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Dear Dr. Ozzy:
I’ve just returned from a bachelor party in Las Vegas. Being married with kids, however, I’m concerned that the stripper with whom I, er, “relaxed” in a private booth might have given me oral herpes—we didn’t do anything improper, although she did feed me strawberries and cream, mouth to mouth. Any words of wisdom?
Forget oral herpes, Brian, it sounds to me like you’ve come down with a classic case of married man’s guilt. That’s the problem with strippers: they don’t just take your dough, they also make you feel like the worst husband in the world the next morning. And if you think strippers are bad, by the way, try groupies: I used to get so out of my mind with guilt, I’d be down the doctor’s office every day of the week, thinking I had some new disease. Then I’d finally break down, tell Sharon everything, and I’d get a houseplant over the back of my head, which meant another visit to the doctor’s. As for the good old herpes: your GP will give you a test to see if you’ve got it, but the virus can lie dormant for years, so there’d be no telling if it was from the stripper or, say, an unwashed glass you picked up in a pub. I used to get outbreaks myself when I was stressed out or tired, but I haven’t had any for years. One thing I wouldn’t recommend is confessing to your missus. Believe me, it’ll only make your life worse.
Dear Dr. Ozzy:
Out of the blue, my husband has suggested bringing another woman into our bedroom, to liven things a bit up after twenty years of marriage. I’m not keen. What do you think?
Sounds fair enough to me—as long as what’s good for the goose is good for the gander. If your husband gets to bring Debbie from accounts to bed, then you should be able to bring along Dave from marketing. But that raises the obvious fucking question: if you both want to sleep with other people in your own home, what are you still doing together?
Dear Dr. Ozzy:
I’ve noticed that I can’t last as long in bed with my girlfriend as I could when we first started going out with each other three months ago. Now I’m worried that if I don’t fix this, she might leave me for someone who can fully please her. Any advice?
Send her to me! Seriously though, Ethan, this kind of thing is a big problem when you’re a rock star. I remember one time when me and the guys from Black Sabbath were staying at a Holiday I
Dear Dr. Ozzy:
A friend recently showed me some photos on his mobile of him boning a very hot girl. The problem is, the girl is a good friend of mine. Should I tell her what he’s doing, or keep my mouth shut? I guess what I’m asking is, are you a “bros before hos” kinda guy?
Send me the pictures and I’ll decide. Seriously, though, this ain’t a question of some bullshit code of male honor. If she’s a friend, and you want her to stay your friend—tell her. Simple as that.
Dear Dr. Ozzy:
I’m 54 years old and sex mad. Does the lust ever fade?
If you’re a red-blooded man, I firmly believe that the only time you’ll ever get any peace from down below is when you’re in the ground. Until then, the second brain below your waist is go
Dear Dr. Ozzy:
What’s the nicest way to let a girl know she smells bad, especially, uh, y’know…“down there”?
Try throwing up during sex. As they say, actions speak louder than words.
Dear Dr. Ozzy:
Is it ever acceptable for a married man to get a lap dance at a strip club?
If you’re go
Dear Dr. Ozzy:
I’m a 28-year-old virgin (ouch). I recently met a girl and we tried to make love—but I couldn’t finish. She accused me of indulging in solitary pleasures and wearing “the big chap” out. Is this possible? We tried again in the morning but my problems just got worse, and I couldn’t even achieve match fitness. What’s wrong with me?
This could just be nerves, Chris. Also, if you were drinking before your first attempt, that might have stopped you from reaching the fireworks ceremony. Then again, maybe you are “wearing the big chap out”—you don’t exactly seem to be denying it, do you? So my advice to you is calm down, don’t drink beforehand, and cut out the five-knuckle shuffles.
Dear Dr. Ozzy:
My husband—a builder—has always enjoyed it when I’m dominant in the bedroom, but the other day he asked me to call him a “good little girl” while we were making love. Should I be worried, or do all men have weird fantasies?
Look, a lot of guys have strange things that get them going, but this one’s a bit of cause for alarm, don’t you think? I mean, if Sharon asked me to start calling her a “big bad boy” in the bedroom, I’d probably jump out the fucking window, screaming. Having said that, if you don’t mind saying it, and he enjoys hearing it, then good luck to you both. Just make sure to keep a close eye on your underwear drawer, ’cos my guess is that when you leave the house in the morning your mister probably becomes a missus…
Dear Dr. Ozzy:
I’m in a serious relationship, but I’ve been thinking about going to one of those “rub’n’tug” massage parlours. Given that (a) my girlfriend will never know, (b) there’s no chance of picking up an STD, and (c) it doesn’t seem wrong, is there any reason I shouldn’t?
A handjob is a very personal thing, and after a lifetime of practise, most blokes get a pretty fucking specific preference for the kind of technique they like. So unless you’re acting as a co-pilot and barking out instructions to your dodgy masseuse every two seconds, it might end up feeling more like she’s ski