Sex With Eugene?

Indeed: probably STILL better than expected.

What happens in Vegas stays…um…whatever.

It’s kind of amazing when you think about it. Specifically, that so many of us have learned so much from such random input that realistically it’s a shocker that any of us get the whole fucking thing “right”. But maybe that’s the key: you’re not alive to read this if it was so easy to get it wrong.

However between and wrong and right there’s an ocean of difference and possibility. There’s more right and much, much less right — I’m looking at the Soviet era guy who had not managed to impregnate his wife when it was discovered that he had been screwing her navel — and not a whole lot of direction to get you one way or another.

Despite the aggressive presence of pornography you’re mostly left to intuit this on your own which, when considering modern air travel, seems extremely foolhardy. That is, if pilots had the kind of educations that passed for sex education for most of us, we’d never set foot on a plane.

“Anyone have any questions?” It was “health” class in high school and the gym teacher that taught it was in her element. Usually vocal students had dummied up, silenced by the sex topic and the room stunk of quiet, and an adolescent fear. “Come on…” she goaded. I hated the stink of fear.

“Yeah. I have a question,” I asked as I raised my hand. A shadow passed over her face in what those of a literary bent might call “foreshadowing.”

“Yes…Eugene?”

“Does the use of contraceptive like foam affect the quality of cunnilingus?”

Silence. And her face turning a deep crimson. She flipped through her notes, avoiding my eyes.

“Um. I guess I don’t know.”

“You guess?”

“Um…I’ll try to find out for you.”

“Cool,” I said. Cheerily, I’d add. Then this: those in the class already in the know knew something that they hadn’t known before. Eugene, third person and all, knew how to get down.

So then it shouldn’t have been any surprise when I started doing a sex column for Code, a men’s fashion mag, almost 21 years ago. It was called “Ask Euge”, and when I met secretary of labor Alexis Herman her first words to me, after I got by the Secret Service, were “Hey…Euge…”

From Code it ended up in Mode magazine, the magazine for plus-size women. There it was called The Guy Spy. Then a Jewish weekly in New York called The Blueprint under, “Avi, Baby!” Then for Mack Avenue Skullgame, a porn review site, as “Ask Vinnie” and finally at OZY as “Sex With Eugene”, which also blossomed into at least one live event.

And there’s where the story would have ended if not for those who were paying attention and continuing to ask me questions. Or maybe it’s known that my next novel (first one being A Long Slow Screw) is going to be called Love? Love! Or maybe I’ve just got a face that screams “ask me anything about that which you’d confide to no one else”.

I don’t know. But I do know it is here reborn, again, as SEX W/EUGENE because clearly you all missed it as much as I did.

Tiny Penises

EUGENE, MY MAN: I have a very frank question for you: one of my home girls is convinced that while she’s been able to have men gladly go down on her that when she asks them to “suck her clit” they demur on account of them thinking that to do so makes them gay? She believes this is epidemic. She’s in her 40s and we live in New York City. Confirm? Or deny? — Sue Tang

Dear Sue Tang Is for the Babies: If a friend of yours buys a red Mini Cooper, in a weird quirk you’ll see red Mini Coopers everywhere you look after that. In reality, the number of red Mini Coopers you’re seeing is probably not changing much. But your awareness has changed a WHOLE lot.

So it goes with your “friend”. But one guy. Or even five does not a representative sample make. Even if getting mugged by five guys wearing green sweaters might make me a skosh shy of green sweater wearers, it still does not a case make. So let’s get down to the issue at hand: clit sucking.

I’d like to suggest, in a graceful, if not wholly accurate, sidestep that the problem is terminologically based. If she were to say “work that clit” she might have better results than “suck on that meaty clit.” Because the unspoken rejoinder to that last directive is “…like it’s the biggest tiny cock you’ve ever seen.”

Now, while it might be amusing/appalling that the specter of homosexual sex could so successfully cast a pall over an otherwise pleasant proceeding, anything outside of the expected flow of the day might do the same. An errant smell. A jarring bedsheet pattern. Or the intrusion of speedo-wearing, Tom of Finland, barbell boys jamming their joints down your boy’s gullet.

Call hetero dudes sensitive that way.

So while any dude worth his salt is down there handling business the way business should be handled, if you’re looking to mess with him keep doing what you’re doing. Or, I’m sorry, your “friend” should keep doing what she’s doing.

But if her objective is really just to have her clit sucked she could ask — and yeah, I know, I know it might be a drag — a slightly different way. It’s certainly worth a try. If it seems too much to “try” then work on getting a cut of man not nearly so squeamish about either clits or Tom of Finland.

When the Knives Call Your Name

EUGENE, MY MAN: She’s 49. She said that G-d meant for us to be together. I just told her I wanted a break. She started getting angry at me for not seeing we’re perfect for each other and she said I was dumping her because she’s “old” (I’m 35). She did say something about knives, which I am taking seriously because she’s Greek. She said she wants me to pee on her or do “anything you want.” I just want some time to play video games now. Maybe have sex with someone else every now and then. What should I do here? — Living in a Land Down Under

Dear Where Women Glow + Men Plunder: I’m glad that you take the knife threat seriously. I specialize in maintaining an informal file in my head called “Guys What Never Saw It Coming” and what they never saw coming, in most instances, came hard enough that they never saw much afterward.

The weaker sex? Uh hunh.

Outside of the knife issue, I’m having a hard time understanding why you’re having a hard time. Maybe it’s just that you’re having a hard time because you’re an easy dude.

In actual fact nothing is stopping you from playing video games. You ever seen Being There with Peter Sellars? Watch it. Live it. You want to play video games up against her desire to be peed on then say, “I want to play video games now. I will pee on you later.”

She doesn’t like you having sex with someone else every now and then, then ask her to help you have sex with someone else every now and then. Her answer might still be knife-based or she might dump you, but this idea of being tyrannized by the expectations of others? For the birds.

Or like Al Pacino’s speech in Glengarry Glen Ross, and I’ll paraphrase: you believe in a place where the good are rewarded and the bad are punished. That’s OK. “I” don’t.

You two just have a generalized difference of opinion but is that dump worthy? And if so, says who. Dharma gates are endless my friend and finding meaning here is not impossible. However if you smell errant smells, or she has a jarring bedsheet pattern, or she invokes the specter of speedo-wearing, Tom of Finland, barbell boys jamming their joints down your gullet? Maybe it’s time to go.

Cash v. Ideals: Discuss

EUGENE, MY MAN: We’re in our 30s. Tried to have a kid. Discovered she’s infertile. Since then all hell’s broke loose. We’ve been together six years, married two. But sex has winnowed down to twice a month. We fight all the time. And I found out she’s bugged our entire house by turning every laptop and iPad into a listening device. Divorce has come up twice but I want to be sure. Also, she makes 10 times what I make so there’s that. Thoughts? — Mr. Brasi

Dear Mr. Brasi, Sir: What about “all the time” has not served as a significant enough of a signpost against signing on to something for the rest of your life because you’re getting a break with the rent?!?

Listen, you know that old joke about why you might be hitting your hand with a hammer, the answer is: because it feels so good when you stop? You’re living this. But if you stay, say, 10 years and then you stop, it doesn’t just feel good. It will feel good and stupid.

On a long enough timeline and this is how these things must be measured, is the line graph of your life with Ms. Mata Hari likely to yield a lot of future successes? Against maybe you voluntarily simpliciting down to a single bedroom apartment?

For you to decide but I know which I’d choose, says the man who used to live in a van.

Good luck, if you choose to stay. You will definitely need it.

Questions?