I am really confused about this guy I like. I had a bunch of people over one night and he came. We were lying on my bed, his arms wrapped around me, just talking. He really wanted me to give him oral sex. I really wanted to, but my door doesn’t lock and my mom was in the next room. My parents don’t even like the idea of me being alone with a guy in my room. He told me I owed him, and since I like him so much I agreed. All night we were flirting, and he did have his arm around me. Please help me! I’m so confused. –Miserable Teen
Under only two sets of circumstances do you “owe” someone a blow job: (1) the person asking for a blow job has just finished giving you a blow job, or (2) he paid you to give him a blow job and you don’t want to give him his money back.
As this asswipe hadn’t given you a blow job, circumstance number one does not apply; as no money changed hands, circumstance number two does not apply. In short, you didn’t owe this guy a blow job any more than, say, Lynne Cheney owes him a blow job. So you were flirting with him. So he went to the trouble of putting his arm around you. So what? Flirting with a man does not obligate you to give him a blow job. If it did, CBS’s reality show Big Brother would have been a big hit and not the ratings disaster it so deservedly was. (Hey, CBS: We would’ve watched the show more often if Jamie, Brittany, and Curtis were sucking Josh’s cock every time we tuned in. But, alas…)
OK, so you went ahead and gave this asshole a blow job he didn’t deserve. That’s unfortunate, but it’s not something you should beat yourself up about. Thankfully you’re still at an age when some good can come away from the odd ill-advised blow job. If you come away from this experience a little wiser, well, it was all for the best. So ask yourself, “What did this blow job teach me?” Hopefully you’ve learned not to give blow jobs to assholes who pressure you into doing things you’re not comfortable with. You also might want to resolve to say no to the next guy–and yes, there will be others–who insists you “owe” him a blow job.
I’ve always tried to act like someone who is not “just another guy.” Recently a girl and I were “getting to know each other better,” whatever that means. Fast-forward to her 21st birthday, when the girl did 21 shots and got totally hammered. I had this big romantic dinner planned, but the girl showed up wasted. Most of dinner was spent feeding her bread to keep her from throwing up. Toward the end of dinner she said, “Take me to your room.” I asked if she didn’t want to go to her room, where her friends were. She said no, she wanted to go to my room. She collapsed into my bed.
She started kissing me, so I kissed her back. Things went pretty far that night, and she initiated everything. At one point, she let me know that she wanted to have sex right then and there, but I stopped things. I was still a virgin, she was wasted, and I didn’t have a condom. And so we went to sleep. All she remembered the next day was coming to see me and waking up naked in my bed. She felt that I had betrayed her and that I was “just another guy.” Then she broke up with me.
As a man, what do you think? Did I take advantage? Am I “just another guy”?
–One of the Nice Guys
As a man, I don’t think “nice guys” get naked with girls who’ve had 21 shots. A nice guy would’ve taken the drunk slut back to her room and handed her over to her friends–even if he had to do it over her drunken objections.
But while you can’t count yourself among the nice guys, you can count yourself among the lucky ones. You’re lucky that she didn’t wake up, realize she was naked, and, as so many young women are encouraged to do these days, work through her humiliation, regret, and hangover by calling the police and accusing you of date rape.
I’m now 39 and still a virgin. I tried to find a “professional” in my area (Zion, Illinois) who could help me, but I’m in the sticks, and if they’re here they’re very well hidden. I was wondering if there were any women readers of yours in my area who would like to help me lose my virginity? Sounds like I’m just asking you to pick up women for me, doesn’t it? But I need someone who’s going to be understanding about my situation.
–Make Up a Name
My column doesn’t run in a paper in Zion. And yet you somehow managed to get your hands on my column, MUAN. Either you found my column on-line or you got off your ass and made your way to a city that has a paper that runs my column. If you can go to all that trouble to get your hands on my column, why can’t you do the same to get your hands on a whore? I have it on good authority that there are whores in Chicago, Rockford, and Milwaukee. As for my female readers, I doubt I have any in Zion, and if I did, I doubt very much any of my female readers would be willing to help you out. At least I hope not.
I believe there are people with many different gifts. My talents and gifts are wasted in this politically rigid time. I am a woman of muse. Created to enhance the life of mankind. What has happened to the understanding that compensation for time, passion, consideration, stimulation, erotica as an art is not an evil thing? I am Clio, Euterpe, Thalia, Erato, Calliope, Urania, Polyhymnia, with a dash of Jezebel and Venus. I belong to no one man but serve them each as if he were my own. And if I feel that time is worth compensation, does that make me a whore?
If you wanna be a whore, be a whore. (You don’t live in Zion, do you?) If you wanna A. Noy, you’ve succeeded. But I have no doubt that any man you found yourself alone with would happily pay you to suck his dick, if for no other reason than to get something into your mouth and shut you up.
While we’re on the subject of annoying freaks and dumb whores, would someone please explain the power Ralph Nader seems to have over my usually levelheaded friends? Every other person I know is planning on voting for this–this–socially maladapted freak. Call me names–and I trust you will–but I’d sooner have a three-way with the Reform Party ticket than vote Nader this November. There are plenty of long-winded guys in bad suits on the bus that don’t have a chance in hell of being elected president, but none of my friends seem to be voting for any of them. What gives? If any of the white boys with dreadlocks out there would care to try, I invite you to write in, make a case for Ralph, and sway me.
Send questions to Savage Love, Chicago Reader, 11 E. Illinois, Chicago 60611 or to email@example.com.