Q: I am a thirtysomething, happily married woman except that I’ve never had satisfying, passionate sex with my husband. But I love him and am, for the most part, resigned.
Here’s where it gets complicated. I survived cancer a few years back. I’m having symptoms again, but I haven’t told anyone. In a few months a business trip will give me the opportunity to hook up with a very skilled ex-lover — who I know, based on experience, will lose interest if I’m bald and chemo-scented. So do I come clean with my husband and oncologist and openly beg for a last hurrah? Or do I keep quiet about my symptoms for a few months, have a glorious but presumably final great fuck, and then slink home for a cancer treatment that may or may not have any effect?
For the record, I know my priorities are messed up and that cheating is wrong and that cancer doesn’t absolve me from ethical dilemmas. But the question I need answered is this: What price great sex? —Devil’s Bargain
A: Your letter, DB, illustrates why there will never be a “Make a Wish Foundation” for adults. Most grown-ups, when forced to stare death in the face, aren’t going to want to go to Disneyland or meet Oprah. No, most grown-ups with terminal illnesses are going to wanna do shit like fuck their exes one last time before they croak. If I were about to die, I would want to spend a day locked in the trunk of a small car with Andy Roddick — preferably a small black car that’s parked in the sun somewhere hot.
This isn’t about me and what I want, though; it’s about you, DB, and what you want. But before I give you my advice, there are a few questions I need you to answer:
Are you really, truly terminal? If delaying your treatment isn’t tantamount to suicide, it’s not irrational to prioritize one last night of mind-blowing sex over a hopeless course of physically exhausting cancer treatments.
Can you absolutely, positively pull this off without your husband finding out? Dying doesn’t give you the right to be an inconsiderate, cancerous cow, you know. While you can’t help leaving your husband a grieving widower, you shouldn’t do this if there’s any chance you’re going to leave a grieving widower and a humiliated cuckold.
Do you have to choose between sex and delaying the treatment? It seems to me that an ex who’s willing to bang you on a business trip might be willing to make a special trip and mercy fuck you right away.
If you can answer yes to all three questions — yes, you’re truly terminal; yes, your husband won’t find out; yes, the choice is between sex and chemo — then, Christ Almighty, you should go for it. Just don’t tell anyone I told you so, DB. OK?
Q: I have a question regarding medication transference in semen. My husband is currently taking Zyloprim 100 mg and K-Phos Neutral for kidney stones (he has a lot, 19 in one year alone). I’m too embarrassed to ask our pharmacist, as we live in a very small community and are on a first-name basis with everyone. But I need to know if his medications could transfer to me during sex, and if so, would it react with the medication I’m taking (Atacand HCT)? I know with intercourse chances are slim that there would be any problems, but I give my husband a blow job at least once a day, very often twice, and I do swallow his semen. (By the way, we have been married 31 years.) A friend suggested I ask you. —Skippy the Fun Girl
A: “It sounds safe to me,” says Savage Love’s overworked resident medical expert, Dr. Barak Gaster. “Drug companies don’t measure drug levels in semen much. Some more obvious drugs, such as Viagra, have been tested in this way, [and only] extremely tiny amounts, often zero, have been found in semen.” Even if traces of these drugs were to show up in your husband’s semen, “the medications he’s taking should not interact in any serious way with the meds she’s taking,” says Dr. Gaster. But if your husband were taking more toxic drugs, “such as those given for cancer, it’s a good idea to stay cautious and avoid daily ingestion.”
Q: I’m 32-year-old gay man with some serious kinks. I’m into medical restraints and sneakers. My ultimate fantasy is being strapped down to a gurney by a hot stud in scrubs who proceeds to use medical tape to secure one of his stinky sneakers to my face, covering my mouth and nose, so that I have to breathe through it. It’s hard to meet guys who are into this kind of elaborate medical/humiliation scene, but I live in city where you can buy anything (Toronto), so I advertised for a muscular guy who would help me out. A cocky college boy answered my ad and for the last two years I’ve been paying him two hundred bucks a pop to run a few miles (so his shoes are sweaty) and then come over, strap me down (I bought a gurney), and tape one of his sneakers to my face. About six months ago I started dating a great guy and at first I didn’t tell him about any of this. When I did, he insisted that it stop. He was willing to do it for me — he’s GGG — but it just doesn’t work. He’s not cocky, he’s got small feet, and he’s not a runner. Am I a bad person for wanting to see the college boy again? My boyfriend says it’s cheating. I disagree. The college boy hardly even touches me once I’m strapped down. He just hangs out, drinks my beer, and plays video games for a couple of hours. Then he frees my right hand and grinds his sneaker into my face while I jerk off. After I come he frees me, puts his shoes back on, and runs home. I’ve never even seen him naked!
My boyfriend reads your column religiously, and he agreed to submit to your binding arbitration. We await your orders, Dr. Savage. —All Day I Dream About Sneakers
A: Before I hand down my verdict — and the suspense, I suspect, is killing no one — a word about your boyfriend’s anxieties. While you may not be having intercourse with this cocky college boy (CCB), ADIDAS, it’s understandable that your boyfriend would feel threatened. You’ve been seeing CCB a lot longer than you’ve been seeing him, for starters, and it’s only natural that your boyfriend wants to be the person with whom you realize your “ultimate fantasy.”
It’s curious that your boyfriend would submit to my binding arbitration, ADIDAS. Anyone who reads my column religiously has to know that I would come down on the side of college boys, medical restraints and sweaty sneakers. Don’t I every time? So your boyfriend is, on some level, cool with you seeing CCB again. But before you make a date, ADIDAS, give some thought to how you can involve your boyfriend in this elaborate humiliation scenario. Perhaps your boyfriend would like to be there, strapped down right beside you, with CCB’s other sneaker taped to his face? Or if it’s humiliation you’re after, what could be more humiliating than knowing your boyfriend is hanging out with CCB — drinking your beer, playing video games — while you’re strapped to a gurney? If you can find a way to include your boyfriend in your ultimate fantasy, he won’t feel so threatened by it.Send letters to firstname.lastname@example.org