Getting Your Postelection Groove On
WHY YOU SHOULD CARE
Because if life is a race, your sex life might speed the pace.
By Eugene S. Robinson
You have sexy questions? Eugene has sexy answers. Write. Now: Eugene@ozy.com
The Election of the Erection
EUGENE, SIR: I know that relationships are not all sex and good times, and I also know people disagree, but what started last year as good-natured competition as we watched both parties gear up for the election has hardened into … well, a very bad place. He was for Hillary, I was for Donald. He now refuses to fuck me. Frankly, I think he’s acting like a child, and I have no interest in having sex with children. Are there ways to fix this without doing what might feel majorly dishonest to me and lying about politics? — AM
Dear Ms. America: Step away from the symbolic. Farther. Farther. A little farther yet. OK. From where you’re standing now, you might be able to see, to quote Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca, that the problems of two “little people don’t amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world.” Presumably you two were together before Donald’s aspirations for glory got him the worst job in America. Before even the smartest girl in the class, Hillary, figured out that respect doesn’t always equal love. You were together for a reason that it might behoove you to recall right about now.
The reality of it is, if you’re both going to get twisted knickers over this, you’re doomed, since the distance between your core beliefs, outside of you both claiming to love America, as I guess you must, is like a chasm. Attempts to bridge anything will stink with the ways you two are fundamentally misaligned. He will begin emptying the dishwasher in ways that enrage you. You will begin to chew in a way that drives him wild. With anger.
And because the opposite of love is not hate, but disinterest, you both may stop giving a shit, your objective having been achieved: You’ll both be free to meet people with political sympathies more closely aligned with your own.
But before you do that? Try re-friending all those people you unfriended before the election. Try reading newspapers you hate and watching news shows you can barely stomach. Eventually you won’t even notice that divergent opinions don’t bother you nearly as much as they used to. And realistically speaking? You, him, me, us? Not much more significant than those aforementioned beans. Life is too short. Vote accordingly.
Gaming the Shame
EUGENE, SIR: I like to be humiliated. That’s not the problem. The problem is I don’t want to be humiliated by the man I am with. But I also don’t want to sleep with anyone else. Is there a place I can go to get the humiliation without having to deal with another man’s penis? You wouldn’t consider this cheating, would you? — Name withheld by request
Dear Simpleton: Where can you go? Just about everywhere! Think about it — the humiliation of enduring long lines at supermarkets and gas stations. Of having to listen to Katy Perry. Of knowing that the Red Hot Chili Peppers are going on tour again. But I sense this is not what you’re talking about. I sense you mean something decidedly sexy but not nearly as sexual as possible participants might be wanting. Which raises a compelling philosophical puzzle: Can sexual humiliation be sexually humiliating without the possibility of penile involvement?
I don’t know, but I do know this: I would most definitely consider it cheating. You know what’s not cheating? Whatever you had for lunch. You can tell your partner about it. If you fail to tell your partner about it and your partner finds out later? They are neither surprised nor shocked. The same can’t be said for lunchtime assignations with your not-so-friendly neighborhood dominant. In fact, your partner might consider your writing this letter to me a breach since there is the possibility that at no time prior to this did you ever mention your interest to him, thereby giving him a chance to remedy what might be a fixable situation.
But you hesitate the way a poor gambler might. I mean, if you pushed a little, you might find that this was your partner’s missing puzzle piece. However, you also seem to have intuited that if you push a little and he’s not receptive? Then how are you going to square yourself with a sex life that’s only 95 percent right? So you falter. I am guessing, but guessing mostly because I can’t see why you wouldn’t choose to let him in on what’s now a secret. Let him in, see what happens, and if what happens is not at all to your liking, remember these are the kinds of adjustments that are made before you get too far down that forever-and-ever road.
However, you didn’t ask me all that. You asked me very specifically if there is a place you can find a good dom, to which I say yes. Try the usually reliable Eros Guide. It’ll be more expensive than lunch, but you deserve the best. Especially if “best” means witheringly dismissive humiliation.
EUGENE, SIR: My girlfriend is upset for reasons that I think are crazy. My favorite sex position is me behind her. The ideal would be me behind her while she’s lying facedown. She, however, believes I like that position because then I can imagine I am having sex with a man. I am bisexual and have been very open with her about the sex I have had with men, but I’m not imagining she is one of them when we’re in bed. So now not only do we have to have sex in positions where she can see my eyes, she is always staring at me. How can I get her to relax? — Jim
Dear Spring-Heel Jim: Some might preach for patience, but I’m not the world’s most patient man, and certainly not when it comes to stuff that has no expiration date. I mean, she could be better in a week. Or she could still be tweaked 10 years from now. If you’ve already done the “I’m with you because I’m digging on you” thing and the routine but heartfelt expressions of delight over the fact that she is a woman? Well, what the hell else can you do? You can’t undo being bi. But you can choose to wander off to a place where sex is not like something you’re doing with a prison guard. Good luck.