Warning: Savage Love is an adult sex advice column. The contents of this article may be offensive to some people. And Utahns.
I am a young, straight male—but I have this obsession with male-on-male dino-dragon porn. I don’t get it. I’M SUPPOSED TO BE STRAIGHT! Am I psychotic or what? —Dino Really Are Gonna Overtake Now
You’re not psychotic, DRAGON, just pathetic.
I don’t mean pathetic in the “laughable or contemptible” sense of the word, DRAGON, I mean it in the pitiable sense. You’re one those poor unfortunate souls saddled with an unrealizable sexual fantasy. Beat off to dino-dragon porn as much as you care to—and you clearly care to—but, like a man with a giantess fetish or some dude into boytaurs, you will never meet the object of your peculiar affections in the flesh, scales, and tails.
Well, not for at least 50 years or so.
In his newish book Love and Sex with Robots, author David Levy predicts that in five decades or so, people are going to be fucking and falling in love with humanoid sex robots. Levy believes that some people are going to have a problem with the humanoid fuckbots in our future. I disagree. People aren’t going to have a problem with dudes fucking and/or marrying humanoid robots. It’s dudes like DRAGON, here—men and women fucking and/or married to dino-dragon robots, robot centaurs, 50-foot-tall female robots, and, it pains me to say, kid robots—who are going to freak people the fuck out.
Let me just say this: There’s going to be a lot more to fuckbots than Levy imagines in his philosophy. While Levy foresees fuckbots that can be programmed with voices, eye colors, or “particular personality traits” that their owners/mates find sexy, I foresee a future in which every last unrealizable fetish or fantasy is suddenly within the grasp of all—well, not all. The first few generations of fuckbots will most likely be available only to the superwealthy and/or those willing to spend a small fortune on a visit to a robot brothel. But the coming of fuckbots is going to make fantasies that are currently unrealizable for reasons of biology, logistics, or morality suddenly very, very realizable. Including yours, DRAGON, if you should be lucky enough to live so long.
As for your supposed-to-be-straightness…
I’ve got a file full of letters from supposed-to-be-straight guys—guys with wives and girlfriends and a passion for pussy—angsting at me about their urge to suck a little cock now and then. Many of these guys prefer to suck cock that isn’t attached to anything recognizably male—e.g., shemales, transvestites, American Idol contestants, et al.—because it somehow makes their gay desires less troubling, less destabilizing, less, you know, gay.
Your passion for male-on-male dino-dragon porn, DRAGON, may be motivated by the same subconscious impulse. You don’t want to let go of your supposed straightness but you’re actually turned on by “the cock,” as the kids like to say. And by seeking out porn that features nonhuman males, you don’t have to confront your hunger, however mild, for cock.
I’m a straight woman and I’ve been with my boyfriend for four years. The sex is great, but we recently began to experiment with anal. He enjoys it, he takes his time and warms/lubes me up, but it is still painful. I don’t let on because I know how much he gets off. Any tips for a beginner? —Silently Whimpering
Smoke pot, SW. Don’t break any laws, of course, but if you’re using lots of lube, if he’s going very, very, very slowly at the start, and if you’ve read Tristan Taormino’s The Ultimate Guide to Anal Sex for Women (twice), you might want to smoke a little bit of pot—just a little bit—before you give it another go.
And pot or no pot, SW, you MUST tell your boyfriend that, whatever he’s doing back there, it’s not working for you. THAT’S AN ORDER. Read or reread Taormino’s book, and then try some other positions, more or different lube, longer warm-up sessions, anal-play sessions without any expectations of penetration, and, of course, a consciousness-raising session that involves you doing the boyfriend’s ass with a dildo that’s roughly the same size as his dick.
I’ve been reading your column for a few months, Dan, and I’m wondering a few things. What are your academic credentials (if any) that qualify you as some kind of sexpert? I suspect you have none. Are you a guy or a girl? Judging by the bias of your answers, my guess is that you’re a woman. Are you straight, gay, or bi? Single, married, or divorced? I’m sure your readers would love to know the answers to all of these questions. However, I suspect you haven’t got the balls to print this letter. —Chaz The Spaz
P.S.: The Playboy Advisor replies to ALL questions submitted (even those he doesn’t print). Do you?
Look up “advice” in the dictionary, CTS, and it says, “opinion about what could or should be done.” The only qualification you need to offer someone your opinion, of course, is having been asked for it. As my mail comes addressed to me, I am uniquely qualified to offer advice in this space.
Look my ass up on Google, CTS, and it says that I’m a fag. I’ve been with the same guy for 13-plus years, we’re husbands in Canada, boyfriends in the United States, and our young son’s loving parents wherever the fuck we go. I have never claimed to be a “sexpert,” whatever that is, and while I do not doubt that the Playboy Advisor is a better man than I in every respect, the volume of mail I get prevents me from answering everyone personally.
I am a 23-year-old female whose boyfriend has a piss fetish. By this I mean that he enjoys it when I urinate into his mouth. While this is not something I find erotic, I have no issue with indulging him. My only problem with it is that I don’t like to kiss him afterward because of the taste. I can’t stand it. Is there a tactful way to ask him to brush his teeth afterward without COMPLETELY ruining the mood? Thank you very much for your help. —Embarrassed Non-Urine Fan
Seeing as there’s no tactful way to ask someone to piss in your mouth, ENUF, you’re under no obligation to be tactful about asking your boyfriend to brush his damn teeth. Saying, “Go brush your damn teeth, piss-boy, and you better be back here before I decide to eat asparagus at every meal for the rest of my fucking life,” in a low and sexy voice should not only do the trick, it will ensure that his dick is still hard when he gets back.
Hey, everybody: Thank you so much for all the thoughtful condolence e-mails after the death of my mother. Your good wishes, to say nothing of the many pictures of your boyfriends’ butts, lifted my spirits. My tickets to the Friday night performance of The Drowsy Chaperone in Chicago—they were supposed to be mother’s birthday present—wound up going to a lovely and very deserving mom. And I got to see the show, too—thanks to Ted at Broadway in Chicago—at Sunday’s matinee.