Voyeuristics, Toenail Terror + Age Index
WHY YOU SHOULD CARE
Because your future sexual success completely depends on it!
By Eugene S. Robinson
Sex Club Calamity
EUGENE, SIR: We followed your advice — not really advice you had for us, but advice you have given to others — and ventured into sex clubbing. In general, enjoyable all around. We watched for a while and were content to continue doing so, until one night when my other nodded toward the bed. The bed was mounted on a platform surrounded by a chain-link fence. The entrance was blocked by a chain. Insofar as we had been able to figure out, if you were interested in having other people join in you didn’t draw the chain across.
Neither of us were that into the idea of strangers joining in. So we drew the chain, climbed on the bed and began having sex. At one point my wife make a sound of appreciation. Looking up, I noticed that on the other side of the fence surrounding the bed, we had drawn a crowd of about 30 people, mainly couples with around 10 single guys mixed in. Every one of the single guys was masturbating. Which I guess I should have expected. This, while a turn-on for my wife, was a distinct drawback for me. Which means she is into it and wants to do it again and I do not. But I don’t want to be a killjoy. Advice, please. —Hugh
HAH. Not only a first-world problem but a 1-percent problem in the first world for which not many, in great likelihood, will find themselves mourning your predicament. And I don’t mean 1 percent as in “lots of cash”; I mean 1 percent as in what Psychology Today says are the numbers of Americans spending time in swingers clubs. For those less than mathematically inclined that means in a country with 60 million married couples, 600,000 of your friends, neighbors and possible lovers are feeling your “pain.”
I put “pain” in quotes because it’s probably not lost on anyone that your complaints are largely visual and related to ambience issues coloring your impressions of a sex act you’re having. Not to minimize your plight, but things could be a lot worse. You could be at work. Surrounded by men masturbating. Try THAT on for size.
According to our resident swing-o-logist, Cal, the solution is simple: “For a more comfortable sex club scene, they should try to go on couples’ nights, which most clubs have.” See? Simple and solved. Oh, what would we do without our own resident swing-o-logist?
EUGENE, SIR: Is there a comfortable, tasteful and easy way to get my man to take care of his feet? I find myself increasingly disturbed by a problem that seems to have a simple solution. —KP
Dear Dr. Scholl’s:
Someone once said that a person who won’t take care of their feet, won’t take care of anything. And that someone was me. Which is to say, why bother getting him to fix what is clearly a harbinger of trouble to come: dirty dishes piled high in the sink, overflowing garbage cans, gambling problems, infidelity, drug use and eventually prison time ?! While this might be a gross overstatement framed by my aversion to grossly negligent foot care, there is some truth in those heels. Specifically, how hard can it be to cut your toenails every now and then? And more important, what does it mean that he doesn’t?
I’d like to make some claim that you should, for the sake of your relationship, overlook this relatively ”small” thing, but I just can’t. Basic upkeep is fundamental. Overlooking basic upkeep — teeth brushing, hair combing, ass washing — is a deal killer. At least for me. If you’re fine with the funk? Knock yourself out. Just don’t come crying to me when you find yourself trying to sneak files and emery boards into a prison somewhere.
Age + Numbers
EUGENE, SIR: I recently started dating a woman who is 25 years old. I am 42. All of my female friends in their 40s have stopped talking to me. I asked one about it and she said that she has no interest in 25-year-old men and doesn’t understand how I can find a 25-year-old woman all that interesting. She said when she looks around for answers, anything she comes up with looks the same: I’m a shallow ass. But I know that if I were a 42-year-old woman dating a 25-year-old man, I’d be getting high-fives. Suspiciously crappy. —N ame Withheld
Dear “Steven” “Bauer”:
You will never win this. When women in their 40s and 50s survey the pop culture landscape they don’t see themselves, and if they do see themselves as sexually comfortable adults they have to hear that the name we have for them is “cougar,” a heavy, semireclusive ambush predator. So they’re all competing for attention oxygen with some fictitious 20-something girlie. Or in your case, a totally non-fictitious girlie. Which has got to sting somewhat.
Even if you say that your choice was choice-blind and love-directed, no one will believe this because all of the evidence — movie posters, ads and “Internet sensations” — says differently. So they hate you. You know who else hates you? Men in their 20s who, if they were smarter, cooler and better in bed, could probably pull put-out women in their 40s and 50s.
My suggestion? Don’t explain, don’t apologize. You’ll need to save your energies for when she turns 38 and wises up/dumps you for a 38-year-old Web developer. Until then? Push-ups, sit-ups, jumping rope, sucking in that gut and sexing up your Spotify set list. Thank me later.