Last summer I met “Lucy,” an amazing woman. To my delight, we soon started dating. We were physically intimate, though we never had sexual intercourse. I very quickly fell in love with her, and I felt she loved me too. Unfortunately, I was wrong. Lucy suddenly and unexpectedly broke up with me when things were going very well. She said she’d like to remain friends, but that a relationship was not what she needed.
Months passed and we hardly talked, even though we were still “friends.” I cried a lot. I had seen her at social functions a few times after our breakup. Tears came to my eyes when I saw her. I could only think of not being with her.
A few months later Lucy moved into the apartment complex where I reside. Now all I do is find myself creating silly excuses to go see her. I still love her and I’d take her back in an instant. As a 25-year-old male, I think I have my life pretty well in order. But I have never obsessed over any woman and I can’t figure out why I care. I don’t want to move out of my apartment building.
I don’t want to seek professional help, mainly because I can’t afford it. Also, I met her boyfriend (new one) and I’m stunned that after going out with a guy like me she’s now dating a rather ho-hum gent with no fashion sense and bad hair. Not that I’m jealous–yeah, sure! What should I do? Not do? Help!
–Without a Clue
Gee, maybe Lucy dumped you because you’re a conceited crybaby.
All right, I’m not being fair–you’re certainly not the first person to take comfort in finding fault with an ex’s new lover, and the fact that tears are coming to your eyes, you’re spending lonely nights at home bawling, etc–indicates that you’re well in touch with your emotions, and that’s charming, really.
But while this relationship may have been “going very well” as far as you were concerned, good ol’ Lucy obviously didn’t feel the same way–otherwise she wouldn’t have dumped your well-groomed, well-dressed ass, would she? So something was wrong. Maybe she thought you were a jerk, maybe she thought you were a lousy lay, maybe she wants kids and you don’t, maybe you smell bad, maybe she loathes your politics, maybe she honestly prefers ill-dressed men with bad hair to well-turned-out Fabios such as yourself. Maybe, maybe, maybe.
You could have, and probably should have, gotten yourself some answers when she dumped you. “Let’s be friends” and “I’m not interested in a relationship right now” are code, polite face-saving code. These phrases spare the breaker-upper from having to lay out exactly why he/she doesn’t want to see the breaker-uppee anymore, and conversely spare the breaker-uppee from having to listen to the breaker-upper tick off his/her faults and shortcomings.
When someone dumps you with “let’s be friends/not interested in a relationship right now,” you have two options: press them for the real reasons, or try and figure out what it was that made you two, in her eyes at least, incompatible. Knowing the real dirt may help you let go. She lives in your building–ask her why she broke up with you. Ask her to be honest, and listen to her. Do not argue with her–this is not a let’s-get-back-together gambit. Hear the reasons, go away, think about them, and the torch you’ve been carrying will go out, smothered by the dawning realization that, yes, you weren’t right for each other, if only because you weren’t right for her.
I’m not saying you won’t still be upset, or bawl yer friggin’ eyes out for a few more months, but knowing the real dirt will help you get over it sooner–have no doubt. Unfortunately, listening to the real dirt can be a painful, humiliating experience. So personally, I prefer code.
My former lover used to say that he wouldn’t eat a pussy he just came in. Last night, my current lover of six months ejaculated inside my yoni before I orgasmed, and I asked him to go down on me. He refused, saying it didn’t appeal to him.
I think of my yoni as a sanctuary of creative feminine powers, cupid’s cave, and a lotus of her wisdom. If men find their own liquids disgusting and dirty, they shouldn’t come inside me to begin with. My yoni is not a trash can for their pollution.
Do a lot of men find oral sex after intercourse “unappealing”? Are they too straight? Too paranoid? Do I need a new lover who shares my sexual desires?
Last week, the lovely ladies here at Savage Labs had a chance to speak their minds about their own orgasms in this space. Well, in the interests of fair play and equal time, I’m turning your question over to Savage Lab’s straight boys. Overall, the boys freely admitted to having done the deed, though none seemed particularly enthusiastic about it. Here’s what they had to say:
“I found it rather foul. All the cum and pussy juice and sweat combine into one big funk–but if a woman can manage to choke down a wad of cum just to make me feel good, I don’t mind making the sacrifice for her pleasure. But let’s make no mistake: it is one big funky mess.” “Maybe he should go down first, get her off at least once, then fuck. She might even have two orgasms or more. Is that enough?” “If they used a condom–not that I’m recommending them–he’d only have to deal with the faintly unpleasant taste of latex.”
“I can’t imagine that many guys haven’t done the ‘Hmm, wonder what that tastes like?’ thing as a teenager. You’d think that would be enough to get you over it. That doesn’t make me queer or nothin’, does it?” “Yes, I would go down on her, but not in the ol’ 69 position on bottom. I don’t mind licking a little sperm, but I don’t like it dribbling in my eye or, even worse, up my nose.”
“It’s less fun to lick pussy after intercourse than before it. A post-sex pooky is loosey-goosey and messy, a before-sex one is like a bud waiting to be opened, taut and delicious. Which is why you should always go down on a girl for ages before having intercourse–it makes it more likely she’ll come first, and obviates the need for this debate.”
Dan here: The straight boys I work with are a pretty homophobia-free bunch of guys, so this sample may not be representative of the average pussy-chompin’, faggot-stompin’ American male–others may be more paranoid about accidentally turning gay by ingesting a smidge of their own semen.
Finally, you might have better luck getting the boyfriends to eat you out if you refrained from insipid, silly words like “yoni,” and if you stopped with the sanctuary/cupid’s cave/lotus-of-her-wisdom nonsense. That kinda “sacred sex” talk is enough to put any man off his lunch, let alone a “sacred vessel” overflowing with his own spunk. Eesh.
Send questions to Savage Love, Chicago Reader, 11 E. Illinois, Chicago 60611.