I am a straight, monogamous man with normal sexual predilections. I don’t need to find someone to pee on me, paddle my butt, tell me about fucking other men, or anything else too weird. So why am I writing to you? First, I wanted to thank you for printing all the letters from the perverts. I feel lucky that my sexuality is wired the way it is, and I’m thankful every time I read your column and am reminded of the sexuality I might have gotten.
Second, do you have any idea what kind of sexual propensities Americans have, percentage wise? I’m especially interested in knowing how many of us are muff divers. Being one myself, I wonder what kind of company I’m in.
— Tom In Denver
You’re in good company, TID. Like dogs, all men who muff dive go to heaven. And while I could dig up a stat for you somewhere — hell, you could dig up the stat yourself (have you heard of Google?) — what difference does a stat make? Like the perverts who fill you with that there-but-for-the-grace-of-God-go-I feeling, TID, you like what you like. And that thing you like, Tom? Muff diving was once considered the height of kink — and not all that long ago, either. Hell, muff diving was illegal in a few of these United States until the US Supreme Court finally struck down all sodomy laws in 2002.
I laughed reading your column today, but it’s not always so. Sometimes it is just plain disgusting. I always thought of human sexuality as something deeply poetic and beautiful, the greatest ecstasy afforded human beings this side of the grave. But when reading your column, one gets the feeling that human sexuality can be downright disgusting — people who like piss, sadomasochism, and orgies. Is there any way that we can salvage the poetic beauty of human sexuality?
— Just Curious
I laughed reading your letter, JC, because only a person who has never had sex, poetic or otherwise, could write something so thoroughly idiotic. Anyone who has had sex knows that poetry, beauty, and ecstasy are so subjective that there’s no point in looking down your nose at people who find poetry, beauty, and ecstasy in ways that you do not. One man’s piss-soaked sadomasochistic orgy is another man’s poetic ecstasy.
Recently my boyfriend became a born-again Christian and made a bunch of new friends who have influenced him in his godly path. He told me we could still be together but couldn’t have sex. Needless to say, there’s no fucking way I’m going to regress to a middle-school relationship as an adult, so it’s over. The other night I had a dream that I saw him and he was wearing high heels and makeup and he told me that he really hadn’t found God but was actually gay. “This is who I am now,” he said in my dream. Do you think my subconscious mind is on to something?