I’m still on vacation. Here’s another retread from the Savage Love archives, which I’m sure scholars of human sexuality will pore over someday, pondering archaic sexual practices like solo piss play and ancient slang terms like wack.

My girlfriend and I only see each other on weekends. As an alternative to jerking off during the week, I’ve discovered that I get great pleasure urinating on myself. I don’t know how this happened–one morning I just did it.

About an hour after drinking a lot of water, I lay down in the bathtub. When I can’t hold it anymore, I direct a clear stream of urine all over my body. Then I pull my briefs back up and soak them. Do I need to worry about any long-term effects on my hair or skin? Is there anything wrong with me? My girlfriend knows nothing about this. I have no desire to be urinated on by anyone else. –Wet

We get a lot of letters here at Savage Labs. While every letter is unique, and everyone’s dumb-ass problem is compelling in its own special way, patterns do emerge. Wet’s letter is a good example of what the kids in the mail room call HTHs, or “How’d That Happen?!” letters. You see, Wet’s doing this completely wack thing–peeing on himself in the bathtub–and like a lot of folks doing wack things, Wet has some concerns. He has questions about the advisability of this behavior, so he writes a letter, something that he no doubt thinks took some courage. But in composing his letter Wet chickens out: he fails to take responsibility for his actions, casting himself as a passive player in this bathtub drama. He may be peeing on himself, but it wasn’t really his idea.

I’ve been taking unsupervised baths for 27 years, and in all that time I never just “happened” to pee all over myself. The times I have pissed in the tub, it was on purpose–I was too lazy to get out of the shower, or there was someone else in the shower with me and I was fulfilling a special request. But it never just happened.

So, Wet, while I’m happy to answer your questions (no, it won’t hurt you; yes, there is something terribly, terribly wrong with you), your unwillingness to take responsibility for your actions is what disturbs me most about your letter. Come on, admit it: you’re into piss. You like it for its own sake, and not just as a substitute for masturbation. Repeat after me: “I like piss. I’m into self-administered golden showers.” This is not something that just happened to you. It’s something you did. You’re a perv, Wet. Cop to it, fer Christ’s sake.

I was dog sitting my friend’s dog and I fell asleep on the floor in my T-shirt (no underwear). When I awoke the dog was licking my pussy, and to be honest it felt so good that I didn’t stop him until I came like I never have in my life. I was totally embarrassed and disgusted with myself, but the next night it happened again. My questions:

(1) Can I get infected in any way by dog germs on my pussy?

(2) Is this harmful to me in any way?

(3) How sick am I to enjoy this?

I am too ashamed to ask a single soul in the world these questions. I wouldn’t even ask a doctor. I’m so afraid I’m going to catch some kind of infection from the dog’s tongue. Please answer me, because I need to know. I feel sick and ashamed. –Help Me

This letter, at first reading, rings false. The setup–Help Me wakes to find the dog lapping away at her pussy–sounds an awful lot like an urban myth (sans peanut butter). But while Help Me’s setup rings false, her anguish seems so real–even touching–that I believe this letter to be a genuine cry for help.

What rings false, of course, is her responsibility-avoiding HTH setup. Help Me would have us believe that she fell asleep on the floor, wearing only a T-shirt, and “awoke” to find the dog lapping away at her pussy. What more likely happened was this: Help Me was dog sitting, feeling horny, and Mr. Dog was doing those horny things horny dogs do (nosing around her crotch, humping her leg). So similar was Mr. Dog’s behavior to the behavior of males of her own species that Help Me was intrigued. Tempted. So she did this wack thing and it felt so good she did it again. And now she’s freaking out.

So she writes me, but she just can’t bring herself to begin, “I’ve been having sex with a dog.” So she constructs a scenario in which sex with a dog was something that happened to her. HTH?! She was innocently taking a nap on the floor, with no pants or panties on, and woke to find the dog between her legs–why, that could happen to anyone! Twice!

Not by a long shot, Help Me. Anyway, in answer to your questions:

(1) Yes.

(2) Yup.

(3) Pretty fucking sick.

I’m a 200 percent straight guy, married with children. About six months ago I went to a masseur who finished things with a terrific blow job. If you wonder why I didn’t stop him, the truth is I couldn’t, because he was massaging my asshole with his thumb while blowing me. It was so good that I’ve been going back to the guy just about every week–not for the massage but for the blow job. Now I’m starting to worry that this might label me as gay. I have no interest in blowing this guy, but I wonder if the guy who gets the blow job is as guilty as the one who does it. –200 Percent Straight

This is my personal favorite. Mr. 200 Percent Straight couldn’t stop the big, bad masseur from giving him a blow job because the masseur had his thumb up Mr. 200 Percent Straight’s butt. What, is there a system-override switch in straight men’s butts? Can’t move . . . thumb in ass . . . send help. Come on! I’ve had my thumb in a few butts, provoking reactions ranging from delight to disgust, but it has never ever, not once, paralyzed a sex partner.

But Mr. 200 Percent can’t admit that he didn’t object because there was nothing objectionable about this blow job–he loved it. So he comes up with what has to be the lamest excuse in the long, sordid history of blow jobs: He had his thumb in my butt, your honor, what could I do?

Of course, this doesn’t explain why week after week you keep going back for still more blow jobs, Mr. 200 Percent. Did the masseur leave his thumb in your butt?