Meet 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! All questions will be posted anonymously, unless otherwise requested. First up…
I’m 32 and married with two young children. Recently I reconnected with one of my best friends from 20 years ago online. We have always had strong feelings for each other and after high school checked in on each other a few times throughout the years. But because we’ve always been with other people, we respected those boundaries. He has always been verbal about his feeling though I haven’t. We have been able to talk to each other like no one else. In February I went to visit him and the feelings were too intense for both of us. We talked everyday, he repeatedly told me he loved me and wanted to know did I love him (although he is also married with two kids). Eventually it got physical. We had a conversation once about him not wanting to hurt anyone else involved … he says there were are so many people who could get hurt if we were to leave our spouses (which is what I wanted). I asked him to just for once consider our feelings, because we never have, and for a few weeks it was great. Then the last time I saw him we had sex. He called me 30 minutes later to tell me how much he loved me and hasn’t returned a call or email since then. I just want him to tell me that he fell out of love, or he thinks we were in the wrong. Or whatever the reason was … Why won’t he at least do that? If you could see the look in his eyes when he told me he loved me, I know he wasn’t lying. I’m still in love with him. He knows I have never ever cheated before and I only did it because it was him. How do I get over this? Why would a man just disappear from someone he loves and should I expect him to come back? Please help me.
Dude, this is brutal.
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Meet 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 it to firstname.lastname@example.org and we’ll make sure he gets it! All questions will be posted anonymously, unless otherwise requested.
I’ve been dating my girlfriend for a year. I love her a whole bunch, but the glaring hole in our relationship is our sex life. We started off having sex almost every time we saw each other. Now, sex has become this very sad, mechanical practice that occurs very seldom. Keep reading »
This week’s Anthony Weiner dick pic scandal — part two! — reminded me of this hilarious column written by our dear Mind of Man, John DeVore. Let’s learn, from an actual man, why dudes like to send pictures of their penises. — Amelia
Men send pictures of their penises because we want the world, or the person we love, or the person we love that week, to know that we have penises. We tell ourselves it’s to make women hot and bothered, but the truth is, those pictures just make us swell … with pride. If it wasn’t aberrant behavior, we’d hang pics of our red hot on the refrigerator door like a blue ribbon from the school science fair.
I have sent one picture of my wang to one woman. We were flirting over text, and she dared me, and so I took the picture. Considering I didn’t have time to properly light my apartment, I think the photo of el generalissimo was pretty good. I framed the shot well. I mean, it was no Mapplethorpe, but it wasn’t your average Craigslist wang portrait, where all penises look like they’re attached to an aspiring sexual predator. I sent the pic as a joke, because the request was a joke. She thought the picture was funny. She thought the entire exchange between us was very funny. Too funny. It wasn’t that funny, lady. I sent a picture of my jangly-gangly as a joke, but a little awe wouldn’t have hurt. After all, while it wasn’t a serious text, I still unleashed the kraken. Keep reading »
One of the weirdest, most awkward parts of a relationship is knowing how to react when the other reaches their limit and shoots a geyser of saline out of their eyeholes. At least it is for men — I obviously can’t speak for women because of all this dong. But it seems to me that women are just as baffled at a man’s lack of knowledge on how to react in those moments, as men are when a woman has them.
I can’t fix that. Hell, I don’t know if anyone can … but I can at least explain why we turn into drooling dipshits when we see you crying. Read more on Cracked…
Liberal guys like me are often kind of squeamish when it comes to talking about abortion. I mean, we support it. We describe ourselves as pro-choice. We share the ridiculous things that asshole Republicans say on Facebook. (Did you hear the one about the masturbating fetus…?) If we’re straight, and we maybe decide to join our girlfriends or wives or whatever at the rally, we’ll wear the pink or orange t-shirt they pass out, and when they chant “My body, my choice!” we will chant “her body, her choice!” and consider ourselves allies. Look at us A-plus dudes, cisgender and incapable of becoming pregnant, out there to demonstrate for someone else’s rights! We could just stay out of it, but we care!
I know that’s how a lot of men think of abortion rights: like it’s someone else’s fight, and we might occasionally show up and offer support. And while I understand the impulse, that’s not good enough. The fact that guys like me need to realize is that abortion rights are our rights, too.
When I was 23, a young woman I knew needed an abortion. More importantly to me, so did I. Keep reading »
Whenever I start dating someone new, they become acquainted with “The Big Three” — the three ex-girlfriends who impacted my life in the most negative ways possible. The Big Three include: the girl who tricked me into an open relationship, the girl who turned out to be a white supremacist, and, lastly, the girl who was a compulsive liar. For anonymity’s sake, I’ll refer to her as Lena, because I don’t know anyone named Lena and I highly doubt Lena Dunham is reading my article under her quilt made of hundred dollar bills.
I met Lena at work and it was dirty, ravenous lust at first sight. We decided to spend the evening together and had one of those romantic nights doing kitschy, hipster errands that every “500 Days of Summer” loving American guy dreams about doing with a pretty girl. We learned about each other; I told her about my obsession with “Planet of The Apes,” she told me about her love of punk music. Lena and I headed back to my conveniently empty apartment with a bottle of wine, six-pack of PBR, and two copies of “Face/Off” and proceeded to get absolutely spooky with each other all night long. Keep reading »