Article first published as TheFurFiles - Feening For Some Fun, Rekindling The Romance, Bargaining Backfire on Technorati.
Madame Floretta "Fern" De Villiers, a.k.a. "Amanda Fox" is an author or erotic fiction and commentary. This is her weekly advice column.
I have a crush on this guy at work. His name is Nick and I’ll admit, he’s a bit of a jerk. For example, he routinely makes sexist comments about the women in the office like, “Hey, did you see the jugs on that broad?” kinda thing. He also has a really annoying laugh, quick and stuttering like an actual hyena. And once he offered to buy the boss some lunch, then peed in a bottle of apple juice and gave it to him with his sandwich. Everyone agrees, Nick’s just not funny.
For some weird reason though, I’m super attracted to the man. And you’d think all the dumb stuff he says and does would cancel out his cuteness, but it doesn’t. Instead, I want to rip his clothes off over by the water cooler, and I want to make mad passionate love to him on top of the copy machine. What do you think? Is there something mentally wrong with me, or is there something I’m missing about the nature of attraction? If I ask Nick out despite his shortcomings (which is what my private parts keep urging me to do) then I run the risk of my coworkers hating me as well. Help!
Freak Of Nature
Lots of people say that Lil Wayne is a stain on the blanket of human existence, but I like him and I’ll tell you why. I think he is smart. For example, he knows that Heaven is at the top and Hell is at the bottom. He knows that “prolly” is a more efficient way of saying “probably”. He knows that having two girlfriends is better than having one. He knows that it’s better to shoot first, and to fart when you have to. He knows that bees make honey. He knows that playing on the beach – specifically rolling around in the sand – is an enjoyable exploit, though he never actually uses the term “exploit”. He knows that donating blood is an admirable thing for a person to do.
So lesson number one: Personal preference = your own G.D. business.
Lesson number two: Everyone has both good and bad traits. Every stick has two ends. Every Jack has his Jill. Every man for himself, and the Devil take the hindmost. Everyone wants to go to Heaven but nobody wants to die. And finally, every cloud has a silver lining. In some people, it’s just a little harder to find.
You should also remember that as humans, our main purpose here on earth is to propagate the species. It’s to have babies – that’s about it. And if you’d done any reading at all, you’d know that a person’s dorkiness has no bearing whatsoever on their ability to attract a prospective mate. It’s all about chemistry – genetic chemistry.
Let me give you an example. A female yeti crab named Suzanne is presented with two choices: male yeti crab number one (Thomas) and male yeti crab number two (Tanner). Male yeti crab number one (Thomas) is kind of rude, stealing all the food from all of the other yeti crabs in the area, but he also has the right genetic chemistry to fit with Suzanne.
Now while male yeti crab number two (Tanner) is probably the best looking, strongest, most swagged-out yeti crab of the bunch, his genetic chemistry fits better with the female yeti crab who lives down the stream named Brenda. In fact, when Suzanne tries dating male yeti crab number two (Tanner) because he appears (outwardly) to be the better choice, their relationship fails miserably. The strange magnetic pull that Suzanne feels toward male yeti crab number one (Thomas) is undeniable however, if not seemingly obtuse, and eventually, they end up a couple, spawning two obnoxious but evolutionarily advantaged baby yeti crabs named Riley and Randy.
What I’m trying to say here is that you are by no means a freak. I’m saying that whether you are embarrassed to be with him or not, you are drawn to humping the man – Nick – whose genetic make-up combines with yours to make the healthiest possible offspring. You should NOT try to fight what has taken millions of years to set in place. Therefore, I suggest you ask him out before he goes off with his second best match and you are left a lone, childless spinster.
My partner Larry and I have been together for over twelve years. There is nothing particularly wrong with our relationship. He is a good man and we’ve had lots of fun times. Lately though, I’ve been feeling trapped, like I need more, like I need to see what else is out there in the world. Hence the reason I’ve decided to call it quits. The problem is, Larry thinks we are perfect together. He is even planning a trip to celebrate our upcoming anniversary. What am I gonna do? How can I break it off without hurting him? And should I go on the trip? His parents are paying.
Encumbered In East Stroudsburg
When I was about ten years old, I was out riding bikes with my friends. One of the boys – Mikey – was a bit of a rebel, and in his infinite, youthful wisdom, he suggested that the four of us ride down a nearby hill known affectionately to us kids as “Mount Doom” – a curving, twisting, narrow pathway through the forest that was meant for squirrels and raccoons, not for pre-teens on banana seat bikes.
As it was that I had a crush on Mikey, I shouted, “Yeah, let’s do it!” And determined to impress him, I went first, managing to stay upright for about three meters before crashing headlong into a large Norfolk Pine. After blacking out briefly, I awoke to discover something very long and very sharp sticking out of my face. “Pull it out! Pull it out! I’m gonna die! I’m gonnnnna dieeeeee…” I screamed, unable to escape the thicket of sticks and brambles. Of course, as the self-appointed leader of our gang, Mikey came over, grabbed a hold of the offending spear and yanked it clean out, causing me to screech even louder and partially pee myself, thereby ruining my chances of ever becoming Mikey’s girlfriend.
With a wet mark on the crotch of my shorts, I somehow managed to sob and bleed my way home. Lucky for me, a trip to the hospital and some bubble gum ice cream was all it took and I was as good as new.
My point is, if you’ve decided that the absolutely MUST break your partner’s heart into a million little “he’ll never be the same again” pieces, then you need to do it and you need to do it quick, just the way Mikey pulled that stick out of my cheek, just the way one might riiiiiip off a band-aid. Sure, it’s going to hurt like the blazes at first, but eventually Larry’s pain will fade. He’ll probably never quite get over you, but at least you won’t be around to listen to him whine about wanting to drive himself into a brick wall. And you’ll feel a whole lot better, right?
I do have one question for you though. Why can’t people be content with what they have anymore? Why can’t they appreciate the little things in life? You saying that you need to explore the world, read: that you need to have sex with someone other than Larry, is like Imelda Marcos saying that she needs another pair of shoes.
It’s like Lindsay Lohan saying that she needs another carton of cigarettes, a few more bottles of Coca Cola and five more cases of Red Bull – and that’s just for her breakfast.
It’s like Chanel Iman saying that she needs to lose a little weight.
It’s like Ryan Phillipe saying that he needs to act in yet another movie that no one will ever know or care about.
But hey, do what makes you happy. You only live once.
For the past few months, I’ve wanted to rekindle the romance in my marriage. So last week, I booked a boudoir photo shoot. I thought it would be the perfect gift for my husband Pete’s upcoming birthday. Indeed, it was lots of fun dressing up in my sexiest clothes and getting my hair and make-up done. I felt like a queen and I’m not gonna lie, the pictures turned out hot.
When I showed the photos to Pete however, he flew into a rage and screamed at me saying, “How could you let another dude check out your ‘bazoombas’ and your ‘na na’ that way?” I tried to explain that the photographer Harry was a professional and that he wasn’t interested in me as a sex object – OK so maybe he was a little – but Pete wouldn’t listen. He was also angry because I spent so much money. Sure, the session cost $700, but it was worth it.
Can you please talk some sense into Pete. I did this for him, and now he is sleeping on the couch. And get this, he went out last month and spent $1000 on a rebuilt transmission for some stupid Jaguar XJ-whatever-it-is that he keeps in the garage and won’t let anyone touch.
My Husband’s A Boob
I’d love to side with you, I really would, but don’t you know anything about anything? First of all, a man could be sitting on the couch with you on one side and some hooker-esque type woman on the other, his hand up HER skirt and inside HER panties, and he’d say, “What? I’m not doin’ nothin’.”
A man could spend $4000 on some silly baseball card that’s going to sit in the closet for the next ten years, and he’d say, “That ain’t no waste of money. It’s a darn good investment.”
So the next time you are thinking of rekindling the romance in your marriage, I’d say throw on the bra and undies you bought at Walmart two years ago – you know, the ones with the lace edge coming off – lay out on the kitchen table and hand your husband the camera. He’ll be happy, one, ‘cause it’s more slutty than anything else; two, you got him involved and men are babies like that; and three, it was pretty much free. Then you can take the rest of the cash you may otherwise have spent and go out somewhere really nice for lunch with your girlfriends. No evidence, no crime, I always say. Just watch for when your Visa bill comes in the mail.
I am on my third marriage. My previous two relationships were terrible. Husband number one was about as exciting as a sloth. Husband number two had the temper of a bull. And then I met Tim, who was like a happy little squirrel monkey. He was warm, kind-hearted and willing to try almost anything.
Now because of these failures, with Tim – even though I fell in love with him almost immediately – I wanted to keep my options open right from the start. No more being chained to the couch in the basement. No more having to document my every move and every purchase. So I suggested to him that we keep our relationship open, i.e. that we allow each other to see people on the side if the interest ever arose. Yes, after a decade of being stifled, I was ready to take on the world.
Well, it has been about three years since then, and in that time, Tim has really cashed in. He has met quite a few women whom he alternates seeing on a regular basis. I, on the other hand, have yet to meet anyone. Well, there was one guy I met on a business trip who wanted to use steak knives to pin me to the wall and then smear some kind of black liquid – it smelled really bad – over my entire body. When it came time to do the deed though, he was a wet noodle. So yeah, MY adventures haven’t been so great.
Because of the inequality of the situation, I started feeling jealous of Tim, and resentful that he was having so much fun. And now, I think I may have ruined what would otherwise have been a perfectly good relationship. Sure, Tim would have been just fine being with me and only me, but now that he’s had a taste of this “other” life , he doesn’t want to go back, and I am the one who is controlling. I am the one asking where he’s going and with whom.
Sick of feeling left out, I suggested that maybe we should just be with each other. Tim said, “OK. If that’s what you really want.” But I could tell he was sad when I caught him later staring at a line-up of his girlfriends’ pictures all laid out on the bed and blubbering like an infant.
On top of everything, my bad attitude has put Tim off of me even more. Now we hardly speak, let alone spend any time together. What should I do?
Dear You Probably Have To Now,
Hey, sometimes plans backfire.
Like the couple who tried to save twelve children from underprivileged nations around the world by adopting them into their family, and then when they couldn’t spend any quality time together, and their nanny was a useless twat, the children grew up to be even more dysfunctional than they had been before.
Like when the old woman tried to save one hundred cats from homelessness by letting them into her house, and then the SPCA found out, took them away and euthanized them anyway.
Like when Tom Cruise tried to save that movie actress by forcing her to go to rehab and then, when no one was looking, she hung herself on the back of the closet door, the night nurse boinking the orderly in the back room.
Heck, you’ve had three men. What’s one more. So tell Tim you’re moving on. Tell him you are sick of his honesty and openness. Find someone else and try to get it right this time. And by “right” I mean, decided how you want things to be, and then live with your decision no matter what happens.
Causes Amanda Raynor Supports
The Ottawa Humane Society, The National Capital Region YMCA/YWCA, Harvest House in Ottawa,