This is our friend Tom. He’s a married guy with tons of relationship experience, and a skilled advice giver who’s here to answer all your pressing sex, dating and relationship questions. Have a query for Tom? Email him at friskymarriedguy@gmail.com! All questions will be posted anonymously, unless otherwise requested.

I’ve been dating this amazing guy for 10 months. Two months into our relationship, he told me he loved me and I realized I loved him back. Lately, things have started to change. He spends less time with me and stopped saying he loved me (the only exception is when he’s drunk).

When I finally asked him about it, he said that he likes me now (like, not love) but isn’t sure what the future holds. At this point, I cannot imagine doing anything but break up with him. However, he still wants to keep seeing me or take a break to sort his feelings out. When I prodded him further, he confessed that the driving factor in all this is his fear of commitment. Some days he says he wants to spend the rest of his life with me, other days he’s not so sure. He wants some time to sort out his feelings. The other item we discussed is that we don’t ever really talk about the deep stuff, that even though we’ve been dating for a while, we don’t actually know each other all that well. He thinks maybe if we continue seeing each other and getting to know each other better, his feelings may change.

I don’t know if I should cut my losses and end this relationship now. What’s the point of getting my hopes up again or wasting my time by continuing to see each other? What is wrong with him — if he doesn’t love me anymore, why can’t he just leave it be? – BC

Let’s talk about steering wheels.

Every relationship has one. In the best couples, you take turns in charge of it. Kids come into the picture? Maybe the lady “steers” for a few years, making the big calls on where the relationship is headed. Health issues, or a big change in financial circumstances to address? Maybe the guy takes the wheel for a while. It’s not set in stone, and doesn’t mean the passenger can’t give directions. But relationships are like road trips: either you share the driving, or you’re kind of a dick.

How does this apply to you? Well, you’re dating a hands-free asshole. This guy doesn’t want to take responsibility, and is bombing down the freeway letting God take the wheel. That’s how people get hurt.

Look, this is a very common dude trait. We’re “confused.” We’re “not sure how we feel.” We have “issues.” And that’s fine: we’re all entitled to those feelings. But do we want to talk about it? No. Do we want to do anything to make our mindset clearer? No.  Instead, we steer with our knees, drift in and out of lanes, and generally fuck up traffic for other people.

But at the moment, you’re complicit in his emotional stasis. You’re letting him get away with it. You sit in the passenger seat and fret, but what good does that do? So pull over and take the fucking wheel already. Try out that “take a break” idea he so helpfully brought up. Or even trust your instincts and break up with him altogether. He’s not going anywhere. His feelings will suddenly become very clear when he hears about that date you went on with a guy from your old office, or sees the pictures from that beach vacation you took without him. He may rouse from this emotional lethargy and do anything he can to get you back. Or — and be prepared for this to sting — he may see that his life is actually much better without you, and never speak to you again. Both scenarios are ultimately good for you, regardless of his feelings, because they clear up the picture. So do it: take charge and see where this goes. You have absolutely nothing to lose.

Endnote: there’s a theme developing in this “Ask A Married Guy” column that I want to ask Frisky readers about. I often stress the need to create deadlines, challenges and obstacles to for men to overcome in their relationships with women. In the column above, I basically said: “Dump him, and give him the chance to fight his way back.” To my mind, these challenges give dudes an opportunity to grow, and to take ownership of their intimate lives. It’s a very old idea, as if couples spiritually gain from men emotionally re-enacting a quest, where women are the objective, like in a medieval romance. Here is my pseudo-scientific declaration: this “quest” dynamic is relevant and helpful in roughly 80 percent of relationships. I think men need women to lay down some challenges, to help them grow out of their selfish, self-pitying whore stage. I suspect women need men for the precisely the same reason (although I understand the mechanics of that less well, on account of I have a penis). One thing is sure in my mind: men and women each need the other to become better people.

But … I could be wrong. Tell me if you think I am. Let rip in the comments, please.

BARFFFFFFFFFFFFFF, I hate new sex.

And I know it’s a thing (maybe a sitcom thing?) to bitch about having to do a fake porn moan under the same sweaty, hairy, disgusting meatsack of a pre-corpse you’ve been holding your farts in under for the last five or 10 or 15 years or whatever, but I don’t even care: I WANT THAT.

I’m over the rush of the new; bring on the last dick I’m ever gonna suck.

And I get your objection, I really do. Current boyfriend doesn’t buy you flowers or appreciate your pot roast or bother to clean his beard whiskers from where they’ve pooled in a blob of toothpaste in the sink and the last thing you fucking want to do after spending your morning scrubbing the dried pee sprinkles from the floor around the toilet (THAT IS WHAT THOSE CLOROX WIPES ON THE SINK ARE FOR, YOUNG MAN) is hike your comfy nightshirt up and slide the crotch of your underwear over just enough for him to get his 3/4 erection into your delicate ladybits, so you think “Hot damn, wouldn’t it be super rad to bang some shiny new gentleman caller?”

PROBABLY. Chances are this next one’s weird quirks are totally going to stress you out, too, but at the very least they will have that new car smell.

So you’re not ready for another relationship because you want to take some time to process this last one (smart) but would like the opportunity to road test a handful of new options (awesome) or you never had a relationship in the first goddamned place and just want to get busy with someone you would never introduce your brunch circle to (who are you, me!?) and you want to get your cute little face ready but don’t know how?

Well neither do I because I’m dumb, but here is how I wing that unnecessarily complicated shit:

Find someone with whom you can have casual sex that won’t make you feel totally gross after. Easier said than done, sister. Especially as you get older and more intolerant. Homie, you proudly wrote on OkCupid that you haven’t read a book since high school!? Get out forever, thanks. What’s that? You hate your mom and think “feminist” is a dirty word? PEACE THE EFF OUT.

When I was 19 or whatever I would’ve banged whichever bro rang up my purchase at Foot Locker without so much as a “Hey bud, what kind of music do you like?” But I’m old now, so I gotta know what’s on your Spotify and the last thing you DVR’d before I disappoint you with the only three things I know how to do in bed.

Clean up your place. But only, like, a little bit. Someone please tell me the mathematical way of expressing “the more I clean my apartment prior to a booty call, the less that future sex is going to be awesome.” You’re totally going to be mad if you put fresh linens on and the sex is weak, trust me.

Years ago I read some sort of pink-covered lazy girl guide to cleaning (and probably style! the man always wants us to do things with style!) and the one piece of advice I remember is to make sure the largest object in the room is tidy because it is the main thing someone who isn’t you is ever going to notice.

Believe me, I have dusted picture frames and mopped behind the dresser only to have a man kick his shoes off at the door and make a beeline to the air mattress my old roommate was letting me borrow, never once stopping to notice that I had arranged my books so that all the smart ones were at eye level.

HIDE YOUR GOOD GROCERIES. Caps Lock on because I mean that shit. Last dude I had up in here was like, “Hey, can I get a glass of water?” and came back to my bed with the Brita pitcher, a package of sopressata still wrapped in butcher paper, an unopened bag of Oreos, and a container of expensive-ass Whole Foods marcona almonds.

All I could do was sit there, mouth slack in disbelief, and watch this dude eat the three-piece mild from Popeyes I was saving for breakfast in two gigantic bites as his slimy penis recoiled back into his body. Now I keep some bottled water on the nightstand. HE ATE MY RED BEANS AND RICE WITH HIS FINGERS, YOU GUYS. I mourn to this day.

Run the humidifier on its highest setting. A couple years ago my homie was like, “That Radiohead ‘In Rainbows’ record is really awesome to bang to.” And I was all TRYING THAT NEXT TIME I GET BANGED LOL and at my next sexing opportunity as I was sliding all over my apartment covered in baby oil frantically hiding piles of magazines in the linen closet I remembered to put that album on.

He was mid-thrust when “Videotape” came on, and it sounds like the kind of music a teenage babysitter in a horror movie gets murdered to, and one look in his eyes told me that he was dunzo. But I don’t want to listen to my queefs in surround sound, bouncing off the walls of my minimally furnished crib, so I run the humidifier. Extra loud.

Remember that thing you gotta go do. I’m always RUL DELIBERATE when setting the alarm.

“See? I have to be up at 4:45, so it’s probably best if you didn’t spend the night. Because I have to get a pap smear/meet my parents for breakfast/catch a flight to Iceland hella early. You know, I would hate for you to have to get up earlier than necessary. I would also hate for you to snatch my blankets in the middle of the night and fart all between the fresh sheets I just couldn’t resist changing before you got here because I was nervous they smelled too much like the cat’s butt. Ugh and I gotta try not to snore and worry about waking you up when I inevitably have to pee in the middle of the night, and was the sex we just had worth that anxiety? You didn’t even go down on me right. I mean, I like you and everything, but I just have some international espionage I can’t really talk about to go do. And my parents are coming over for breakfast. Also I’m getting my period. So let’s just see each other next time my Netflix is acting wonky and I can’t find an SVU marathon, cool?”

He’ll be letting himself out before you even finish talking, and thank fuck for that.

Now get your retainer from the sock drawer where you hid it and take your ass to bed. I like that flannel nightgown, by the way. My mom has the same one.

Samantha Irby writes a blog called Bitches Gotta Eat and just published a book called Meaty. She has a cat named Helen Keller. This piece was originally posted on xoJane.com.

It’s official—you’re having hot shower sex and incessantly sending emoticon-loaded texts. YAY! So is this guy your boo, or just another hookup? The boys of “That Awkward Moment” are here to help. They’ve taken the time to sit down and be real with you in this new interactive video. Find out if you and your lover are strictly bed buddies, and why Zac Efron is a huge fan of the kitchen table.

Half of the trouble I’ve experienced in relationships is simply not knowing when to “fold ‘em” and call it a day. Yeah, you’re probably out the $10 buy-in, but it’s a small loss in comparison to a broken heart. You lost that week, or month of time but you didn’t go all in on some guy just to find he’s bluffing. But it’s easier said than done, isn’t it? Read more on College Candy…

What is the deal with guys and “the talk”? If you’re spending all of your free time together and the sex is good, why is the “so what are we” conversation such a freaking issue? To get to the heart of this epidemic and learn how to decipher something real versus someone who just wants to schtup, we decided to take cues from Zac Efron’s latest comedy ”That Awkward Moment.”

It’s the story of 20-somethings navigating the rocky terrain between hooking up and dating, as Efron manages to charm his way out of bachelorhood and into Imogen Poots’ panties. The good news is — spoiler alert! — all the bros eventually get over their irrational fear of settling down and open their hearts to totally cool chicks … but not without breaking a few hearts and some serious boning along the way. So here’s how to be the winner in this scenario, and not the one-night stand.

Lesson #1: Be a little patient. Not all guys are dirty rotten scoundrels. But yeah, if they make a huge dick move by not showing up to your father’s funeral, obviously you’ve waited too long.

Lesson #2: Don’t expect sex to turn into a relationship. I’m all for having sex when and with whomever you want. Just don’t expect it turn into a relationship. If there’s been copious amounts of sex without any mention of a future, give up.

Lesson #3: Be clear if he’s meeting your parents. It’s not cool to trick a guy into meeting your ma and pa, especially if he’s got a great sense of humor and plans on wearing a strap-on to your “dress up” party.

Lesson #4: Learn to play Xbox. All I can say is, if you don’t play video games and you are dating a guy who does, fake it until you make it.

Lesson #5: Just be real. You’re a cool chick, and you deserve the best. If you want to take it to the next level, be straight with him from the start. If the guy’s really into you, he’ll get there … eventually.

This post is sponsored by “That Awkward Moment,” in theaters on January 31.

When wintertime rolls around, it’s easy to feel like the only single person in the world. Couples are stumbling adorably in winter coats and scarves, chuckling over hot coffee and warming each others hands while we single folks are left to pile ourselves under books, Netflix, and the covers. It’s tough going solo when the temperatures drop – bars are emptier, going outside in general is less appealing, and the singletons you seek are likely hiding away in a burrow of sweaters and Seamless.com delivery orders. (And when you finally score a first date, you need all those sweaters to hide all those Seamless orders.)

But at least by the time you make it through all 18 stages, you’ll know you’re not alone.

1. It begins. The temperatures drop and you see couples everywhere you go.

2. When you complain about this to your friends, they shrug and say “it’s cuffing season.” You are not appeased.

3. That’s not helpful, so you ask for a friend to set you up.

4. You would have gone on that date with the set-up, but it was cold enough to freeze a turkey outside, so you said you were sick and ordered nachos to your front door.

5. Feeling guilty about ignoring the set-up, you try online dating. It’s like a bar, only you get to wear your Mickey Mouse sweatshirt and reindeer socks while marathoning an entire season of “Storage Wars.”

6. You pick a candidate for a date, wrap yourself in warm things, and trudge through wintry weather to the friendly neighborhood bar you suggested.

7. You hate every moment of the date.

8. Afterwards, you close your online dating account and curse the Gods because this definitely means you’ll be single forever.

9. To cheer yourself up, you throw a party with lots of alcohol and tell everyone to bring single people.

10. Everyone ignores you and brings his or her significant other.

11. So, you throw back a rum cider and try to make karaoke happen.

12. You end the evening by snuggling up … with some night cheese.

13. But all is not lost! You get invited to a work party.

14. Where you get saucy and hook up with cute person you don’t remember meeting ever, which means this is totally okay, right?

15. When you get lunch with friends the next day, all eyes are on you as you recount the debaucherous night.

16. And that being single means you don’t have to buy really extravagant Valentine’s Day presents for your significant other, unlike your coupled friends.

17. Which means you can buy really extravagant presents for yourself.

18. You end by celebrating said discovery by spending your evening with your two great loves: pizza and eating pizza.

I have the dating app Tinder downloaded on my phone, but I only use it to play a game called “How many times can I swipe left in 60 seconds?” My current record is 44, but that’s because I take it seriously and don’t swipe left on every dude who pops up on the screen. But I don’t ever respond to any of the messages that various “matches” send to me and I have no plans to randomly meet up with someone I met through the site. Call me crazy, but I prefer to judge a stranger on more substantial information than what Tinder provides, which is, at most, a couple factoids and a handful of photos. So I’m really, really not envisioning myself using 3nder, a new app from the makers of Tinder and Grindr (the “gay” precursor to Tinder, FYI), which hopes to make threesomes easier to come by. But that’s me. Maybe this is totally your bag, in which case, you should watch this video, which makes threesomes look super hip and sexy, and cross your fingers this app makes it out of the development stage. But as an aside, how do you even pronounce 3nder? Thrinder? Help me. [Styleite]

I’m single which means that, in theory, each day presents the opportunity to get laid by someone new. I don’t usually take advantage of this perk of being single in my every day life, mostly because I’ve deemed the New York City’s entire male population to be unfuckable. I am, however, much, much, much more open to the possibility of hooking up when I’m traveling. Plus, it’s basically a fact that being an out-of-towner has a certain appeal to local dudes who are terrified of any possibility of commitment. Basically, my rolling suitcase and obvious lack of knowledge about local traffic laws have proven to be massive turn-ons. In part one of this episode of Funny Girl Sex Guide, I reveal some types of travel hookups that you’re likely to experience at some point in your life, with examples from my own.

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Hooking up while traveling is the best! It’s basically a fact that being an out-of-towner has a certain appeal to local dudes who are terrified of any possibility of commitment. Basically, my rolling suitcase and obvious lack of knowledge about local traffic laws have proven to be massive turn-ons. In part two of this episode of Funny Girl Sex Guide – check out part one here – I reveal four more types of travel hookups that you’re likely to experience at some point in your life, with examples from my own.

In my two-part travel sex episode of Funny Girl Sex Guide, I rather cynically declared that the entire male population of New York City is unfuckable. That, I am willing to admit, was a bit of an exaggeration. Or at least I hope that it is, because I’ve decided that it’s impractical and silly to rely on my relatively infrequent travel schedule as the only opportunity I take to get laid. Therefore, I’m in the market for a fuck buddy, aka someone to sex on the regular without commitment. While I keep my eye peeled for possible candidates, I’m reminding myself, and now you, of six very important rules for having a successful friends with benefits relationship. Watch above!

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There’s no easier way to make the person you’re bedding feel awesome like a well-timed, sincere, creative, thoughtful compliment. Guys and gals, WE DO NOT DO THIS ENOUGH. Not only does complimenting someone in the sack make them feel good, but it can also communicate specifics about your desires, break down barriers and open a dialogue for future freakiness. In this episode of Funny Girl Sex Guide, I review just some of compliments you should consider giving during future fuck sessions.

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Women have been faking orgasms since the beginning of time, the reasoning usually being that it’s just easier to pretend you’ve come when you know a real one is not going to happen. It gives the dude you’re getting down with unspoken permission to finish up himself, without having to say, mid-coitus, “Hey, you know, an orgasm just isn’t in the cards for me today, but you should go ahead and have yours!” (Generally, I encourage people to not mislead their sexual partners and would like to see women be more open about what gets them off so they don’t feel inclined to fake — however, there are just some sexual relationships you don’t want to go that deep with. Whatever. Do you, girl.) But one thing I hadn’t considered, even as an occasional faker myself, is that women might actually get off, in some way, by faking it. Well, a recent study published in the Journal of Sexual Archives found that some women fake orgasms for their own pleasure, and upon thinking about it, I realized that I totally relate.

Researchers at Temple University and Kenyon College polled 481 sexually active female students about what factors motivate their decision to fake an orgasm, and these were the top four reasons given:

1. Altruistic deceit (faking it out of concern for a partner’s feelings)
2. Fear and insecurity (faking it to avoid negative emotions associated with the sexual experience)
3. Elevated arousal (attempting increase one’s own arousal through faking orgasm)
4. Sexual adjournment (faking orgasm to end sex)

Reason 1, 2 and 4 are pretty obvious and often discussed, but the third most popular reason — elevated arousal — was of particular interest because it indicates that women are more likely to fake an orgasm for their own pleasure than to rush the sexual encounter towards conclusion.

“What is unique about the Faking Orgasm Scale for Women is that, for the first time, we have quantitative evidence suggesting women may also fake orgasm for far more ‘selfish’ reasons, like increasing their own arousal,” wrote Erin Cooper, who co-authored the study, in an email to HuffPost Women. “Deciding to fake orgasm for this motive may have little to nothing to do with a woman’s partner and his sexual experience. I view this strategy as one of the many ‘tools in the toolbox’ women may use to enhance their own sexual experience.”

This actually makes perfect sense to me. I’ve always been more turned on by the sounds associated with sex rather than visuals. I mean, both are great, but, for example, if I had to choose between watching a porn with no audio, or listening to a porn with no visuals, I would choose the latter. I don’t know if this is true for women generally — that we’re more stimulated by audio than visuals — but hearing my partner moan, grunt, dirty talk, whatever has a major impact on how enjoyable a sexual experience is for me. It’s not such a big stretch to consider that the sounds I make might also contribute to my own arousal. Plus, as I’ve written before, whether I have an orgasm or not doesn’t determine whether a sexual experience is good or bad. I mean, if I do have an orgasm, HALLELUJAH, but even if I don’t, I’m still having a good/great/awesome time. (I’ve been lucky that, for the most part, the sex I’ve had has been at the very least pleasant.) There have certainly been times where the very act of “faking it” has made me even more turned on, though I must admit that I never fake it so directly that I’m screaming “Oh my god, I’m coming!” when I’m not. I just find myself moaning louder, talking dirtier, etc. and — I’m guessing, since I generally don’t quiz my sexual partners about it after — that the dude I’m having sex with assumes I came and I don’t say anything to suggest otherwise.

The researchers also looked into whether the type of sex being had — i.e. oral versus penetrative – influenced a woman’s reasons for faking it. Women are way more likely to actually orgasm from oral sex but women tend to also have more anxiety during oral sex since their partner’s attention is focused so intently on their genitals.The study found that the reasons women fake an orgasm during oral sex are first, altruistic deceit, then “insecure avoidance,” with “elevated arousal” in third again. The researchers theorized that insecurity during oral sex has more to do alleviating their own anxiety rather than, as Huffington Post put it, “a submissive act stemming from a negative view of women’s own bodies and sexual responses,” but I don’t think that the two can be easily separated.

As I recently discussed in an episode of Funny Girl Sex Guide (watch below if you haven’t yet!), women are inundated with messages that tell us our bodies, specifically our vaginas, are dirty, smelly, ugly and in need of expensive grooming; oral sex, as a result, is a more intimate act than penetrative sex for many women because of how much more attention and exposure is directed at a part of our bodies that we’ve been taught to be insecure about. This is why complimenting a woman’s vagina is SO FUCKING IMPORTANT. Faking an orgasm because it makes your partner feel good, or because you’re ready to wrap things up, or because it turns you on, are fairly harmless reasons in my opinion; but I would love to see less and less women faking it during sex, oral or penetrative, because they feel insecure and anxious.

If you’ve faked an orgasm before, I’d love to hear some of the reasons why and whether they jive with what these researchers found. Have you ever faked it for your own pleasure? Let’s discuss in the comments!

[Huffington Post]

I’ve lived in New York City for a little over 10 years. As any of the other writers for The Frisky can tell you (and have written about over and over), dating in this city isn’t as easy as a walk in Central Park. In a city of eight million people where the single women outnumber the single men by roughly 150,000, the stakes are high and the pickings slim. Having been out there floating in that sea for longer than I would have wished on most people, archenemies excluded, naturally I have found myself in sexual predicaments that, tragically, I probably won’t be forgetting anytime soon. Actually, there’s a very good chance I’ll never forget some of these scarring and haunting forays into the ridiculous. And because of this, I think the best way to deal is to share them with someone besides my therapist.

1. The Footjob: I had heard of the footjob; I had also heard that dumb guys sometimes try to stick their penises in your belly button instead of your vagina. In other words, for me, it was one of those urban legends you hear about in high school, and one that I never thought would be requested of me.

I had managed to live a whole 27 years without encountering even the slightest suggestion from a dude that this was his desire, so when it happened, I laughed. I asked him if he was serious; he asked me how he could not be? He loved feet and couldn’t think of anything sexier that me masturbating him with mine. So, with each of us on our backs, but facing each other when we propped ourselves up, I proceeded to give him a very physically awkward footjob, as angling one’s legs properly in order for the soles of the feet to rub in an up and down motion hardly comes natural. As he shut his eyes and moaned, I rolled my eyes and stared out the window. Eventually — i.e. almost immediately — I got a charley horse in my leg, so I stopped and politely told him that was the first and last time I would rub his dick with the bottom of my feet.

2. Armpit Licking: To this day, I’m still trying to figure out how this could be appealing to anyone. For starters, there are two flavor choices, neither of which sounds particularly appetizing — deodorant or body odor? Call me crazy, but lapping up either of those does not a sexy time make. However, that didn’t stop this particular fella, as he proceeded to lap up all of my Secret solid from one armpit, before moving on to the next. I clearly remember him saying, “I hope you’re enjoying this as much as I am.” I just nodded. I was enjoying it, but only because I couldn’t wait to tell my friends about it at brunch that weekend.

3. Toe Hickeys: Mr. Footjob really couldn’t get enough of feet. One night, he came over with Hershey’s syrup, not for an ice cream sundae as you might assumed, but because he wanted to drizzle the syrup over my toes and suck them. I had a roommate in college who was really in to having her toes sucked, so this wasn’t a completely new or even bizarre concept for me. But what was bizarre was the strength of his suction; he wasn’t just trying to get every ounce of Hershey’s syrup off my toes, but it felt as though he wanted to take some blood and flesh too. When I couldn’t bear it anymore, I asked him to stop, washed my feet and found that my toes were covered in hickeys. At 15, a hickey might be a badge of “Hell yeah, I got some bitches!”, but in your ’20s, you really start to question your life decisions. Especially when those hickeys make impossible to wear sandals for a week in the dead of summer.

4. Period Cunnilingus: I had been in a non-serious, strictly friends with benefits situation with a guy for a few months. On more than one occasion, he had expressed his disappointment over the fact that I never had my period when we hooked up. The reason for that was simple: I’d ignore his booty call when it was that time of the month. But one night I ran into him at a bar and brought him home, knowing that I had my period. I had never had period sex before, but figured since my sheets were navy blue, if he was down, I’d go for it. Why not? YOLO! I wasn’t on my back for more than 30 seconds when he pulled down my underwear, and with his tongue all ready to do some serious licking, he headed straight downtown where things were looking mighty bloody. I pulled him up and told him he didn’t have to do that considering it was that time of the month. Instead of being repulsed, he told me, “Nothing tastes better than a bloody pussy.” With that, he dove in, I closed my eyes, cringed, silently questioned his sanity, and after just a few minutes asked him to stop. He looked up at me; his mouth and nose covered in blood and asked what was wrong. “Everything,” I said.

5. Tapioca Titty Fuck: Ah, the titty fuck. I have engaged in this sex act probably less than 10 times in my life, despite having the perfect rack for the job. However, on one such rare occasion, my then-suitor wanted to use lube to get things nice and slippery. I was game; well, as game as I could be for a titty fuck. But the problem was he had no lube; no olive oil, Vaseline, not even any lotion to be had. What he did have, however, was Swiss Miss tapioca, which, for some reason, I allowed him to smear between my boobs and on his dick so he could get that good ol’ fashioned slippin’ and slidin’ thing down. Unfortunately, this was actually the second time in my life that tapioca had been worked into a sex act, the first being in college after watching “Varsity Blues” and not having any whipped cream on hand.

6. The Groomer: It wasn’t until a couple years into my life in New York City that I started getting Brazilian waxes on a regular basis. Up until then, I’d do it occasionally when I had the money, but I wasn’t religious in my waxing practices. The presence of some bush led a guy I was dating, fairly seriously, to ask if he could shave me. “It turns me on so much,” he said. Admittedly, I was intrigued by how he could be excited by such a thing, but wasn’t very sold on the idea of having someone, besides myself, wielding a razor near my lady bits. But a few days later, there I was, spread eagle on his bed (we really should have done it in the shower). Always one for picturing a dramatic ending, as I lay there, I couldn’t stop envisioning how my clit would look in his hand if he accidentally lost sight of what he was doing and fucked up. Never again.

7. Whisky Nipples: I used to meet up with the bartender I was dating at closing time when he was the only one left at work to lock up. We always had fun with no one around: danced , fucked in the office, drank the expensive booze, you know, your usual after-hours behavior. He really loved two things: whisky and my boobs. One night, after too many shots, he asked me to take off my shirt and lay on the bar. I thought we were just going to have sex on the bar, a cute story to one day tell the grandkids, you know. But instead, after I removed my bra, he poured whisky over my nipples and feverishly lapped it up, like a man stranded in the desert coming upon a pool of water. Later, an argument ensued when I was told that there were security cameras in the main part of the bar, and that the incident would be forever on tape. In that moment, all dreams of running for president went out the window.

I don’t necessarily regret any of these things, because they were, at least now in retrospect, really, really funny. Besides, I’m pretty sure I’m not the only out there to have gotten a charley horse from giving a footjob. Come on, I know you’re out there … and if not, share your most ridiculous sexual encounters in the comments!

[Photo of two sets of feet in bed via Shutterstock]

Dear Cunnilingus,

This is a difficult letter to write. But it has to be said. I’ve been struggling with my feelings about you for a long time now. I wasn’t sure how to express it all clearly and carefully, without hurting you. No one ever wants to hear that they’re not the cat’s pajamas. Believe me, I understand.

The first time we met we were immediately off to a rocky start. It was with my high school boyfriend, and we were both really inexperienced. He had no clue what he was doing, definitely clueless as to where my clitoris even was, and all I felt was a mess of saliva and nothing else. Afterward, my boyfriend and I agreed you were not as exciting as we had heard from more experienced friends, and you were never part of our repertoire again. We stuck to missionary, vanilla sex, the kind that comes with being 17 and 18, and we did our best not to mention you and the debacle you were in our lives that night, in the back of his dad’s car.

But, as with all high school love affairs, the inevitable breakup followed, and I was thrust into the world of casual dating and even more casual hookups. I was in college then. I had people to try out and on for size.

Time and time again, you came up in conversation, both in bed and out. If I could weasel my out of you, I would, and if my friends went on and on about how much they loved you, I followed suit. It seemed strange to me that anyone would find such pleasure in so much slobber, especially when it never, at least for me, resulted in an orgasm. Sorry to say, Cunnilingus, but in my experience, it’s while I’m receiving you that I’ve gotten some of my best thinking done: What do I need to buy for groceries? Am I out of mayo yet? I wonder how I’ll look in that dress I saw in the J.Crew window. I mean, it is my color after all, and I already have shoes that will go perfectly … Is he done yet? Should I fake it now or later? If I fake it now with a few moans, maybe he’ll stop and put his dick inside me instead. OK, I’ll moan now then.

It was in those moments that I knew what sort of relationship we had, the one that was barely hanging on by a thread, didn’t have much of a shelf life. We just didn’t connect the same way you do with others. I questioned my adequacy as an oral sex receiver; I wondered if it was a body insecurity that, perhaps, I was unaware of – some deep-seated shame or psychological flaw.

Sure, there was that one guy along the way who could deliver you in an unforgettable way, but you and I both know what that was really about: his penis size. In that case, with a penis not much bigger, when erect, than a tube of lipstick, it made sense. He had no choice; he had to master you. But that relationship was short-lived, and I was back out there, legs spread, feigning interest, arousal, and sometimes, when I was feeling generous, an orgasm, too. It was out of pity for you, for the guys trying to perform you, and a means to convince myself I was like everyone else — someone who enjoyed you.

But Cunnilingus, I just don’t. There’s something sloppy about you; something too wet, too misguided, too all over the place, and all of it usually coming from an overly enthused man (and, on two occasions, a woman who, surprisingly, was even worse), looking up over my pubic bone as if waiting for me to pat his head, and say, “Good boy.” I just can’t anymore. So, it’s come to this: Cunnilingus, it’s time for us to part.

I understand that you will never entirely slip from my life, that you’ll always be there, lingering, as an item on the sex menu. I accept that. But the fact remains that we’re just not suited to be together. We’re cut from a different cloth, you and I. And while I wish you the best of luck out there in a world of women who love you, you do nothing for me. It’s okay, champ, you can’t win ‘em all! We’ve given it a whirl, but it’s time to officially break up. Thank you for the memories, I guess, and never forget: You will be loved … just not by me.

Best,

Amanda

Ahh, spring is in the air! The bees are buzzing, the birds are chirping, the pollen count is so high you can barely see through a haze of yellow dust. What’s not to love? But the best part of springtime, by far, is that it’s the best season to hook up. Why is that, you ask? Let us explain…

1. Winter hibernation is ov-ah! After being bundled up for months, you’re ready to show off your bod, and someone out there wants to feel it.

2. Spring cleaning has commenced. Which means you can bring a new “friend” back to your apartment without being embarrassed by cobwebs and haphazardous piles of crap.

3. Spring Break. ‘Nuff said.

4. It’s the perfect temperature to get busy indoors or out. You’re not crippled from the cold when you take off clothes or forced to take them off due to excessive boob sweat.

5. Warmer weather means less clothing and less clothing means heightened hormones. Exposed skin is in your favor. Legs, skirts and crop-tops might as well be pornographic.

6. You’re no longer in captivity, so you (and everybody else) craves physical interaction. It’s like letting caged animals run around and play for the first time.

7. Extended daylight gives us more energy and elevates mood and endorphins. Mating season is real, folks. It’s science.

8. There’s more to do! Expect more weddings, sports, concerts, street fairs and nature-related things, all of which allow vast opportunities to snag your next hookup. Not to mention…

9. Outdoor drinking! Happy hours on patios, rooftops, decks and at barbecues increase the chances of nabbing a hookup by, oh, I don’t know…378%.

10. It’s a scientific fact that the most sex is had during spring and summer months. May the odds be ever in your favor.

I love dirty talk. I LOVE IT. All of it, even bad dirty talk because bad dirty talk, while awkward in the moment, is funny as hell later. And good dirty talk — whatever you consider that to mean — can make a world of difference when it comes to getting down. Discovering if and how a new partner talks dirty is probably one of my favorite things about hooking up. Sometimes, it’s nothing I haven’t heard before — your standard ‘Ooh baby, you like that?’ — but there have been a number of dirty talking types who have been particularly memorable. In this episode of Funny Girl Sex Guide, I’ll introduce you to just some of the dirty talkin’ types you might encounter during your sexual adventures. Time to talk dirty, you sexy motherfuckers.

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A few weeks ago, I abandoned my practice of ruthlessly hunting down a husband like a poacher on the hunt for ivory tusks in favor of focusing on my own personal growth and being the happiest single woman I can be. Since then, I met and have gone on a few dates with a very sweet guy named Andrew, who approached me in a bar one night after having recognized me from OKCupid. When I wrote about my first date with Andrew, feeling triumphant about being able to dismiss one of my dating “dealbreakers,” I was disheartened to see various commenters suggesting that I’m not following through with my declaration of singlehood. Maybe, though, I just need to be more clear about my own, personal definition for “happily single.”

As I previously stated, I made a vow to re-focus my energy on me, instead of pouring it all into finding a man. I wrote:

If I want to be happy in the future, I have to focus on being happy right now. While I’ve technically been single, with a few short relationships here and there, for over three years, I’ve never just been single— I’ve always been single and looking. Instead of trying to find the right man for me, maybe it’s better to enjoy my life and let him find me. For now, I need to work on being the happiest single woman I can be. I will conquer more of my personal goals to better myself. I will laugh more, be kind to strangers, offer kind words, drink more wine, visit friends and family, eat well, get organized, take more bubble baths and do more yoga. And maybe in the process of doing all of these things that make me smile, someone will notice me and smile back.

I still firmly believe that I need to be doing all of the aforementioned things — and I have been. OKCupid has no longer been consuming my evenings, and instead I’ve been getting together with friends, reading more books, organizing my apartment, meeting up with family members on a whim and making the most of time that would have otherwise been spent in front of a computer screen. In fact, the night Andrew came and introduced himself to me, I was breaking it down with friends in the middle of a local bar’s dance floor, eating, drinking and being merry; exactly the kind of happiness I’ve been craving. I’ve been living more, and thoroughly enjoying myself in the process— and that includes the “single” part of me. But maybe the word “single” means something different to everyone.

One commenter wrote:

I can’t help but feel like you’re not quite firm in any of the revelations you make one week to the next. Not but 2 weeks ago, you were going to stop actively pursuing OKcupid dates, and just exist. Do you. See what stems from that, but without *looking* for anything to stem. The following week you’re going out on a date from OKcupid to see where things lead. I suppose the fact that this guy approached you at a bar could be seen as ‘Being open in the world, and having an experience stem from that,’ but it still seems a bit of a non-hiatus from OKCupid dates that you were resolved in a minute ago.

To be clear, I did stop actively pursuing OKCupid dates, and it was during my time of “simply existing” and “doing me” when I was approached by a nice man at a bar. I firmly believe that casually dating can be part of being happily single. I don’t have a significant other and I’m not actively looking for one, but turning down a date with a seemingly nice guy just because I’ve labeled myself “single” seems foolish. Being single does not necessarily mean being alone, on a dating hiatus or on a sex sabbatical. In my opinion, dating and sex are both commonplace for single folks, and they happen to be two activities I enjoy very much. While I’m not initiating a bloodhound search party to try and find Mr. Right, I’m also not going to let good opportunities pass me by if they happen to float my way.

My “happily single” revelation was less about taking a firm hiatus from online dating, and more about shifting my priorities to become a healthier kind of single. I wanted to stop stressing out over feeling the need to scan the online dating profiles of every male in the tri-state area, and learn to let things happen naturally by enjoying my “me time” and doing things I love. And hey, it seems to have worked. One of the first things Andrew said to me was that “he noticed my smile from across the room,” and knew he had to come say hello, even if I was mid-dance circle. A few weeks ago, that smile he noticed would have been a disappointing frown in the glow of my laptop screen.

Part of the reason I enjoy writing Dater X is because it reminds me how different we all view the world. I love reading all of your comments, opinions, advice, words of encouragement and constructive criticism— it keeps me grounded. And the best part about being grounded is that I can then stand firmly on my own two feet and let you all know who the real me really is. I am Dater X, and I am, indeed, happily single.

I have been talking to a guy since February (I’ve known him for over a year). He texts me sweet messages and basically texts me all day long every single day. We have hung out a few times and we did get intimate, as in, we went all the way.

I have asked him what I mean to him but he completely dodged the question yet continues to text me every day. Another issue is that he’s busy almost every single weekend and we don’t see each other too often.

Am I rushing this as we have only been talking for about two months? Should I just keep it cool for a little bit? I don’t want to scare him off, but I don’t know how to proceed. I do like him and can potentially see myself with him. Help! – Nuthin’ But A Text Thing

You’ve been talking for “only” two months? What era do you live in, where two months is NOT a long time? Was your last boyfriend a 19^th century squire, wooing you only by pony express mail?

You two have been hanging out way long enough to know the truth: he’s not that interested. I’m sorry. That hurts. But it’s  the truth.

Let’s break down the text thing. Texting a woman requires an investment of about five seconds. Considering it’s an investment that COULD result in hot sex, it’s a pretty valuable use of a dude’s time. Therefore, he texts you everyday. And it worked! You went “all the way.” (I’m presuming it was at sock-hop in 1952? The way you talk/write, I have no idea what year you live in.) And guess what? In a mere 30 seconds, a man can text a whole bunch of ladies, multiplying his chances for hot sex by a factor of six. If you don’t think he’s doing that, you’re crazy.

Texting means NOTHING. Zero. It requires no commitment whatsoever. Hanging out? Making plans? These require effort. They require thought. But more importantly, they require blocking off time to spend with just ONE person. And surprise, surprise, he can rarely make the time to do that. When it really comes down to it, those “sweet” messages are just a means to lead you on. You’re a text-based hookup for him. I know that’s horrible to hear, but it is what his behavior states very clearly. If he wanted to take you off the market, he’d be wining and dining you, taking you out whenever he could. He is not.

My gut tells me there is not a lot of future in this relationship. But you did say you “could see yourself” with this guy. My advice? Call him out. Be a little mean. Say you don’t reply to texts from guys who don’t take you out on dates, and ignore the pleading and the whining. Make sure he knows that the only emotional currency you accept is the one you actually want: time spent together, to the exclusion of other people.

There’s another thing you wrote that concerned me. You “don’t want to scare him off.” There’s not a lot of positive self-esteem in that sentence. You are clearly not getting what you want in this relationship. Why would “scaring him off” be a concern? There are thousands of great men in the world who would be thrilled to date you. You need to reset your sense of emotional self-worth, and see his behavior for what it is: kinda shitty. Not hugely shitty. Just kinda. And you’re worth more than that.

This is our friend Tom. He’s a married guy with tons of relationship experience, and a skilled advice giver who’s here to answer all your pressing sex, dating and relationship questions. Have a query for Tom? Email him at friskymarriedguy@gmail.com! All questions will be posted anonymously, unless otherwise requested.

As much as we’d all like to believe we’re smooth operators in the bedroom, sometimes shit happens that can prevent us from being our suavest selves during sex. (Seriously though, literal shit can happen if your partner pulls the unexpected finger-in-the-ass move.) Maybe you got a pube caught in your throat or he’s got a bad case of Gumby dick. You’re not alone. Despite our greatest efforts to pull off all of our romp sessions without a hitch, don’t feel bad: these accidental sex oopsies have undoubtedly happened to all of us. 

1. A hair gets caught in your throat while you’re performing oral sex and you have to stop and pull it out.
2. He tries to find your vaginal opening, but just keeps fumbling around the labia unable to Magellan his way in.
3. He/she finds a small piece of toilet paper stuck to your crotch/butt.
4. The loud queef that becomes the elephant in the room.
5. You get a crippling cramp mid-sex and have to stop what you’re doing immediately.
6. You’re so wet that he keeps sliding out of you, forcing you to awkwardly direct him back in, or…
7. You’re so wet that he slips into the wrong hole … well, sort of.
8. The sweaty skin-on-skin contact makes awkward farting noises with every thrust.
9. Surprise! He/she slips a finger in your ass, and it comes out with color. Or worse…
10. You accidentally poop.
11. He comes and his sperm somehow hits an unexpectedly impressive three-point shot — right into your eyeball. OUCH.
12. The accidental knee-into-balls situation.
13. He’s not completely hard, so every time he tries to stick it in it just bends instead of going in.
14. One of you said the wrong name in the heat of the moment.
15. You accidentally deep throat him without preparing yourself and barf on his dick. Or at the very least…
16. You keep gagging while you’re giving him head until your eyes water so much you’re full-on crying.
17. Skidmarks. They happen.
18. You’re interrupted by someone yelling something at you through your door mid-screw.
19. A Spotify commercial came on and totally killed the mood. Maybe time to upgrade to premium? Eh.
20. Way too much lube has caused an unintentional lube puddle on your sheets.
21. The awkward post-sex cum leakage and scramble to find tissues (or one of these more refined cum rags).
22. Your underwear has period or discharge stains (or you’re wearing one of these embarrassing items).
23. Mid-fingering it becomes abundantly clear he hasn’t clipped his nails in a while. Owwww.
24. Someone pulls a muscle or gets a charley horse trying to act like a porn star.
25. You’re going at it so hard that something near you falls, maybe breaks and possibly lands on you.

The long cold winter of our discontent has finally started to ease its grip on most of the country. If you live on the East Coast, you’ve most likely been buried in a never-ending pile of snow and frigid weather, seemingly doomed to spend the rest of your life mouldering in your abode, turning as pale and sour as spoiled milk. The past couple of weeks have seen the resurgence of something beautiful — warm weather! Flowers are blooming, the trees are heavy with blossoms, and when you leave work, it’s still light out and the air smells like the promise of short shorts, the beach and exposing your toes — and your winter-hardened heart — to the light. And what’s that in the distance? Ahh yes, a spring fling is on the horizon.

“But wait,” you say, “I hate dating! I hate the general public and I only want to sit on my couch evaluating my future and thinking about what series to watch next after I finish ‘Call The Midwife.’” This attitude is a fine life philosophy, one that I subscribe to, and works out quite well for me, generally speaking. But there’s something about warmer weather that sends the mind reeling towards finding someone to occupy the upcoming hazy nights of summer.  Once the sun stays in the sky well past 5 p.m., the idea of tripping towards a dive bar and drinking bourbon in the corner with a handsome stranger becomes much more appealing. Fireworks, an activity that I have once described as hellish, are made tolerable with some strapping flavor of the week standing next to you on a rooftop deep in Brooklyn. These aren’t truths for everybody, but as someone who generally eschews casual dating, I find that spring is the right time to test the waters once again.

Spring is our reward for enduring the nightmarish winter, the cold nights locked in our apartment, barricaded against human interaction and seeking comfort in books, Chex Mix, kale salads, and online shopping. Even if you didn’t lock down a winter boyfriend, spring awakens the horny college freshman that lives in everybody. Sundresses and sandals and skin slightly sticky with sweat are things that we relish, things that are inherently sexy, and things to look forward to once the mercury starts hovering in the 80s. If you want to find a spring boo, look no further. We’ve got answers for all your burning questions.

Q: Why do I need a spring boo?

No one really needs anything, aside from a place to live and a way to pay the bills, so I am not the one to tell you whether or not you actually “need” a spring fling, but I can say that they’re awfully nice to have. Spring and summer bring about many activities, filling your social calendar with barbecues and bar crawls and beach house vacations. If you’re the stalwart single in a group of married and coupled friends, it gets old showing up to yet another picnic in the park toting only a shitty bottle of rose and a bag of those expensive tortilla chips you got at the bodega on the way over. Sometimes it’s nice to have a partner in crime, someone who you’re not entirely serious with, but are serious enough to bring to a day drinking event for at least three hours. Do you have a smug, married, judgey friend who always asks you pointed questions about your love life, as if she were your Aunt Marlene making small talk at a funeral of a distant relative? Your spring boo will shut her up right quick.

Maybe you really need to install that air conditioner that’s been sitting in the corner of your apartment gathering dust, and you know for a fact that you physically cannot do it alone, lord knows you’ve tried. A text and a six pack will get your boo of the week over to your house, and you’ll be enjoying artificially cooled air in no time. There’s no end to the things a spring boo can bring into your life!

Q: Wait. Isn’t a spring boo just a boyfriend that you happen to meet when it’s warm out? I don’t get it.

Yes and no. The thing with these kinds of relationships is that, much like the winter boyfriend, they can be as permanent or as ephemeral as you want them to be. Any person you choose to spend your time with has to be someone that you like, that you want to be around, that you could even maybe see yourself being with in some serious fashion. The point here isn’t to cycle through dudes like you do Q-tips. (Although, if that’s your M.O., get it girl.) A spring fling exists in a space of little to no pressure. Telling yourself that this is just a fling, and that you’re not looking for something serious eliminates a lot of the undue stress and anxiety people put on themselves when it comes to dating. By allowing yourself to not worry about the outcome from the start actually opens you up to whatever could happen down the line.

Q: Where do I find this elusive creature?

My goodness, at this time of the year, potential spring boos lurk in every corner, at every social setting. Are you at a bar, unwittingly serving as wingwoman for your friend who just got dumped by her douchebag boyfriend? The dude you’re talking to while she tongue-kisses a stranger in the corner could be a potential match for you. Really, the spring fling lurks everywhere, from a Kentucky Derby party, to your friend’s work happy hour, to that free concert in the park. Get out there, and start exploring!

[Photo of hands in the grass via Shutterstock]