I’m on vacation, so here’s one of my “greatest hits” columns.
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We get a lot of letters here at Savage Labs. While every letter is unique, and everyone’s dumb-ass problem is compelling in its own very special way, patterns do emerge, and Wet’s letter is a good example of a certain type of letter we get. The kids in the mail room like to call them HTHs, or “How’d That Happen?” letters. You see, Wet is doing this completely wack thing–peeing on himself in the bathtub as a substitute for masturbation–and like a lot of folks doing wack things, Wet has some wack concerns. He has questions about the advisability of this wack behavior–Will urine damage my skin? Is there something wrong with me?–so he writes a letter. Something that he thinks, no doubt, took some courage. But in composing his letter, Wet chickens out: he fails to take responsibility for his actions, casting himself as a passive player in this bathtub drama. He may be peeing on himself, but it wasn’t really his idea: “I don’t know how this happened–one morning I just did it.” How’d that happen?
Hmm. I’ve been taking unsupervised baths for 27 years, and in all that time I never just “happened” to pee all over myself. The times I have pissed in the tub or shower, I did it on purpose–I was too lazy to get out of the shower, if you know what I mean, or there was someone else in the shower with me and I was fulfilling a special request, if you know what I mean. But it never just happened. I did it.
- How sick am I to fully enjoy this?
So she writes me a letter but just can’t take responsibility for her actions, just can’t bring herself to write a letter that begins, “I fuck dogs.” Instead she writes one where the dog-fucking wasn’t something she did, it was something that happened to her. How’d that happen? She was innocently taking a nap on the floor, with no pants or panties on, and woke to find the dog between her legs–why, that could happen to anyone! Twice!
I’m a 200 percent straight guy, married with children. About six months ago, I went to a masseur who finished things with a terrific blow job. If you wonder why I didn’t stop him, the truth is I couldn’t because he was massaging my asshole with his thumb while blowing me. It was so good that I’ve been going back to the guy just about every week, not for the massage but for the blow job. Now I’m starting to worry that this might label me as gay. I have no interest in blowing this guy, but I wonder if the guy who gets the blow job is as guilty as the one who does it.
