As was your credulousness,
Jezebel.) But calling for Abby's resignation while Jamie Bufalino still has a
column? Puh-leeze.
I just wanted to respond to the letters in your
column from TALI and CPAC, gay teenagers being mistreated at home and school.
While I loved your response, I think it's very important to let your young gay
readers know that there is support out there—even if they're stuck in
small towns. The Trevor Project (thetrevorproject.org) has a hotline
(1-866-4-U-TREVOR) for kids contemplating suicide or who just need someone to
talk to. The GLBT National Help Center (glnh.org) has a large database of gay
and lesbian organizations. And finally, your readers can check out the National
Coalition for Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual & Transgender Youth (outproud.org).
And to TALI and CPAC and all the other gay and
lesbian youth out there who feel like they are alone, remember that this is
temporary. My brother came out in high school and went through hell. I never
expected him to make it past his teens. He's in his 30s now, he has two
degrees, he's traveled all over the world, and he has many friends and loved
ones.
Proud Of My Baby Brother
Thanks for sharing, POMBB, and give my best to
your baby brother. There's a lot more advice from Savage Love readers for TALI and CPAC
and other gay teenagers at avclub.com/savage/gayteens.
Download Savage Lovecast (my weekly podcast) every
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