QMy boyfriend and I both like porn and toys, and we’re obviously open about everything and often play with them together. But recently he posed an interesting question that left me feeling like a prudish conservative: If virtual-reality technology is developed such that one can have a sexual encounter with a computerized person (insert favorite famous wanna-fuck object here: Brad Pitt, Jessica Alba, whoever), would that be too close to cheating? He says that it’s just a face attached to a sex toy and nothing more. If porn is OK and sex toys are OK, he reasons, why not combine the two? But I’m feeling a little jealous of my boyfriend’s virtual fuck buddy of the future. What’s your take? —Worried About Virtual Promiscuity
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As for what constitutes infidelity, well, that is and always will remain a highly subjective matter, WAVP. Every couple gets to decide for themselves just what constitutes infidelity within their own relationship. One couple may draw that line at pornography—well, it’s usually the batshitcrazy half that draws the line at pornography and the sane half that concedes under duress and masturbates in secret—while the couple next door draws the line at quadruple penetration.
Gay people who say, “We shouldn’t want to get married because then we’ll all have to be monoooooooogamous!” are just as dishonest—and just as full of shit—as Bible thumpers who say, “They shouldn’t be allowed to get married because they’re not capable of being monogamous!” Drop it, you douche bags.
So where did this kink come from? Who knows? Who cares? We can look back through this bartender’s life and speculate—maybe his dad forced him to lick his plate clean, maybe he started eating his come as a teenager to destroy evidence of masturbation from disapproving parents, maybe he’s deeply concerned (and deeply confused) about his carbon emissions—but, generally speaking, attempting to identify the root cause of an adult person’s fetishes, turn-ons, kinks, etc, is a waste of time.
AWhat proof do you have that these two were piss freaks, ILL? Pissing all over carpets and walls is a time-honored way for disgruntled tenants to fuck over perceived-to-be-evil landlords; it is not, generally speaking, a piss freak’s modus operandi. It’s been my experience—ahem—that piss freaks are neat freaks (outside of the tub), the turn-on being the violation of their own taboos and hang-ups around cleanliness.
I regret writing that, as people screamed and yelled, and I was even refused service in a lesbian bar over it. But luckily for me, the column in which I made that gynophobic but eerily apt crack—I mean, picture it, a canned ham falls from a great height, hits the ground hard, the weakest seam of the can splits, the meat product inside is pressed out through the long, narrow opening as the impact compresses the can, and pink meat unfolds like a delicate, if nonkosher, flower—is so old that it doesn’t exist on a Web archive anywhere and I can plausibly deny ever having written such a thing.
