[Dan Savage is on vacation this week. Here is “Classic Savage Love,” a column that originally ran in June of 1957, the year he won his first Pulitzer Prize–Eds.]

I’m a man in my mid-30s, and I just started dating after the end of a five-year relationship. The last three dates I’ve had have been with women on Terminator-style, search-and-be-impregnated missions: “Has job. Does not live at home. Full head of hair. MATCH! MATCH! MATCH!” For these women, a successful date isn’t, “Gee, I kind of like you, let’s hang out, get to know each other, and maybe have sex.” It’s more like, “OK, you’ll do; let’s buy a house and have kids, now.” I’m not interested in being anyone’s sperm donor at the moment. Nothing kills romance faster than reproductive desperation. Don’t these dolls get it?

–Not Your Phat Daddy

Whether you realize it or not, NYPD, those desperate dolls were doing you a favor. By making it obvious they were on marry-and-mate missions they tipped you off and you were able to flee before things got serious. Some women are better at disguising their reproductive desperation, and had you been dating one of them, well, things might have turned out differently. You might have been hanging out and having sex with a woman who–oops!–forgot to put her diaphragm in one night. Or misplaced her pills. Or poked holes in your condom. And, once she was knocked up, wasn’t quite as pro-choice as she led you to believe on your first date.

Instead of complaining, you should thank these women for being open about their intentions. Then, after you’ve thanked them, dump their desperate asses. But be warned: Dolls repeatedly dumped by guys struggling with cliched fear-of-commitment crapola eventually adopt new stratagems. Eventually they’ll switch to stealth search-and-be-impregnated mode, telling a man everything he wants to hear (“Oh, honey, let’s just live for today! Another blow job?”), biding her time until she can make him say what she wants to hear (“Oh, shit, you’re pregnant? Guess we better get married”).

But if I may lecture you, NYPD, a man in his mid-30s has had plenty of time to slut around and should have figured out by now whether or not he wants kids. There’s a point in a man’s life–around the time he has to start going in for regular prostate exams–when fear of commitment and/or indecision on the wife-and-kids issue is no longer masculine or attractive or Peter Pan or Jack Kerouac or Bruce Springsteen. It’s just pathetic. I’m not saying that all men should want to settle down and have kids–the world would be a much better place if men who didn’t want kids didn’t have kids. But by the time you’re 40 and fat, with a real career and a swollen prostate gland, you’ve had enough time to make up your fucking mind.

And once you’ve made up your mind, there’s a simple way to avoid reproductive desperadoes: if you feel no need to breed, don’t date women who want kids. Tell the women you date you’re not interested in being anyone’s daddy. Date women who, like you, don’t want kids–they are out there–or women who’ve already had kids. Telling women who want kids that you don’t want kids will make it less likely that these women will sleep with you in hopes that you’re a MATCH! MATCH! MATCH! Which means you’ll get laid less, but hey, look on the bright side: you won’t wind up being anyone’s “accidental” daddy.

I’m a 28-year-old professional single woman. I live with my boyfriend, and he enjoys strip clubs. I didn’t have a problem with this at first because he said it was no big deal, there was no touching involved, and he didn’t go very often. I recently found out that the last time he went he spent $500, stayed seven hours, and that there was touching involved. I admit to being naive on the subject: I didn’t know you could pay strippers to crawl on top of you. I feel like I’ve been cheated on. Is he sick or am I a prude? I can’t turn to my girlfriends because I don’t want to destroy their opinions of my boyfriend. I should mention that he was ashamed and apologetic when confronted. –Strip Club Widow

He’s not sick, you’re not a prude, and you weren’t cheated on. He didn’t have sex with strippers–while $500 is a lot of money, it won’t go that far in a strip club–and while you may not have been aware of everything that goes on in such places, he was going with your consent. Which is not to say that your boyfriend behaved admirably: when he obtained your permission, he probably downplayed the amount of time and money he spends and didn’t inform you about all those couch, table, and lap dances. He took advantage of your naivete, and for that he should be made to suffer.

Since you gave him permission to go before you knew he was capable of spending $500 and seven hours there and when you thought there was no touching involved, you have every right to forbid him to go to strip clubs from here on out. But let’s not kid ourselves: your boyfriend is still gonna go. If he does so without your permission, however, he’ll be more discreet about it, spending less money and time; and if you’re smart, you’ll turn a blind eye.

I hope I’m not letting the pussy out of the parcel, but most straight guys in long-term relationships wanna fuck other women. For lots of guys, going to a strip club helps them blow off that wanna-fuck-other-women steam without actually fucking anyone. If your boyfriend can go to a strip club without blowing your rent money and is considerate enough to keep you in the dark about it, well, is it really so awful? There are times when two people have to suspend their disbelief and pretend their partners are the people they would like them to be. Call it being functionally dysfunctional: if your boyfriend is willing to pretend he doesn’t go to strip clubs, you should be willing to pretend too, for the good of the relationship.

Pregnant women sexually excite me. Are there any escort services or massage parlors that cater to men who love mothers-to-be? –Hey, B.C.

There aren’t massage parlors or escort services that specialize in mothers-to-be–think of the staff turnover!–but female escorts and erotic masseuses do, like other women, find themselves pregnant from time to time. Your best bet is to call around, letting your local escort services and houses of ill massage know you’re interested in a sexually exciting pregnant woman. If they’ve got one on staff, or one on maternity leave, maybe they can set you up.

Dan Savage’s new book, Skipping Towards Gomorrah (Dutton), is on sale now–and it makes a great holiday gift for all the Republicans on your list.