On the Perils of Unconditional Lust

On the Perils of Unconditional Lust

Why you should care

Because sexy secrets don’t stay secret for long.

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

Watching the Weight

EUGENE, SIR: I doubt there’s a neat and tidy answer to my quandary, but given your acclaim regarding all things sexual, running this past you is worth a shot. I married my wife 10 years ago. At the time, she was smokin’ hot, a foreign blonde with an accent to die for. Being an uninhibited Euro babe, she asked me early in our relationship if my backyard was fenced, because she wanted to sunbathe nude. I thought I had died and gone to heaven. We had so much fun together, in and out of bed.

But she became a bit too comfortable, and 100 pounds later, she looks like a parody of herself, with a double chin and rolls everywhere. I worry about her health. Our sex life has vanished. I love her, but I can’t get aroused enough to perform.

Don’t say that we should talk about this. We have. Don’t say work out together and make getting in shape a couple’s endeavor. She’s not motivated. She says she wants to, but then she eats and drinks unabated. I don’t want to threaten her with divorce, but I’m just not ready to give up on sex.

I wish I could tell you that I’m morally opposed to having an affair, but I’m not. I wish I could tell you that I’m aghast at the thought of visiting a sex worker, but I’m not. As for the former, I’m not high on neighborhood women’s radar. As for the latter, I can’t afford an arrest.

In high school, I used to worry that I’d never have sex. Now, in my 50s, I’m worried that I’ll never have sex again. Am I doomed to masturbation for the remainder of my corporeal existence? — Ready to Blow in Suburbia

Dear Cap’n Ahab: First off, the modern world is obsessed with fat. Obsessed. In a time when a woman who is 5-foot-6 and 128 pounds considers herself “plus size,” we’re in the midst of body madness. However, I don’t think it’s unreasonable to stick to a lifetime variable of a fixed percentage of weight gain. By which I mean if you get married and you’re 128 pounds? You should, on a long enough timeline, be able to gain 20 percent of that body weight before you start worrying about attracting negative attention. What that means in real numbers is a 25-pound weight gain before you even start feeling guilty, which would see the aforementioned woman at a running weight of about 153.

One hundred pounds, though? That is a sign of a certain kind of slack that speaks to deeper issues. Issues, frankly, I can’t believe you didn’t catch. Though not catch them, I believe you did. When you say you two talked about her weight gain, I somehow doubt you told her what you just told me. But guess what? I’m not suggesting you do that now. Why? Because I’m quite sure she knows exactly how big she is and maybe even how much she’s pushing that unconditional love bit (also there’s this: There’s no such thing as unconditional LUST).

But whereas you don’t think she’s paying attention to your present lack of sexual desire for her, I’m going to say she’s paying perfectly good attention and is choosing to do what she’s doing precisely because she’s done having sex with you. She’s now asking you that eternal Mike Tyson query: What are you gonna do about it?

Which, in a way, you’ve asked me. So I’ll answer: No, you’re not doomed to masturbate until you die, unless that’s your preference. You can go online these days — all the kids are doing it — and state your case and see who it flushes out. You might be surprised. You might also try professionals, depending on the laws in your state, but the outcomes will be different.

A professional will relieve the sexual pressure but will cost you cash and may ultimately leaving you feeling empty. Sexy and empty but maybe still empty on account of the absence of emotional connection. An affair might give you the emotional connection, but since there’s only so much of that stuff to go around. this might be immediately noticeable at home and then you’re dealing with a whole other kettle of fish. Unless, like I said above, this is really what your wife wants.

In which case I’d suggest, just as a matter of course, trying to figure out why she hates having sex with you as much as some might say she does. Is this harsh? No more so than the prospect of jerking off until you kick off. Good luck.

Cuck-a-Doodle-Doo!

EUGENE, SIR: I am 68 and my husband is 46. He wants me to have sex with other men because the idea excites him. I don’t want to do it, but he keeps at me. Why does the idea excite him so much? He swears he won’t use it as a reason to have sex with other women. — Blaze

Dear Of Glory: My guess as to why it excites him? It’s one thing to incorporate wordplay when you’re having sex, using “naughty” words to generate a sense of the illicit, but somewhere along the evolutionary scale it might suddenly start to feel sexier to add flesh to those words. Since it might arouse him, or you, to describe you as a “filthy whore,” the next logical step would be for you to act like a filthy whore. Sure, you could do it with just him, but then it’s more like you’re humoring his kink, and no one likes having their kink humored. Put another way, if there’s a choice between having your kink taken seriously or being humored? Most with kinks are going to choose the former.

Your husband might have realized he’s into the whole cuckold thing, which seems to me to be a trend, where men are digging on watching their wives with others. Maybe it takes the terror out of it possibly happening when he’s not there. Maybe it lets him relax while someone else handles all of the heavy lifting. Maybe he has internalized porn politics and feels OK having sex with another man who is having sex with you. There’s no way to know. But what I do know? That you don’t want to do it. I know that because you told me so.

From my point of view, talking anybody into anything is a drag. If you’re really not into it, tell him you’re not and never will be. If you’re feeling especially gracious, tell him he’s free to go out and indulge his kink without you. But no way should you be signing on for stuff you don’t want to do — that’s got disaster written all over it.

Slapstick?

EUGENE, SIR: My lover hit me last night. Hitting is part of our play, but this blow was not on my ass, or even firmly but not harshly on my face. It was hard on my face. I feel weird about it, but how do I complain without seeming crazy? — Name withheld by request

Dear Cheeky: How do you complain about it? I’m going to suggest the only way I know how: with a right cross. Wait, you said without seeming crazy? I may have blown that, but my immediate reaction to line-crossers is to stomp on whatever crossed the line in a way that has the punishment fit the crime. What I’m suggesting may not be good for the long-term health of your relationship but neither is getting coldcocked.

OZYWildcard

Square pegs. Round holes.