Sex With Eugene: Sleepy Threesomes, Draft Picks + Sex Clubbing

Sex With Eugene: Sleepy Threesomes, Draft Picks + Sex Clubbing

Why you should care

Because as far as excuses go, “Eugene told me to!” is probably as good as it’s going to get for some of youse.

Eyes Wide Averted


EUGENE, SIR: A friend of mine invited me over to a party he was having at his place. Right before he did he started showing me naked pictures of his girlfriend who stood there next to him while he showed me. So it was an intimate party. We get there and “one thing leads to another” and she says, “Let’s wrestle.” So I uneventfully wrestle with him. He’s been drinking so doesn’t do so well. Then I wrestle with her. Which is where this whole party has been going. She and I get into it and she’s reaching out to pull him into the action but he’s not moving. We both look up to note that he has passed out drunk. She says that we have to stop because it wouldn’t be fair to him. I say, he knew what we had come for and would have approved even if he slept through it. Her no-vote won the day but I’m annoyed and want to know: Am I an ass for being annoyed here? – Sleepless in Spain

Dear Jean-Paul Sartre: Yes, you are an ass. Mostly because asking me IF you are an ass will always get me to answer in the affirmative because, well, it’s just easier than not. But as to your predicament it seems absolutely Donald Rumsfeld-esque in its play of who knew what and when and what was unknown and known. And it seems fairly fair that assuming there would be sex in the offing was a more than reasonable thing to expect.

But you know today I expected it would not rain. However, if it did rain, would I be confused about whether or not it made sense to assign blame about the fairness or lack thereof to a naturally occurring phenomenon? I can hear you thinking here though: “This is not a ‘naturally occurring phenomenon,’ this has everything to do with human agency” and you’d probably add a “waaaahhhh” in there, too.

Listen, I feel your pain. You feel like you lost though the reality is much simpler: you just didn’t gain. Now if you had chosen to be there instead of some place where ching-chang was guaranteed, you would have gambled and lost. If there was no guaranteed cooch in the offing, then you lost nothing.

Moreover, him being asleep and not quite exactly consenting to you and his woman screwing and discovering it later is maybe one hospital visit away from him being awake and consenting.

You got a good story out of it, got to see her naked and are not bleeding from any kind of head wound. Thank heavens for small favors.

Elevator Gaming?


EUGENE, SIR: I’m a woman and in a quiet moment in the elevator today at work played The Elevator Game. Don’t know if you know this but it’s a thought game where you decide who in the elevator you’d sleep with. It seems to me that men are probably playing this all the time. I wondered if other women, generally, do it too. Anything you’ve heard from your letters that suggests this? – M. Stein

Dear Check Mate: You know, the questions I get usually have to do with fruit, butts and infidelity, and asking me to pass opinion on what kind of kink occurs in the minds of other people is asking a whole hell of a lot from a solipsist like me, but I am game. Firstly, for men, you do know that this game is not restricted to elevators right? This would explain the confusing appeal of Anne Hathaway. That is, someone somewhere is perfectly entertained by the prospect of imagining themselves having sex with her. Someone with a penis. And a producer’s title.

Mystery solved.

But on the XX side of things? We decided to ask a real woman, and a professional of sorts, a porn star of yesteryear: the single named Olivia.

“How often are you thinking about having sex with men you don’t know?”

“You mean when I am not working?”

”No, I mean, like in an elevator?”

“In an elevator?”

“Yeah. A game where you imagine which men in the elevator you’d have sex with first. Do you think women play this game? Do you?”

“Have you been drinking?”

So there you have it. While I assume women have the same sort of thoughts as men do with varying degrees of frequency, Olivia and the half a dozen other women surveyed are not copping to this as a practice except to say in summation like Olivia did, “Everyone has fantasy lives that exist only in their heads. Men just talk about them more. Women? Probably only to their girlfriends. But I’m guessing we all have had sexual fantasies about strangers.”

Sans elevators. Probably not quite as definitive as you would have liked but as good as you’re likely to get.

In Da Sex Club


EUGENE, SIR: A few columns ago you recommended sex clubs as a solution to someone’s problem. Which piqued my interest as I didn’t know they still existed and now that I know that they do I was thinking of checking one out. What are the protocols? – Hugh

Dear Mr. G. Rection: We’ve come a long way from the ’70s play on the gay bathhouses a la Plato’s Retreat. Ah, Plato’s, one of the first major sex clubs for hetero couples and gay/bisexual women, was perpetually packed, so to speak, so much so that the owner’s tax troubles segued nicely into HIV hysteria and New York City hounding them out of business. But lots of cities have continued to have them in some form or another and where not formalized, they exist informally and the protocols are almost like anywhere else.

For men: Bring condoms and be prepared to use them. Wait to be invited in. To anything. And if you’re invited out? Bow out gracefully. Sensitivity is rewarded, being a hammerhead is not. If you show up with a partner, let her lead. Unless your arrangement has things working differently with you as the dom and her as the sub.

For women: not being a hammerhead helps. And, inevitably, being smart in all things probably rules the day.

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