Why you should care
OZY’s Eugene S. Robinson addresses queries from the love-weary in “Sex With Eugene.”
A Spitting Image
EUGENE, SIR: You have talked about sex workers like sex work is legal. It’s not, and I know because I was arrested in a massage parlor sting. This is something you do not go to jail for, but jail was the least of my problems. I was — and still am — married. My wife and I had a better sex life before my arrest (it’s been nonexistent since then), but the answer to the big question — why I went there in the first place — has made things harder, when I thought it would make things easier. I went to sex workers because they let me spit in their faces if I paid a little extra. This is my kink and not one that I thought my wife would be into, and, as it turns out, I was right. Outside of my continuing legal troubles, I now have marital troubles, and the only way out seems to be if I turn my back on what I like. I have a lawyer for the legal problems, but the idea of never doing what I like for the rest of my life feels difficult. Thoughts? — Name withheld by request
Dear Rain vs. Pour: Thoughts? Yes, I have a few. The prevailing one is this: You’re fucked. By which I mean you’re not going to have a sex life for a while. You’re probably not even going to have a sex-worker sex life for a while, and for reasons that make total sense. Your proclivities have exposed you and your family to difficulties — legal, financial and possibly medical — that might cause a reasonable person to ask, “What were you thinking?”
I get that you assumed your wife wouldn’t be into your kink, but she should at least have been given the chance to decline your offer. That way, your getting busted for it later would have made some sense. While negotiating around spit is not nearly as sexy as throwing an extra $20 to someone who gets paid to deal with your spit, this might be part of the whole marriage covenant and something you should have done. But a bigger question seems to be, what do you do now? Ride out the storm, sailor. And after it’s been in your rearview mirror long enough, maybe try to reintroduce it. At this point, though, it’s so weighted and freighted with unpleasantness I don’t think you’ll find relationship room to do so. So the issue becomes, can you live without it? Are you willing to try? Questions only you can answer.
Of Rings + Rods
EUGENE, SIR: A kind of weird question, but something I have been thinking about and it’s easier asking you than people who know me. If a cock ring keeps all of the blood trapped in my erect penis shouldn’t it make my penis feel large? Won’t my penis be its biggest using it versus when I don’t use it? — A Ring to Rule Them All
Dear Bilbo: Well, here we are at the juncture of “seems” and “is.” Something that seems, looks or appears larger may or may not actually be larger. The way the language lays it all out there, the claim being made is that “seems” is the next best thing to “being.” An interesting take but unlikely to sway real fans of large. I want to thank you for a new spin on one of the oldest sex column questions out there: Are there ways to make my penis larger?
Cock rings, if correctly sized, will trap as much blood as is likely to be trapped in your erect penis. So if you’re sporting a 6-inch penis, with a variance of a fractional inch that depends on levels of excitement and a variety of other factors, using a cock ring might guarantee that you measure in at 6.08 inches instead of an even 6. You might be thinking that doesn’t sound like much. You also might be thinking that that is better than nothing. In any case, given that you can get a cock ring for as little as $10, this might all “seem” like good news.
However, on closer examination, it fails the most basic of tests: There are zero cock rings that are invisible. So whomever you’re trying to impress might ask you why you’re wearing a cock ring. If you can sell it with, “Why does anyone wear a ring?” more power to you. But it would behoove you to realize that only part of the pleasure of the penis is related to appearance, and no one has successfully talked their way around feels. So a 6.08-inch penis will always feel different from an 8.08-inch penis. Whether this makes a difference has everything to do with whom you’re using it on and how you’re using it.
Oh, one other thing, Google “cock ring horror stories.” You can thank me later.
EUGENE, SIR: You took a lot of heat a few weeks ago for your answer to the couple interested in going poly, but your advice seemed OK to me. Am I missing something? My fluid-bonded partner and I are poly and went about it exactly the way you suggested. Well, sort of. I mean, we got one book, but we got it after we started. Started reading it, that is. We never finished it. — Sarah H.
Dear Poly Gets a Cracker!: Well, that was interesting. For a number of reasons. One is the aggressive decline of politesse encouraged and enabled by “communicating” from afar, the default setting for social media communications. At some point, we stopped disagreeing without being disagreeable and just let fly because: Fuck it. While “fuck it” might work in choosing to leap from a plane while wearing a parachute, discussing sex doesn’t have to be a “fuck it.” In any case, I welcomed the input that wasn’t rude, though I still stand by my original commentary. I’ll close with this: Many of us have never read a single book on dancing and yet not only do we dance but some might make the claim that we know how to dance. So to each their own. Poly as you like it. And let the devil take the hindmost. Or something like that.