A Riff On Dear Prudence
My wife and I married about three months ago and had dated for almost three and a half years before getting married. We both believe sex is for marriage only and abstained during our relationship. She is a virgin. I am not (I made my abstinence decision later in life). It was hard to keep my hands to myself while we dated, but I could do it partly because I knew marriage was on the horizon. Here's the problem: We have still never had sex. For the first weeks of marriage, we did many things but not that. Since then, there've been scattered moments of intimacy with her that usually end with her getting frustrated that she isn't as experienced in this area as I am, despite my best attempts to tell her how wonderful she is. The last such attempt was a few weeks ago. She says that she does not want to have sex no matter what I say. We did discuss this before marriage and I was under the impression that it would happen. In fact, she even thought it would happen during the honeymoon. Every time we tried, she freaked out and started to cry. I don't know what to do. She refuses to see a counselor or a therapist. I'm almost to the point where I don't even want to try to initiate anymore because I get so frustrated that nothing happens. I love her with all of my heart. I want to be able to share the kind of intimacy with her that sex brings and I don't know what to do. I find myself getting angry and bitter any time I see anything on TV or anywhere about a couple having sex.
Dear Castrated Fuckwit,
Rudie has serious doubt you had any trouble keeping your hands to yourself while you dated. In fact, he's pretty fucking sure that that's pretty much all you did with this cold fish. Yep, many walks on the beach in the moonlight, many cozy dinners, many nights spent renting videos and watching Survivor... cuddling... *HURL*.
Well, you're married now. Rudie is sure that not even whatever Almighty Gods You Pray To(TM) have a problem with you two riding the hobby horse. In fact, I believe most systems of faith actually encourage it at this point.
Rudie would like to say that it is easy for him to avoid ranking both on the pruderies inherent in abstinence theory, whether of religious motivation or otherwise. He would like to. But Rudie, above all other things, is honest, otherwise what use would he be to you or anyone? Abstinence is exactly the antithesis of the human animal's survival drive, created by centuries of indoctrination that somehow the virtue of the devil is in his loins. Well, Rudie's been rather enamored of his loins since he was a wee curmudgeon, and he can tell you that there ain't but a thing down there except a rather formidable and attractive bit of sexual equipment that goes by the name of Excalibur. Your mileage may vary.
I'm sure she's frightened. She's been training herself to avoid sex since she first drank the Kool Aid in whatever cultish Neo-Pavlovian behavioral modification sect managed to get a hold of her. If she won't seek therapy, won't work with you, well you're left holding the meat puppet.
Unfortunately, you love her. You are bitter and resentful, yet you love her. You'd be willing to chew of the arm you don't jerk off with for just a little baby slice of poon from the woman you married, yet you love her.
Christ, where do you doormats come from? Are you hatched or grown from the soil?
Well, the Rudie RX is either stock up on vaseline or hand lotion (Jergen's I can pretty well recommend, holds its slickitude and isn't too floral) or start looking to get your zip on elsewhere, preferably on the sly. Shit, this point, why not be bold and just state emphatically that you are going to get your swerve on elsewhere. Maybe the realization that now that she's married and that abstinence is no longer a tenable position and you are about to stray just may be the kick she needs to get her into the spread eagle position.
Rudie isn't holding out too much hope. She sounds like the sort that might just be relieved at the news.
I have a problem with a parrot we acquired nearly six months ago, something my husband has wanted for a long time. We talked about it, studied, and bought from a reputable breeder. This is not something we did lightly, considering the cost and lifespan. However, after trying to adjust to the bird for several months, I find I simply detest her. My husband keeps her with him all the time and absolutely adores her. I can't get a free moment with him without this bird being in the way! On top of that, she poops everywhere. My worst fear is that she'll go neurotic, as some parrots are said to do, when my husband, who's in the military, is deployed. He's creating a winged monster with all this attention and I'll never be able to keep up. I ask him to leave her in her cage (a bird mansion) now and then (dinner time), but he gets defensive, even angry. It's almost to the point where I want to say the bird needs to go entirely, except he's so happy with her. How do I resolve this conflict?
—Flying the Coop
Dear Frantic City, Frantic City, skraaawwwwk,
Dissembly isn't your strong suit. Oh, sure, you say the bird's a menace and he'll have anxieties and whatever, and you'll be the one stuck with the shit-bombing nutcase bird.
Bullshit on a cracker with sour cream and ranch dressing.
If it's even remotely true, why not go out to the costume shop and buy him the ruffled shirt, faux cutlass, and eye-patch to go with the damn parrot. At least then he can prance about the place yelling "ARRRRRRGH" and entertain you a bit.
You're pissed because you have been effectively been replaced by a few pounds of feathers, shit, and soon to be bad attitude.
It is very difficult for Rudie to be sympathetic to a person who feels displaced by a fucking bird. Just say this out loud to yourself a couple of times:
"I have been displaced by a fucking bird. A bird that shits copiously on whatever is handy. Truthfully, I feel lower than a bird that shits copiously on whatever is handy. Is there a place lower than this, perhaps a deep hole, tunnel, or gaping tectonic fissure where I might crawl next?"
After you say that out loud a few times, either you'll wise up and start having a little personal dignity, or you'll recognize that the true shitbird here isn't the parrot.
My husband and I have been married for just over a year, but have been in a loving and monogamous relationship for 16 years. We're in our mid-30s. We don't want kids. We work a lot, enjoy traveling often, and don't like kids (although he is very good with them). All these years, I have been in charge of birth control (pill for 16 years and almost always one or two other forms—condom, spermicide—just to be sure). I think the pill could be responsible for my lack of sex drive. Recently, I brought up the idea of a vasectomy. To me, it seemed like the most logical thing to do: It's an in-office procedure, I could get off the pill, maybe I'll get my sex drive back, surgery for the woman is much more complicated, and it's a lifetime free of birth control. But my normally understanding, intelligent, fact-oriented husband freaked out. He accused me of wanting to "cut off his balls," and continues to do so every time I try to (gently) revisit the subject. I am very hurt because it seems like it's his turn to be in charge of birth control and a permanent solution makes so much more sense. Also, it has lowered my sex drive even more—after all, why should I risk getting pregnant if he won't even discuss alternate birth control options with me? Am I being unrealistic? Is this just machismo? Can he be talked into it?
—Sick of the Pill
Dear Vas Deferential,
No man, no matter how chiseled the profile, no matter how defined the six-pack, no matter how big the biceps, turns into a gelatinous, simpering, craven bowl of slimy goo when there is any mention of any kind of snippity-snippage in the crotchal region. Even though your doctor may not look like Lorena Bobbitt, the concept of sharp objects near one's family jewelry is enough to send most men into paroxysms of screaming bloody murderous anguish and gut wrenching separation anxiety. A man will never jump higher than when someone takes a swipe at their yarbles. Shaq wishes he had that kind of vertical leap.
Guys are more enamored of their wad than you think. You know how some guys name their package (see above)? Well, regardless of whether there's a proper form of address for the meat and potatoes or not, invariably, they all see them as a close friend. Would you hold a knife to a close friend? Of course not.
Well that's what you're asking him to do. You're asking him to pull a knife on a lifelong and respected companion, and you're telling him its for his and your own good! You're asking him to turn his close friend into a neutered pet. A broken and sad shell of its former potent and virile self.
Now, wouldn't you be a little unhinged if someone started swinging a scalpel anywhere near your most delicate and personal of identifying marks of fertile womanhood?
Just be patient and apply gentle pressure if you have the stamina to wait, or get your tubes tied and have no more of this before it ruins more than just your reproductive abilities.
There is this woman I like and she's got a set of big fake boobs. I know they are fake because her other friends have shown me "before" and "after" pictures of her. Don't get me wrong—I love how they look, but I want to ask her why she got them. Whenever we go anywhere, she always keeps them covered up. Even at the beach, she wears a very conservative one-piece bathing suit that comes up to her neck. I'm not sure how to approach the subject as we are just friends, although I would like our relationship to become more, and don't want to seem like some kind of a pervert. Please tell me the best way to discuss her sizable bust without offending her.
Why is it, do you think, and Rudie's just spitballing here, that a woman would get a set of fake boobs that would give basketballs an inferiority complex? It's so puzzling, you know, what could be the reason? Oh, this is a stumper, indeed! Rudie is perplexed, befuddled even.
Oh wait, Rudie's got it.
SHE WANTS ATTENTION.
So give her the attention she's asking for.
The only reason she keeps them covered is because she, unlike your seriously dumb ass, understands that it is far more exciting to conceal than reveal. I bet she wears a lot of sweaters. Rudie finds very few things more enticing than a couple of hefty sweater pillows testing the strength of wool fiber.
A one-piece isn't sexy or erotic? OK, I'm going to assume you weren't born in 1997, so I'm going to assume that you've seen Baywatch.
As Chandler from Friends explained of the draw of Baywatch during the opening credits... "running..."
Ah, but maybe all of this is lost on you. When you see her the next time, please tell her to contact Rudence at 555-XXX-XXXX (censored by editor) so that Rudie may schedule an in person appointment to ask the questions you can't. He might stay for a little closer inspection of the good surgeons bounteous work.
Well kiddies, that's all for this week, so I bid you a fond adieu, and remind you that if you can't say what's on your mind, you should probably cut it out of your skull and give it to someone who won't waste it.