Mike Alvear’s Urge & Merge

Dear Sexorcist:

I’ve been having a hard time getting it hard lately. I’m 33 and I do smoke and drink. I have always had a good hard dude but lately with my girlfriend it’s been a chore. Don’t tell me to give up the cigs or the Jack—it ain’t gonna happen. Weird that suddenly I’m having problems getting it up. How do I straighten this out?

– Too Soft in Sylvan Hills

Dear Too Soft:

Saying you want a solution without cutting back is like asking how you can avoid a flat tire on a road full of nails. So, straight from the Department of Duh: Stop smoking and drinking. If you give a urine sample and an olive comes out, it’s time to quit. Or at the very, least cut back.

Erections are about blood flow. The more the flow the harder you’ll go. Guess what smoking does? Constricts blood vessels leading to the penis. Alcohol? Numbs the senses. The only thing that cigarettes and alcohol give a lift to is Viagra’s sales chart.

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The sense of humor, its sheer inventiveness makes you long to live in France. Enjoy!

Dear Sexorcist:
I just recently looked into sex toys to revamp my sex life with my boyfriend (its hard for me to climax during sex). Anytime I mention them or show him the things I bought (mainly for myself but some for both of us) he goes ape shit. None of the toys are super kinky or anything. Its just a c-ring with a vibrating bullet on it. His uptight attitude towards them is ruining our sex life and it’s starting to affect our relationship. It’s annoying because I brought it up with him before I bought the toys and he was like, if you want then that’s fine… HELP!

– Toying with him

Dear Toying With Him:

Skip the sensitive crap and give him a warning: If your yawns get any bigger they’re going to name a hurricane after them.

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Is it, as comedian Lord Carret said, “her knees over my shoulders, with my wallet hidden where she’ll never think of looking for it?”

Or is it a little more romantic than that?

But then, is there such a thing as a romantic sexual position? Certainly, there are elements that up the intimacy—positions that allow eye contact, kissing, caressing, and offering unobstructed heart space (both partners facing each other so they figuratively and literally have heart-to-heart contact).

But the whole thing breaks down when you try to pull all these elements into definitive positions. Especially, if you try to name those positions. “Missionary?” “69?” “Doggie Style?” Not part of any Romance Language I know. Recently, I asked my readers to come up with intimate names for sexual positions. Here’s a sampling from the men:

• The You Tube
• Snatcher in the Rye
• The Backward Death Dive
• The Screaming Pelican
• The Tony Danza (what you say after you yell, “Who’s the boss?”)

Not much help. Did the women come up with anything better? Take a look:

• The Rolodex of Love
• The Butter Churn Tilt-a-Whirl.
• The Whiskey Waltz
• The Flckr Licker
• The Why Me Waterfall

Nobody got it right because it’s not gettably right. Soaring romance is at odds with the nuts and bolts of the bomp-chicka-wow-wow. It can lay the groundwork or clean it up afterwards, but in the end, it’s a victim of the often awkward, sometimes comedic attempt at physical union. Sexual physics is the Hoover Dam to the river of romance.

I gorged on Google Images, trying to find a visual for “romantic sexual positions.” I think it’s safe to say there’s a big difference between romantic and pornographic imagery. One makes you long for something; the other makes you reach for it. One asks where it can take you; the other asks what it can do for you. The two are inseparable, of course, but not if you want your family-friendly browser to deliver pictures that make the point.

And there are some that do. It only took me a day and a half to find them, but they’re there. Or rather, here. They’re beautiful, they’re PG, and they prove my contention that there’s only one romantic sexual position for Valentine’s Day: Eyes closed.

My collection of romantic positions…

Watch this loyal British subject make us rethink everything we know about deepthroating.

When Adamandeve.com asked me to produce a series of funny sex toy videos, it posed a real challenge: How do you talk about something when the talking of it turns people off? Here’s the first of the adult toy videos:

* Stop/Start. When you’re alone, masturbate until you get close to the point of no return then STOP. Do nothing but focus on the sensation of your penis. The urge to orgasm will subside within 3 minutes. Start masturbating again. Do this over and over and you’ll find you’ll last longer and longer.

* Pace. Now masturbate until you get close to coming and instead of stopping, slow down. PACE. Change the speed of your stroke, the pressure and the site of your grip (go from the head, where there’s more nerve endings, to the shaft where there’s less).

* Stop/Start with a Hottie. Have her (or him!) masturbate you until you get close to “ejaculatory inevitability” then STOP. Basically, follow step 1 only your partner’s doing the work and you’re doing the refereeing.

* Pace Together. Now have your partner masturbate you until you get close to coming and instead of stopping, PACE.

* Avoid Missionary. It’s harder to relax and concentrate on sensations. Lie flat on your back with your partner sitting on your sausage. Don’t move. Get acclimatized for as long as it takes. Now use the stop/start/pacing method. First, gently thrust up and down. Getting close? Stop. Wait a few minutes. Now have your partner move up and down. Close? Pace.

* Try Missionary Start moving. S-l-o-w-l-y. Keep using the Stop/Start/Pace method throughout. If your partners are any good, they’ll pretend it hurts–that way you’ll feel like you’ve got a big one. A well-timed “Ow!” is the best way to inflate a man’s ego.

It had been a long time since I felt that pull. You know the kind I’m talking about.  That feeling you get when you are inexplicably drawn to someone combined with that primal urge to wrap your legs around his waist and beg him to take you on the spot.

Jeremy wasn’t…bad. He just had an edge. Something I couldn’t pin point. He unsettled me. I think it had to do with his eyes. They were ice blue and deep set. When he spoke to me, I felt like he could see right through me. I didn’t like that. It made me feel too vulnerable.

We met at a bar, of course, where all sweaty, intense sexual relationships begin. He wore a tan suit with a royal blue button down shirt that brought out his eyes. At first glance he looked rather ordinary as he stood there against the bar surrounded by men dressed similarly. But then I saw a flash from his right hand as he reached for his beer. It was a silver ring he wore on his middle finger.  Not a wedding band. It looked like a tiny silver crown of thorns. Definitely not something you see on the hand of a banker or lawyer, aka the guys I never date.

When you do as much work in bars as I do, you get exposed to a lot of different men. It has it’s upside as well as it downs. Tonight’s outcome was undetermined. I walked up to the bar to chat with my friend who was tending that night. That’s when I saw it. It was a tattoo, or the top of one, peeking out over his collar.

He must have seen   as he started to rub his neck. “What…is there a spider on me?” he asked.

I walked over to him, somehow, filled ot the brim with a confidence I don’t usually have. I think "brazen" is the word I’d use to describe how I felt in that moment.

I pointed to his neck and told him I was trying to figure out what kind of tattoo he had.

“Did you get that in prison?” I asked as I approached him. Normally I’d have left several inches of breathing room between us. But something told me I didn’t need to, that if he wanted me to back up he’d just tell me.

“It’s funny you should say that..” he said. My stomache sank. An ex-con? A serial killer? Some white collar criminal on parole?

No. He was a cop. A detective, actually. And an ex Marine which explained his closely cropped light brown hair.

Ah. That’s it. Discipline. That’s what it was about him that so appealed to me.

We talked for a bit, he bought me a couple glasses of wine. Then he made his move. Read the rest of this entry »

It was just after midnight and we were curled up on her sofa, making out like teenagers. The first date had gone unusually well; hours of scintillating conversation, intermingled with blatant sexual innuendo, had led to a cab outside her home. When I asked if she intended to ‘invite me up for coffee’, she rolled her eyes. ‘I know exactly what kind of “coffee” you want.’

‘I like my coffee like I like my women’ I replied. ‘Dark, and just slightly bitter. Like you.’

In the flickering candlelight of her tiny living room, hands, mouths and lips were moving in synchronous motion. She was astride me, her bra vanished, and I was flicking counter-clockwise circles with the tip of my tongue around her perfectly formed, eraser-tip nipples, when I deftly slid my fingers into her jeans and down the crack of her ass. She paused.

‘I don’t think we should, tonight’ she heaved. ‘After all, it’s only our first date.’

I cradled her face in my hands. ‘We don’t have to. You’re the woman; you have the right to say no at any time. But we are adults. We’re here. We’re worked up. What is accomplished by sending me home all hot and bothered? I’m going to walk out the door and one of two things is going to happen: either we’re both going to go masturbate alone, or you’re going to masturbate and I’m going to go make a phone call. It’s up to you.’

Several hours and broken pieces of furniture later, we both agreed we’d come, to the right conclusion.

I’m always amazed in this day and age when I encounter women who choose to postpone sex with a man they think has relationship potential, either because they think they won’t be taken seriously if they sleep with a man on the first date, or out of some antiquated notion that unless you make us work for it, we won’t appreciate it.

I’m here to call bullshit on both. Read the rest of this entry »

Dear Sexorcist,

I have always felt like a guy. I don’t own a stitch of women’s clothing. In low light I can “pass,” hiding my small breasts and wearing a “packy” (I can’t stand the way my jeans look without it).

Basically, I’m a female-bodied guy who wants to have sex with a gay guy. Not a straight guy. I want a man-on-man experience. Although my relationship history is mostly with women, I’m now into fags and femmes. With this profile I obviously don’t get laid very often.

My question is, how do I get the gay male experience that I want? There’s a safety risk because nothing pisses people off worse than people like me who fuck with gender. What if big Daddy Trick wants me to drop trou so he can bang me from behind? (Hey, a guy can dream!)

I’m so ready to suck a guy off that I’ve lined up a hookup with a straight guy. I’ll either allow myself to experience my feminine side (every guy has one, right?) or close my eyes and pretend he’s a fag. Maybe he will at least call me “faggot.” (Hey, a guy can dream!)

What I really want to do is fuck a guy in the ass. Is that too much for female-bodied guy to ask? How do I proceed? This isn’t just a bucket list item– it’s a real desire I have sublimated for way too long.

– Packing in the Perimeter

Dear Packing:

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