I’m a straight man in my mid twenties and have been dating the same girl since late in high school. Everything is great except I feel like we fell in love too early in our lives. I’ve only ever had sex with my girlfriend and, aside from a couple of teenage fumblings, I’ve never even fooled around with anyone else. Often I feel like I missed out on being with other women in high school and university before finding refuge in the amazing woman that I’m dating and plan on marrying.
I don’t hold any assumptions that university is a single man’s sexual playground, but I’m a reasonably attractive, bright and charming guy. I’m sure I could have had at least a few girlfriends/sexual encounters along the way. I couldn’t have asked for a better girlfriend, and I know she should be enough for me, but I’m constantly hounded by the desire to know what it’s like to be with someone else. Threesomes have been discussed but I fully expect them to never come to fruition. I’ve considered craigslist, escorts and even massage parlours to try to get this out of my system but never tried these for fear of being outed or catching something (tough to explain when you lost your virginity together).

I’m also a little afraid that this could be a slippery slope. I don’t want to get skilled at cheating and then find myself unable to stop. The other fear is that I don’t do it and end up five years into my marriage with two kids, give in to urges I never satisfied, get caught, and then really ruin my life. What’s a guy to do? SETTLED AT 17

If everything was great, you wouldn’t be trotting out deadly clichés like “she should be enough for me,” knowing deep inside that that is a ludicrous standard for any relationship — girlfriend, friend or work colleague. In fact, the only relationship role in which I can see one person adequately fulfilling is the enemy. I think we can all agree that it’s pretty fucking satisfying having one lone nemesis.
You’ve thought a lot about this, Settled; you have all the potboiler themes carefully storyboarded (slippery slopes! STIs! Sex addiction!), yet distill them and your greatest fear is not hurting this amazing woman you’ve found refuge in but losing her and ruining your life. If that’s all you’re worried about, rest assured, people cheat all the time and don’t get caught. This is especially easy to do with a sex worker, someone who has a professional interest in discretion, detachment and their own good health.

Whenever I get this letter (and I get it a lot, almost as much as the letter about threesomes — oh wait, you want that too…) Mitch Hedberg comes to mind with his quote, “I don’t have a girlfriend. I just know a girl who would get really mad if she heard me say that.” Could anything be a more perfect description of the almost compulsory lack of communication and the huge, unrealistic expectations imposed by coupledom?

Sex is not something you can just get out of your system — in a way, that’s like wondering how you can drain your body of its blood and still survive. Sex hormones are produced habitually by your endocrine system and even suppressing them chemically has proven difficult and unpredictable. If you’re afraid to talk to your mate about your true desires, marriage should be the last thing on your mind, unless you’re looking, to paraphrase that other old adage, to make an enemy and keep her close.

Cocked-up claims
I have been seeing this ad for a male enhancement called Enzyte. I have an average penis, about six inches. I was just wondering, does this enhancement or any other actually work? CURIOUS IN MONTREAL

I know, readers, it’s not funny anymore but about once a year I have to refresh people’s memories about the realities of genital enhancement products because, as the companies that sell them know, there’s always a new crop of dingles ready to be hoodwinked. I won’t even bother telling you, Curious, that six inches is lovely. I know you won’t be happy until you have something that requires a wheelbarrow or special pants. Pay no attention to the quote about the true efficacy of Enzyte in eight-point type on the website that, when enlarged (ha, ha), reads: “These statements have not been evaluated by the Food and Drug Administration.” Or the other, in nine-point type that, when magnified (cackle, cackle), acknowledges that, “individual results may vary. The individuals shown are paid models, and not necessarily Enzyte customers.”

I’m sure it’s also no big deal that Steven Warshak, the owner and CEO of Enzyte, was found guilty of conspiracy to commit mail and bank fraud and money laundering and faces up to 20 years in jail. Don’t even worry about the fact that the pill used to be marketed under the bogus scientific name Suffragium asotas, which the inventors claimed meant “better sex.” (Suffragium actually means rights of suffrage and the closest word you’ll find to asotas in the Collins Latin Gem dictionary is asotus, which means libertine.) No biggie that Enzyte, originally “proven” through independent company research to add several inches, is now promoted simply as an erectile aid.

Curious, I promise you and all male readers that when a magic dick-growing pill is invented, you will read about it here without delay. Then everyone can look forward to the side-splitting anecdotes about rampant overuse because I will sit in the ER for hours every night interviewing anguished men gingerly cradling loaves of dick in their laps while their wives shake their heads and say, “I told him it was good enough to begin with but oh no, he just had to take one more.”

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