the case for being an asshole
or Why You Should Be A Dick to People You Sleep With


As much as I would like to pretend to be a wise sage who has many of the answers (like the rest of you sex columnists undoubtedly are), what actually inspires me to write is real life, things that have happened, are happening, or happen regularly to me.

Fortunately, my life is a cherry on top of a huge slice of cake, at least in my imagination, and I can usually be upbeat and mystical, smile knowingly and joke inside-ly. Unfortunately, real life is not always as cookies and cream as the ‘sex’ in ‘sex column.’ Sometimes you will just have to put up with the other part, the part where I’m curious how it’s done instead of explaining how it’s done.

Anyway, answers are overrated. A wise man once said that an answer is always a form of death.

Here’s one that I haven’t quite figured out yet how best to handle, but that seems to happen to me… let’s just say quite goddamn frequently. :)

That is that awkward moment when you’re fucking one of your friends and then they stop talking to you apparently for no reason, and you later find out that they got into a serious relationship of some kind and decided that your friendship had to stop along with the sex in order to allow them to invest in said relationship. Like an innocent baby spiraling down the drain together with the rest of the bubble bath.

Gotye might be well-advised to look into this with a few somebodies that he may or may not have formerly been intimately acquainted with. I have found that this is most often the case when somebody that you used to fuck changes their number and sends their friends along to pick up their records. What happened is that now they are getting serious about somebody else and not only can they now no longer fuck you but they can no longer be friends with you, and not only that, but they can’t even tell you about it.

If this just happened once or twice, I might be able to write it off as a ‘neighbor’ or ‘weigh’ fluke in an otherwise ‘i before e’ life. But, no, it seems to function as the rule rather than the exception, and I don’t like it one bit. Is eventually losing a dear friend a bargain price to pay for the privilege of knowing her completely, inside and out, or is the disappointment not worth the mindblowing friend sex that precludes it? Is it better to just have your friends close and your enemies closer but keep the people you are fucking at arm’s length? -Then at least when they eventually cut you out it won’t matter as much to you.

I like to think that it is possible to extract the friendship pill from the sex sugarcoating and still have the one without the other if that is made necessary by a third party’s obsolescent monogamous green eye. Or maybe it’s more like trying to separate the yolk from the white after you’ve already cooked your omelette.

I understand that I am so irresistible that, to paraphrase another wise man, ‘to see me is to fuck me,’ and jealous would-be husbands can have none of that in the fledgling period of their droll lifelong conquests. The danger is simply too great! But it can’t be that because women supposedly, although I can’t imagine how, think with their heads.

So this is the flaw in my great scheme of being nice to the people I have sex with. -That there is always the risk of them not being nice back. Maybe it’s an acceptable risk, par for the course, probability and contingency. Sometimes you kill Bin Laden, and sometimes there are no WMDs in Iraq.

A wise man once said that it’s better to have fucked and lost than never to have fucked at all.