Living in the Age of Dangerous Sex

Why you should care

Because, since not everyone’s going to be good at sex, it’s much better to not be one of those not good at it than the other way around.

You have sexy questions? Eugene has sexy answers. Write. Now: Eugene@ozy.com

Sex Reckless

EUGENE, SIR: What’s the most dangerous, precarious, physically outrageous, ill-advised place you have ever had sex? Inquiring minds want to know. —Name withheld by request

Dear Melania: I am here. To help. Specifically you with your problems. On the rare occasion that I actually have a problem, I’d not ask, à la Groucho Marx, anyone who wants me to ask them. Including me. But I understand the urge/desire to seek qualification here, other than the present and most noteworthy one: I have fingers, can see and have had sex.

So while I’m sure that, when you asked your question at the last “Sex With Eugene” event in San Fran, you meant airplane bathroom versus speeding car and nuclear test site versus San Quentin prison. But rather than going big on this, it seems to me that danger dwells in smaller spots, spots that are much more likely to lead to head wounds. Which is to say: Angry husbands with firearms are always an occupational hazard for those with a flexible moral code not named Eugene.

But to answer your question as you’ve asked it: in a cleaning closet in a mental hospital. NO FURTHER QUESTIONS!

End note: That was a joke.

Coitus Instructus

EUGENE, SIR: I have read you here advise people to talk to each other about what they like and don’t like in bed. Great. Have you ever actually tried this? I mean yourself? Because in my experience men are extremely resistant to any sort of advice. Because they think I’m saying that they fuck poorly. Which if I am offering advice, something mellow — like “more to the right” — in my experience, more times than not, is not going to go over well. So maybe you could be a little more precise when you advise people to talk to each other and explain how this is supposed to work exactly. —Dawn

Dear Crack of: If we are driving in a car, a car that is about to crash due to my texting while driving, you might try to communicate to me our ultimate and pending failure with a good deal of urgency. However, if you spy the oil mileage sticker for a monthly oil change and it shows that that was last week? A lesser degree of urgency. The tonal quality of the communication guides how seriously you’re taken and speaks volumes about what’s spoken.

Similarly, stopping the game of play in the middle of the game being played should likewise be reserved for total and imminent failures that will lead to pain. Which is to say that in matters sexual, mid-course course correction doesn’t seem ever to work really; and unless it’s “Ouch. You are on my hair” or “You are crushing my testicles,” it’s doomed to be read the wrong way. As in: You are doing what you are doing so poorly that it’s actually causing me physical pain.

This is not good for anyone.

My take is that the best way to have sex talks about sex is probably not when you’re having sex. Yes, this might mean enduring at least one subpar sexual experience, but get on it after that. If you’re the retiring type, over dinner later you might use the not wholly honest “wouldn’t it be sexy if…?” dodge to correct. If you’re the direct kind, then directly dealing with the fact that cunnilingus is an art and not a job might be just the thing to have with after-dinner mints.

In any case, it’s all about place, placement and positive reinforcement. And a willingness, if this doesn’t work, to kick fools to the curb.

Public Service: The Sexy Kind

EUGENE, SIR: She likes to have sex in public. I don’t. This has suddenly become a referendum on my masculinity and my ability to be “spontaneous.” I am pretty masculine and spontaneous, which is how, before, I ended up arguing with a cop and going to jail for having sex in a parking garage. Outside the car. I don’t want to go to jail again for this. She says my worrying is not sexy and doesn’t really believe me because she’s “done it lots.” See, that’s the problem. She doesn’t like mere sex in public, which would be easy enough to do at night, but she likes to do it when it’s light or in places where us being discovered is more likely than not. Is there any way for me to win this and avoid jail time? More jail time? —DU

Dear DUH: It’s not a show if someone isn’t seeing it and, yeah, there are laws controlling forcing people to see that which they’ve not signed on to see. But the masculinity piece and spontaneity thing seem to me to be red herrings here. MacGuffins. Because having sex behind a Dumpster at 7-11 at 2 in the morning is very different from having sex in front of the Dumpster at 2 in the afternoon, and the reality of it is, kinks uncatered to can be corrosive. But to first effectively cater to them, you must correctly identify them, and in this instance, this starts with: exhibition.

Your partner is an exhibitionist. So before you go break your neck trying to source out locales where you can get busy without getting busted, know that the kink is specifically about being seen. And if the deal is being seen while you screw, there are plenty of sanctioned outlets for that. Sex clubs, swinger groupings and, if she’s OK with viewing in abstract, amateur porn, where you can film yourself screwing and share the experience with the world in a way that lets people comment and even in some cases contact you for, well, whatever.

You go back into the boudoir with “You know what would be sexy, babe?” and bust loose with an invitation that directly caters to the kin. You’ll be king for much longer than a day. However, and this is a heavy proviso, keep in mind this could just be an iceberg kink. Having your sex in public is sometimes viewed as a public invitation, and the doors swing both ways. So, have as honest of a talk as you can beforehand, and be prepared for any other kinks in the road. Good luck.

OZYWildcard

Square pegs. Round holes.