Dan Savage's sick and obscene attacks, writings, and statements

(1) "Logically, if 'barebacking' means having butt sex with no condom, then 'saddlebacking' should mean having butt sex with a condom."

(2) "Saddleback (verb): to submit someone to any kind of humiliating, unreciprocal sex act, either literally or metaphorically, consented to by passive partner due to submissive/masochistic tendencies, desire for approval, or other darker motive. E.g., 'I don't know why Obama is letting Rick Warren saddleback him into presiding over his inauguration.'"

(3) "The saddleback position involves placing your lubed dick between the butt cheeks of your partner. This position can be performed on your sides or on top of a facedown partner (maybe with a pillow under his or her hips). My favorite way of finishing up the saddlebacking is to lift up and come on my wife's sweaty back. The saddleback is a nice compromise position when your partner won't allow anal entry."

(4) "To saddleback is to rail against gay sex in public while secretly indulging in the same in private. Ted Haggard? Total saddlebacker. Larry Craig? Saddlebacker. Rick Warren? Probably a saddlebacker."

(5) "'Saddlebacking' should be the term for the phenomenon of Christian teens engaging in unprotected anal sex in order to preserve their virginities. 'After attending the Purity Ball, Heather and Bill saddlebacked all night because she's saving herself for marriage.' Please, please adopt this definition!"

(6) "Saddleback (verb): to ejaculate on the back of a partner at the culmination of doggy-style anal sex."

(7) "Before being invited to give the invocation, Mr. Warren was most noted for his book The Purpose Driven Life. Therefore, 'to saddleback' is to fuck with a purpose, i.e., to procreate. A heterosexual couple asked if they're trying to have children could reply, 'No, we're not ready for kids yet, but we'll probably start saddlebacking next year.'"

From her husband-that deadly, winking, sniggering, snuggling, chromium-plated, scent-impregnated, luminous, quivering, giggling, fruit-flavoured, mincing, ice-covered heap of mother love-to her preacher, Michele Bachmann's never met a ranting, raving anti-gay bigot that she wouldn't crawl into bed with.

Marcus Bachmann, Queen for a Day
The man is a homophobe of the highest order; he and his odious wife support discrimination against LGBT people, they're particularly invested in sustaining the religious stigma against queer people, and Marcus Bachmann makes money torturing vulnerable gays and lesbians-not all of them kids-with false promises of cures and false threats of hell. So here's a man who thinks people should be discriminated against for being gay... a man who tells Christian gays that God hates people who are gay... and his manner is so stereotypically gay that he wouldn't look out of place in a gay mens chorus or a sling at Club Z.

Marcus Bachmann, Poofing a Negative
The irony here, of course, is that the "devout evangelicals" are basically in the bearing-false-witness business. And if mocking Marcus Bachmann prompts devout evangelicals to rally around his odious wife, and they hand the nomination to Michele Bachmann because those liberal barbarianths are thutch meanies, well... that might be for the best.

And, for what it's worth, I find the fact that an anti-gay bigot like Marcus Bachmann finds himself in the position of having to prove a negative-that this big queen isn't gay-completely and utterly delightful. Religious bigots like Bachmann and his odious beard have been putting gay people in that position-we're not pedophiles, we're not trying to destroy the family, it's not a choice, we don't eat feces-for decades now. Payback's a bitch, ain't it?

[QUESTION:] So the Oscar nominations just came out. The same question plagues me every year - both at nomination time and when the awards roll around. How many people do you think have been fucked with an Oscar? I mean, it's shaped just right and so associated with power, fantasy, etc. that it's just gotta happen, and I'm betting pretty often. Have you heard any news along these lines? Do you think I'm off base? - Hoping Every Lovely Little Oscar Gets Oiled Really Good Evoking Orgasms Up Starbutts

[SAVAGE'S ANSWER:] First, a programming note: when Savage Love readers noticed that I was turning sign-offs into acronyms to save space, they began crafting sign-offs that resulted in amusing and/or revealing acronyms, e.g., PROS, ERIC, FAIL. But long sign-offs, even if they make for terrific acronyms, don’t save space. So limit your creative sign-off to no more than five or six words, dear readers, if you want to see it in print. (I’m making an exception for HELLOGORGEOUS for reasons that will be immediately apparent to anyone who’s ever had a cock in his pants and his mouth simultaneously.)

Okay, HELLOGORGEOUS, your letter arrived on the day I had the distinct pleasure/honor of hanging out with a couple of people who just so happen to have four — four! — Oscars on a shelf in their offices. Spooky! They laughed when I showed them your letter. Not because they had fucked themselves with their Oscars, HELLOGORGEOUS, but because the first thing they observed about their Oscars was that they were, indeed, “shaped just right.” (I thought the shoulders were a bit wide, personally, but the base was flared, which is what you want with an insertion toy.)

I didn’t press them on whether they had confirmed their suspicions — we’d only just met — but rest assured, HELLOGORGEOUS, if it can be stuffed in someone’s ass and/or twat, however inadvisable said stuffing might be, someone somewhere has shoved the thing — Coke bottle, Oscar statuette, Scott Brown action figure — into an ass and/or twat.

[QUESTION:] I am 18 and gay. I started hooking up with guys from a young age (15) and I fear I'm sexually over-experienced for my age. I am now in a healthy relationship and I love my boyfriend of seven months. However I keep cheating on him because he is strictly bottom and I am versatile. Is this ok?
Teen Angel Needs Guidance

[SAVAGE'S REPLY:] It's not okay if you don't have your boyfriend's permission to fuck around with/get fucked by other men . . . If you're so frustrated with your boyfriend that you're willing to cheat on him-at seven months!-then do the right thing and break up with him, TANG. And, yes, his refusal or inability to top is a legit reason to dump him. You have an absolute right to seek a partner who meets your needs and, at 18, you're far too young to settle.

[QUESTION:] I recently told my girlfriend of seven months that I have a foot fetish. Since I told her, she's been asking me hypothetical questions like "Would you put your thumb up my butt?" I quickly say, "Of course." She comes back with, "Would you poop on me?" I'm a bit slower to answer that question, but I say, "Yes, if that's something you wanted, I would do it." Then she laughs and tells me, "Raise your standards." I'm confused. Is she secretly into these things and afraid to tell me? (I know the fear one feels about revealing a sexual kink.) She's brought it up more than once.
Honestly Into Nasty Things

[SAVAGE'S REPLY:] Kink cards on the table at seven months. Well done, HINT. As for these bizarre conversations:

Either your girlfriend is worried that you've got kinks you haven't told her about yet—like BPG—or she believes that having a kink means a person has no sexual limits or boundaries at all. Her comment when you indicated that you would shit on her if that was something she wanted ("Raise your standards") is a good indication that she's not into shit. She's latching on to worst-kink scenarios, HINT, and seeing if you'll "go there," because it confirms her prejudices about kinky people, i.e., that there's nothing a kinky person won't do . . .

Seven years ago, we went to a wedding. Upon arrival, my girlfriend and I found ourselves in the quaintest, daintiest, lace-doiliest B&B we'd ever seen. The wedding was a wonderful affair held in a historic building. By the time the two of us returned to the B&B, we were drunk, happy, and horny. If I had been reading Savage Love back then, I would've known that we were breaking all the anal sex rules: It had been a first-date activity for us, we never took it slow, and we never used lots of lube. It had always worked before. This time, however, was different. With her on all fours on the lace doily bedspread, I pulled back and noticed what could not be described as santorum (no lube, just fecal matter). We immediately headed for the shower with her exclaiming loudly how much she "hates when there's shit!" We got clean. The sheets were a different story. I can't remember whether we left them there or stole them, but I do remember the chilly farewell we received from the lady who ran the place. It occurred to me then just how nonsoundproof the walls of a 150-year-old clapboard house probably are.

That Comes From There?

I'm a bi male, 25, and into bondage. Four years ago, I responded to the personal ad of a reasonably attractive French guy with an unreasonably amazing dungeon. I sent pictures and said I'd love to spend a weekend in his dungeon if I ever made it over. He offered to pay for a plane ticket if I would spend a week in his dungeon. After doing Christmas and NYE with the family, I headed to Paris for the last week of my winter break. Within 48 hours, I was begging him to let me out. He agreed to let me go if I still wanted out in two hours. But the bondage was "only real now" that I wanted out, he said in his sexy French accent, and he told me—while slowly stroking my dick—that I was beautiful and brave and strong and that I could get through the week. Which is what I did. On my last night in Paris, he took me to an expensive restaurant, ordered a bottle of champagne, and toasted my bravery and strength.

Best Week Ever

I was 19. He was older and married. We were both in Utah for a folk-dancing event. He and his wife were nonmonogamous—in the open way, not in the (sometimes creepy) Mormon way. His wife wasn't interested in playing with me, so he and I fucked in the back of his truck while she folk-danced at the folk festival I'd traveled to frickin' Utah to attend. The next day, he drove me the hour back to their house in Salt Lake City so we could fuck some more.

The next time we ran into each other was at yet another folk festival. We found an unused second-floor room in one of the buildings and used a piano to barricade the door. We left the window open for ventilation, and so that our vocalizations could rain down on the heads of the innocent Seattleites going about their folk festival business.

Frickin' Utah