Dear Nightgown Man, Zane and I are a gay male couple in our early forties. We've been together almost fourteen years, and throughout that time we've never stopped looking for ways in which we might enrich our quality of life through new sexual acts. You described a sexual act called "tea-bagging" in last week's column; it sounded like fun and we decided to give it a go. Turned out to be pretty wild! First off, I prepared my scrotal sack by soaking it overnight in a mixture of honey, lemon juice and a sprig of fresh mint. Next morning, I positioned my lover on his back with mouth agape. I then proceeded to "steep" my marinated scrotum in his waiting mouth. You stated it would make for a "zesty -- and sexy! -- summertime refresher." What in fact happened is that Zane received first-degree burns throughout his mouth, throat and esophagus from the boiling water, and I also received bad burns and considerable nerve damage and will be needing skin grafts. See enclosed videotape. Geoff Weems Hey, Geoff, Thanks, fellas. I watched the tape, and you're right, that was pretty wild. Readers: please, please remember -- and I think I really need to stress this -- that if you'd like to take part in our upcoming "America's Wildest Sex Bloopers" videotape, we have to have your submission no later than June 14. Blooper clips must be less than a minute in length -- sorry, Zane and Geoff -- and videotapes must be in VHS format and sealed in plastic or sterile gauze. Dear Nightgown Man, I am a heterosexual man in my forties and, interestingly, I also am a regular reader of your colorful sex column. I have two homosexual acquaintances, whom I shall call "Thomas" and "Riley." I met them for espresso last Monday and inquired as to how they had spent their weekend. Riley replied, quite laconically, "We enjoyed a weekend of quiet rimming." The conversation proceeded for a time until I finally confessed that I did not know what "rimming" was. They exchanged coy glances, laughed, and Thomas said, "Rimming is analingus." Well, I almost vomited, Nightgown Man. I mean, imagine it. Analingus. Go ahead, look it up; I did. No one would do such a thing. Their names are Thomas Pyle and Riley Ottinger, and I implore someone to bring them up on charges of committing a hate-crime against gays. Reginald Albright Hey, Reginald, I passed your thoughtful letter along to Toby Vance, manager of Sex Pantry. He's an expert in this area. "Mince 2 med. potatoes, peeled, and 2 med. carrots. Add quarter-tsp. marjoram and quarter-tsp. thyme. Stir in half-cup all-purpose flour. Stir mixture into food-processor, grind. Add 1 cup ground bone for texture; grind. Apply mixture to cutaneous anal membrane -- be careful, it's tender -- and stir with whisk. Add a whisper of fresh dill. Warm under heat lamp until mixture thickens. Garnish with snipped parsley and raw oysters, then dig in." Now, Reginald, I realize that you are some kind of uptight old breeder man. But surely you are not such a homophobe that you could pass up a dish such as this. Bone appetit! Dear Nightgown Man, Dan? Mr. Clark here. I was at a sit-down last week with Gary Whitlock, head of advertising for Nordstrom. As you know, our graphics kids have been overworked lately, and I've been thinking about slapping a few paid advertisements into our layout to help ease their workload. So Gary is flipping through our paper and he comes across your column, which he begins to read carefully, particularly the "Rimming Recipe" letter [reprinted above - ed.]. And slowly a smile comes across his face, and his eyes brighten. He begins to chuckle; and this chuckling slowly grows to become an all-consuming, uproarious howl. Moist-eyed, straining to catch his breath, he has me follow him to the executive washroom, where, standing over a sink, and scarcely breaking the rhythm of his laughter, he passes a thirty-second-long stream of pewter-gray vomitus into the basin as I stand there watching quietly. And of course when I got back to the car I got on the phone and had him fired. Dan, there was no reason to do that to poor Gary. He has a wife, club dues, and a daughter in college. This is the third time this month that something like this has happened, and it just makes me realize that there is something seriously wrong with you. Dan? You're fired. George Clark Hey, Mr. Clark, Yuck! Sorry, readers. That was gross. Mr. Clark, we've been over this before. As I have explained: I would accept your firing of me only in the event that you actually hired me first, which would mean of course that you would have to pay me, and that's not going to happen, is it? I mean, you've read my stuff. People would question your sanity. So I win this little match of wits. As you know. This is the third time this month you have used my column in which to talk about your personal problems. Well, that's going to stop now. Further correspondence from you will be returned unopened. Confidential to Kyle: yes, you can give yourself HIV during masturbation if you ingest any of the fluids. So please, people: when masturbating, use a dental dam. Dear Nightgown Man, I've been thinking of joining Broadway Body Gym & Spa, and I was wondering ... what brand of condoms do you recommend? Nelson Donahue Hey, Nelson, Interesting. Was attending Easter Mass not long ago with my male lover Terence when he starts to give me that look and with a sigh I lead him into the cloak room. I pump prescription-grade horse spermicide down a catheter into his testicles to kill everything in there, then I look him over for any sores or cankers we might want to steer clear of, when ... oh ho, what's this? I said, "Terence? Who have you been fucking? Tell me!" He gave me a blank-eyed stare and began to stammer pathetically. "Um ... I ... um, well ... Timothy, of course. Dr. Meinholdt, from the Institute. Poor old Mr. Lindeman. Thomas and Riley. Um ... that awful Audi repairman who wouldn't take your check. Hmm. Knute. Couple of the fry cooks at Sizzler's...." Sizzler's!! I peeled back Terence's foreskin and pointed. "What is that?" "Hmm." He reddened visibly. "It appears to be ... a partially-digested piece of onion ring --" "And what do we know about partially-digested food?" "Um...." He groped for the answer. We had talked about this but he never listens. "Always ... always use a clean latex --" "Never put partially-digested food in your bottom." It doesn't belong there: it might contain germs or bacteria. The lining of the rectum is sensitive and porous. Partially-digested food should be flushed or composted. I carefully scooped away the offending material and flicked it aside. "Now hurry up." Mr. Donahue: I am a safe-sex specialist, as you know. Ask me about an unsafe sex act, and I will tell you how to do it more safely, more cleanly, more legally, more often. You can bet your bottom dollar on it: I am good at what I do. Nelson, you could've asked me about anything. Fisting, felching, sex in prison -- any unsafe sex act. You even could've asked me about putting partially-digested food into your bottom, in which case you would've received the interesting and entertaining response printed above. But you chose to ask me for a "condom recommendation," as if I were bloody C. Everett Koop, or some little neighborhood pastor. Well, you've wasted enough of my time. Do not contact me again. Dear Nightgown Man, Last week you again made the claim that you write all your own questions. This I cannot believe. They are so moronic! Some of them aren't even questions!! You Are A Lying, No-Talent Grotesquerie Hey, I Am A Lying, No-Talent Grotesquerie, Will this never end? Yes, I write them. Just as I wrote yours. For the love of God, what more will it take to convince you? Dear Nightgown Man, I am a pregnant 16-year-ol Sorry I had to cut you off, little missy, but you were starting to get maudlin and I have a few more things to say about the anus. The anus is the most versatile of the sex organs. Highly adaptible, its uses are myriad. It can act as a third hand. It's used in law-enforcement strip-search training. I can utter four distinct English words -- "flatter," "gargle," "bark," and "preen" -- with my anus. The anus is used for excretion, and for prison keepsakes and contraband. You could use it to tell your temperature. And it has superior inhalant powers. I was at a funeral once when I noticed that my male lover Terence, seated beside me, had silently exuded a colorless, gritty cloud of flatulence which was rapidly expanding upon the congregation. Acting quickly, I made a sharp inhale and drew the gas deep into my bowels, intending to hold it there for the duration of the ceremony, when ... oh ho, what's this? My tender cutaneous anal membranes detected in the gas a whiff of fresh dill, the texture of raw oysters, plus one cup ground No Hate Buddy or Mister Grody this week because Nightgown Man took too much space again.

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