Why you should care
OZY’s Eugene S. Robinson addresses queries from the love-weary in “Sex With Eugene.”
EUGENE, SIR: First, let me say I’m totally down with the #MeToo movement. But when men and women are alone, things can get strange. I was having sex with a woman. In the middle, she said to stop. I stopped. She asked to go again, and we did until she said to stop again. So I stop again. This goes on several more times over about 30 minutes. I stop each time.
Right as I am about to orgasm though, she says to stop again, and this time I can’t. She refused to see me again after that, and I heard from friends she’s been going down that #MeToo road talking about it. This is beyond fucked and not at all what happened here. I think she was trying to delay either her orgasm or mine, but after 30 minutes and getting that close, I couldn’t stop. I mean, it happens. But now I got this hanging on me. I understand all of that “believe the woman” stuff, but women are still people, and I’d never say that people don’t lie because they do. I emailed her that I thought she was a POS and am hoping that’s that. But how was I supposed to deal with this? — LAMF
Dear Like a Mother’s Friend?: Firstly, and this is something I could probably safely and healthily file under “Never,” do not EVER call someone a Piece of Shit and then hope things work out. That’s a bit of amateur-level madness closely akin to poking a bear and hoping things work out. They probably won’t.
But your problem: There is always the possibility when you’re shooting come-hither looks across a crowded bar, or flirtatious chatter over too-loud techno or whilst swiping right, that the person you’re making unspoken naked plans with for later is totally batshit-crazy. Now, I know it doesn’t help anyone to throw around words like “crazy,” but in this instance, the meaning remains: not liable to do things that cohere to what many of us would consider reasonable behavior.
Like? Like stopping sex in the middle of having sex. Now, there might have been a good reason for this, and were I to have been you, I might have inquired after the second or third time as to what was clearly a thing. But your first mistake? You did not. If we’re eating dinner together and I stopped you just as often, I would guess that you might ask what the hell I was doing. She should have been extended a similar courtesy to explain. If she demurred, well then, that’s another story.
You don’t know why she was stopping, so you can’t really give her shit for stopping. That being said, despite the fact that you hung in there for 30 minutes when wiser people would have bailed, it should be understood that if you’re falling and someone asks you mid-fall to stop falling, you might have a hard time doing so. I am going to have to assume that this is what happened when you failed to stop mid-orgasm.
To characterize this as some sort of actionable offense might be off the money, but then the gift you should have gladly received was her willingness to never see you again. Sans the Piece of Shit blast. How to keep this from happening in the future? Choose much more carefully, grasshopper. Choose MUCH more carefully.
EUGENE, SIR: You act like it’s a joke, but the SSRI class of antidepressants does mess with sex drive and orgasms. There other antidepressants, such as Wellbutrin, that don’t really cause that problem. Perhaps those affected people should talk to the right doctor! — Al Sayles, M.D.
Dear Dr. Sayles: I did by no stretch make fun of the writer’s plight in a past column, and as I often make clear, if you have a choice between following MY advice and the advice of a licensed medical professional, you’d be better off with the latter, not the former. That being said, while I might prescribe more sex to counter depression, it is a bitter paradox that the other medical, and costly, methods of dealing with depression make that harder to do. But thanks for the Wellbutrin tip.
The Continuing Coital Complaint
EUGENE, SIR: Why are men so bad in bed? I’ve slept with both men and women, and while I really like penis, I would like it better if I met a man who knew how to use it. If women with dildos are better than men with penises, what does that tell you? And yes, I am very much talking about time invested in “the act.” At this point, when I am having sex with men, I am just waiting for them to fail, and since I don’t want to drop them completely, what’s the best way to “educate without emasculating”? — Holly
Dear Ms. Jolly: If I wanted to know how to play the piano, I wouldn’t ask a bricklayer. And if I wanted to lay bricks, I wouldn’t ask a dental technician. So your first question is the wrong one for the wrong person. Moreover, I don’t really believe it to be a question in search of an answer. But the second one? Totally answerable, because while I’d spend less time worrying about either educating or emasculating, I would spend more time, were I you, in selfishly pursuing your own ends.
Humans are, for the most part, not able to read each other’s minds. But there is nonverbal learning as evidenced by the fact that no one talked most of us through walking, and yet we walk. So let your inner dom flow. I suspect you might do this more readily with women because women won’t get their backs up in the face of “suggestions” on how to improve the evening. I suspect you need to do this more readily with men because it’d be a shock to most men that there could be any room for improvement with their “technique.”
And that’s part of the problem: Being good is not a fixed state of being but rather the ability to tailor your act to your audience. Don’t wait for them to figure this out. I mean, if you can help, why not help? Not as sexy as finding someone who just gets it from the outset, but working is not as sexy as winning the lottery and yet we do. Good luck.