Having sex in a motel room is not precisely a new idea, I'm given to understand, but one can always learn a few new tricks. Sure, you could do it the way your parents did – checking in with that vaguely guilty look (even if they were married at the time), washing up separately, laying a towel down to keep the sheets clean and avoid embarrassing the maid, having furtive and quiet sex so the equally-shameful people next door wouldn't hear, washing up separately again, and then either watching a movie so it wouldn't be so obvious they were there just to have sex, or going to sleep so they could wake up 300 times in the middle of the night before finally getting up at 6:30 in the a.m., sore and miserable. Good times.

But why limit yourself to that, fun though it may be? You've just paid someone a wad of cash to borrow their room for a while. Enjoy it! Here's some tips: Read the rest of this entry »

Monday night Teres and I celebrated our 13th wedding anniversary in a singularly appropriate manner – by eating a lot and making fun of things.

We went to the Colorado Fondue Company in Casselberry to happily gorge ourselves. I confess to an ulterior motive: as long as I've known her, as much time as we've spent together, I've never managed to coax that specific sound of utterly satisfied delight that she emits when she eats a strawberry dripping with Amaretto chocolate.

When we arrived there Teres proved once again how well suited we are – she presented me with a present (a magnetic happyface that plays "You Are My Sunshine") and this month's Cosmo for us to make fun of while waiting for our food. It was time well spent. I no longer believe it is possible to think up parody versions of Cosmo articles that are stupider or funnier than the real ones. I'm not sure exactly what values they're going by these days, except for the ones that state "The article better mention sex, no matter what it is, especially if it's on the cover". Hell, Playboy even has non-sex articles occasionally. But anyway…

Looking through the Cosmo and reading the articles on "What You Wish Your Man Knew" and "Secrets Your Mom Never Told You" and "What the Hell is That Thing on His You-Know, Anyway?", I thought about the things I've picked up during my relationship with my ladylove. Oddly enough, none of them ever show up in any of the glamour magazine articles…

• It is not only possible to be both utterly dependable and completely unpredictable, it is essential. She must be able to trust in you and rely on you, but she should never really be sure what you're going to do next. I find that bringing dinner home unexpectedly or carefully covering her in feathers while she's asleep helps accomplish this nicely.
• I really can't stress this enough – problems that blow up during her period are still problems. Once I dismissed something she said just because "she was on her period". Once.
• Do what your lover asks for, even if they were kidding. Especially if they were kidding. A month ago she was heading out for groceries and asked if I wanted her to bring anything back. I aimed my attentions at her chest area and nodded happily. Two hours later she came back and presented me with the groceries and a pair of mismatched silicone bra inserts. I love her.
• There's a little girl or boy somewhere behind those eyes, and they like attention on occasion. Tuck her into bed, give him a GI Joe for Christmas, serenade her by playing "Truly, Madly, Deeply" on a Fisher Price piano.
• Do not ever use roll-on body glitter on each other an hour before you're to have dinner with her mother. Really.
• Always call. Call when you're late, call when you're early, call for the hell of it, call because you were fantasizing about her at work and you just need her to say the words "faster, Hector, faster" to cap it off.
• Make fun of other people. It's great fun and it helps cement you together, in a sort of "us vs them" kinda way.
• Don't be afraid to go over the top. Be wildly romantic. Don't be afraid to flatter her or treat her like royalty in front of your friends. She deserves it and, if you need a more pragmatic reason, remember that she'll sleep with you and your friends won't. You should develop a romantic style appropriate to your personality (mine is a cross between Don Juan Demarco and Groucho Marx; think of Gomez Addams without the latino thing) but the cool thing is if you do it long enough, it becomes second nature. Which leads to…
• Aspire to be pussy-whipped. It should be your goal, your final achievement. Admit it, if she'd do the monkey thing with you whenever you wanted then you'd do anything for her, right? Do it first. Guys tend to lean towards the theory that "if she gave me some once in a while, I'd be nicer to her". Read this along with me: "She might give you some if you're nice to her". In that order.
• Worship each other. Being pussy-whipped only works if it goes both ways (well, you know what I mean). He really should be the most important thing in your life, just as you should be the most important thing in his.
• Learn to appreciate her interests, no matter how lame they are.
• You can look at all the other women you want, just mock them when you do so. "Look at that one, you know she bought those titties cheap!" Meanwhile you get to get a good look together. It's a bonding moment.
• Be fair. Don't ask her to do anything you're not prepared to try yourself, even if it's specifically against the laws of god and man.
• When she mentions a store and you tell her something like "maybe we'll stop by there tomorrow", make sure you remember that you said that. Otherwise you'll wake up the next day expecting to sleep late and then play basketball only to find that she's already up and ready and has planned her whole day around the promised event, including travel times and lunch schedule. Follow through on your promises or don't make them.
• Grab a towel and bring it to bed before you get started, you'll appreciate it later. If you forgot, then whomever ended up on top has to get the towel.
• Learn to give back and neckrubs. More importantly, learn to give them without giving in to the irresistable impulse to grab her hooters. You can do that later, when she's relaxed and can't stop you.
• When you make sly and witty comments about oral sex, she knew what you meant. She's just ignoring it and hoping you'll forget. Let it go for now.
• Before beginning a romantic interlude with your lover, be sure to give your dog a rawhide chew.
I can only hope that these tips help others as they've helped me.

Friends and neighbors, I am here to tell you of a social evil so chilling, so widespread, that most people don't even realize the dangers involved.

I am speaking of the term "sucks."

Now I want to stress that I have no problem at all with that word being used correctly, to mean to draw something in by or as if by suction, as in "she sucks harder than the bilge pump on the Titanic." This is fine and good, and I approve it whole-heartedly, especially if I know that from personal experience.

But more and more of late I have heard the word "sucks" used as a term of disparagement, to imply that something is of inferior quality ("this administration sucks!") or to be repellent ("rap sucks!") or to express contempt ("recapitulationary theories suck!"). Since the early 1900's such phrases as "sucks to them" has been popular, a forerunner of the current "sucks to be you." Painful events were considered "sucky" (possibly because they caused one to suck in one's cheeks). And finally, today, it has become so widespread that the word "sucks" can be used on children's programming ("Bert, you suck!").

It has even developed degrees of badness. Witness the many variations and conjugations that have sprung up:

suckadelic Something that sucks. Example: "That undescended testicle is so suckadelic!"
suckage To express extreme displeasure at the situation at hand. Example: "Oh, total suckage! You were that close to making it to the bathroom!"
suckalicious It sucks to an alarming degree. Example: "Bummer, man, that tapeworm is suckalicious."
suckfarm To suck in a major way. Example: "Suckfarm! It bit my other leg off!"
suckfest Something that sucks deliberately and for an extended period of time. Example: "The Protestant Reformation was one long suckfest."
suckitude A measurement of how much something sucks. Example: "The suckitude of that malignant tumor is beyond belief!"
sucktacular Something that sucks so much that all other forms of "suck" are insufficient. Example: "That televangelist is seriously sucktacular!"

Note that there are no minor degrees of "suck." Either something that sucks is really bad, or it's much worse. And even that wouldn't bother me – language changes, English more than most. But this one bothers me, a lot.

See, I've always considered "sucks" to be a good thing. A thing to treasure. If I describe my wife as "suckalicious" or "suckadelic" I am offering the highest of praises. And I sincerely hope that at least once in my lifetime I am privileged enough to attend a "suckfest."

Why are we allowing that most hallowed and desirable of actions to be used as a derogatory term? Do you want the lovers you meet to have the subconscious certainty that "suck" equals "yuck?" It's enough work just convincing them that sucking is good in the first place, without making it tougher for everybody. Personally, if my wife ever develops the notion that "sucks" is solely a bad thing, I'm going to come out there and beat the crap out of each and every one of you. I'll certainly have enough nervous energy for it.

Let's restore "sucks" to the noble height it deserves. Avoid using it in such a cavalier, dismissive manner. Don't let your kids use it, refuse to allow coworkers to use it in your presence, ban it from your partner's vocabulary unless it's meant as a kind offer or urgent demand. Spread the word, Stop Saying "Sucks"!

Hell, why not take it the other direction? Start using "sucks" to describe something inutterably good. "That hot fudge sundae really sucks, Emily!" he said happily. Turn it into what it deserves to be, the highest accolade you can give. You'd want to find the lover that sucks the most, wouldn't you? Why not extend that to everything else? The suckiest movies of 2002. The most sucktacular job you've ever had. The Academy Award for the Most Suckitude by a Supporting Actor. Tell someone you love that they suck, and make them feel proud of it. Take a stand now, while there's still time, and make a difference that can result in deep satisfaction for all of us. Spread the word! Tell your friends! Go door to door, it's legal! Set up a stand outside the local grocery store and hand out pamphlets. We have to save this wonderful word from falling, irrevocably, into despair.

Because to let it go would make a sadder world for us all. And that would really suck.

As anyone who has ever ripped off a wild impromptu sex act standing up in the men's room of the Jefferson Memorial (third stall from the door) can tell you, sexual lubricant is an important thing.

We all know it's nothing to be ashamed of, most everyone needs to help Mother Nature out a bit, and you can't hold out and pray for a midnight visit from the K-Y fairy. Sexual lubricants have been traced all the way back to the dawn of man. It was discovered (and consequently hushed up) that the remains of the oldest known human "Lucy", discovered by Lewis Leakey, was found to contain traces of tree sap in her bikini zone, suggesting age-old techniques or else something really disturbing about Lewis Leakey. The Orient has tales of silent geishas who would sneak in unnoticed and lubricate their foes in the night. Courtesans in the French Court were known to use rose water and ambergris to cover for both inadequate slippery qualities and to cover the stench. And every schoolchild knows about the famous sex goo solutions sold during the days of Wyatt Earp and Wild Bill Hickock (Granny Pinkshaw's Patented Defrictionizing Balm, "As Sold to the Crowned Heads of Europe" (motto: Do Not Eat)).

Seasoned lovers know full well that applying lubrication can easily become an exciting part of love play all by itself. Whether it's a suave and almost unnoticed swipe from the tube or a long and lingering application, just seeing your glistening fingers approaching can be enough to drive your lover into fits of ecstasy, which is certainly a time-saver. I tend to approach the whole thing a bit differently.

Sure, anybody can squeeze a tube. Can't you think of more imaginative methods than that, methods that will signal to your lover that you are a unique and possibly dangerous individual? I can.

Squeezing the tube – if you gotta do it, do it big time. Don't just squeeze off a fingerful, fire off the whole thing. Lube is cheap, use the tube. Or buy it and transplant it to a more interesting (or more useful) container, such as a turkey baster, a restaurant ketchup squeeze bottle, a bellows, a grease gun, a cake decorator (especially if you use the little flower-shaped nozzles), or an old-fashioned oil can (great for those "Dorothy and the Tin Man lost in the woods" fantasies).

Juice from Above! – then there's the delivery system. Watching a worm of paste come out of a nozzle into terribly exciting, really. How about using water balloons? Or a SuperSoaker? Get a bucket of Wet and use a big whitewash brush, or a huge sponge, or just dump the bucket on the desired location. Maybe a #2 artist's brush for the detail-minded, or the old-fashioned way – by hand, by skilled Amish craftsman, as God intended. Install a specially-designed overhead sprinkler system for intimate gatherings, with settings for "spray", "gush", "inundate", and "water torture drip". Or make an intricate, copper-tubed and gear-driven Rube Goldberg device that takes up the entire bedroom and delivers Astrogel with pinpoint accuracy. Use a funnel. Use a specially-prepared and very carefully targeted mortar round. If you're really into the anticipation aspect of sensual delights, place frozen cubes of baby oil where you want them to go and then wait.

Go for the grand gesture - Then there's the showboating methods, the ones that involve larger production, planning, timing, and outside help. Here I'm thinking of firefighting helicopters, pumper trucks, crop-dusting planes, that sort of thing. Look for ways to lubricate everyone in the immediate area as well as your own true love. Have a cask of Liquid Silk carbonated, shaken, and take into the middle of the party before you open it; your guests will be well-lubed for weeks afterwards. Pre-soak about twenty foam pillows in olive oil, distribute them, then whack the nearest person over the head with yours and let the games begin! Kid's outdoor toys are good – whirling sprinklers, funky hoses, and the giddy joys of a Kama Sutra Oil of Love-filled Slip 'N' Slide cannot be overstated. Have a seance to summon the lubricant elementals and then shove a stick of butter up there while the lights are off. Perhaps a dunking booth full of Astroglide, for that carnival feel. Pour 330 gallons of lube into a child's wading pool, get in and let the laws of fluid dynamics work for you. For the truly enlightened and stinking rich, consider designed a carefully re-engineered water theme park.

My favorite – BSoak a large blanket in a bowl of heated oil and then run it up and down her body for that "King Kong tongue" sensation. Done properly, she'll worship you. Or at least the blanket.

Next week – how to dismiss the lubricant elementals in case you accidentally summon them for real and now need to get rid of them before they finish greasing up Montana.

We need a gesture.

A sign, a symbol, some sort of signal to let people know that even though we're staring at them, we mean them no harm.

Let me back up a little. All my life I've enjoyed watching people. I love people. Don't care to talk to most of them, don't understand their tastes in movies, music, literature, politics or fashion, but I love watching. It's not that I think they all have their own story, or some other feel-good life affirming statement, or even that I want to peer into their lives with godlike knowledge. For the most part I don't care. There are an awful lot of people I care for, but when humanity comes in gross lots I run for it.

But they look great.

Read the rest of this entry »

There's something special about sex out-of-doors. Whether it's an act of mystical sensuality under the stars in the middle of a vast sylvan wilderness or a quick boink in the back of a crowded subway car, outdoor lovin' can add a special excitement to the old in-out in-out. But, I beg you, please observe some basic, common sense rules when you decide to rough it.

• Unless you're completely comfortable being nude in the great outdoors before the eyes of hikers, tourists, passers-by and spy satellites, wear clothes that can be pushed out of the way rather than removed.
• Never, never, never wipe yourself up afterwards with any three-pronged leaves. Trust me on this.
• Train yourself to scream out the names of local sports teams during climax, so that when you're whomping away under the bleachers or beneath a big lap-blanket people will think you're just really enthusuastic. Read the rest of this entry »

The time has come, the walrus said, to honor your love and cherish your lover. More than usual, I mean. Valentine's Day was dropped down to us from the Roman's feast of Lupercalia, later named for a Christian priest named Valentine who continued to secretly officiate at Roman soldier weddings despite Claudius II's decree against it (and got beheaded for it, on February 14) and currently memorialized by expensive gifts and gangsters shooting each other. Sigh.

What does this usually mean to you? Well, usually it means either angst as you try to deduce what your loved one really wants for Valentine's Day and they won't give you any hints because they're busy trying to figure out what to buy you. Or it means shrieking panic as you realize it's February 13 and the only candy left is either the $200 boxes or the $2.99 pink boxes of M & M's at Walgreens. Or worse, tragically, it means nothing to you. Foo on you.

I love Valentine's Day. I love any excuse at all for going over the top in my romantic life. Valentine's Day, birthdays, anniversaries, the nights the chicken didn't thaw, whenever the internet connection is busy… The great thing about it is that if you do it often enough you'll start to live that way all the time, and that's a blast. A true Hoot Islander should always be ready to dress formally, spats and tiara, to go to Taco Bell. But why stop there? Here's some Valentine's day suggestions. Anybody can do the boring old diamond thing, have some fun with it.
Have an intimate dinner with your loved one(s) at a local fast food restaurant. You may want to clear it with the manager first, but then you'll lose the fun of freaking out the people working there. Send out engraved invitations, request RSVP's, pay a kid to wear a vest and park your car (ideally where it can be found again). Hire another kid to seat you and take orders. Many of the fast food restaurants have play areas these days, plenty of room for dancing. You might even take some time to print up menus – just translate everything into French.

Go out and play. Really. My wife and I were out wandering through Walmart one day and found their discount makeup section. We picked up some especially tacky marked-down colors of lipstick and I started making jokes about making her into a geisha girl. Next thing I know we've spent 2 hours and $25 picking out purple blush, bizarre stick-on nail decorations, leopard-skin hair things and an interesting hair dye. At some point it had become an obsession as we moved on to a nearby Goodwill where she found an elegant evening dress and heels while I picked out a tux that fit perfectly if I didn't try to button it. We headed home and Teres began working with the face goo while I climbed into the tux and tried to explain to the kids why we were getting so dressed up when we weren't going back out. At this point I'm supposed to tell you how it was a magical night of sensuous pleasures and role-playing, but actually we acted like kids through most of it and laughed through all of it.

Take her to a playground at night and push her on the swing. Sneak him out to where you used to skinny-dip years ago and see if you get caught this time. Go play miniature golf and take your driver. Stick a canoe in the bathtub and go on a fearsome Amazon adventure.

If your loved one is the greedy sort, buy something really expensive and hide it in the house somewhere. With luck you can get the place cleaned up before it's located (Gee, it might be under those dirty dishes!).

Go out to dinner and tell different waiters or waitresses different stories. Tell one it's her birthday, tell another it's your anniversary, tell the manager you're getting it's your wedding night. The trick here is to see how many times you can get them to sing to you. Try to get 4 or 5 of those little cakes brought to your table. Ah, amoré!

Go out and do something you've never done. Go ice-skating for the first time. Go roller-blading. G'head, you'll heal! Take dance lessons, practice first-aid on each other, get uv'ed and go to a rave.

Spend the entire day avoiding the spoken word. Communicate with gestures, meaningful looks, and pointing a lot. Writing notes is cheating. You may find yourself giggling a lot. it can also lead to some really enlightening sex, or possibly some form of expensive counseling.

Turn the bedroom into the perfect love nest. Stick up centerfolds on the walls, use strobe lights, install a handy gumball machine. Resheet the bed with bubble wrap. Fill the closet with popcorn. Get a couple of huge helium ballons to keep by the headboard; some timely inhalations can help create some rather disturbing chipmunk love.

Turn the lights off in the house and keep them off for the duration of the evening. No candles, no lamps, no matches. No tv. Take the bulb out of the refrigerator. Put tape over the numbers on the microwave. You may not want to combine this with the silent day previously mentioned; you might have a wildly romantic dinner without noticing your lover isn't home yet.

How many times has this happened to you? There you are, hammering away at your latest erotic masterpiece, when suddenly you cannot go on without the perfect phrase to precisely describe what a three-quarters-erect uncut penis feels like through moistened silk. This is not the sort of thing that thesaurus.com is designed for, and the help desk at the city library is notoriously unhelpful in these matters.

Erotica writers who are male have this one solved, of course. Even female writers with agreeable male acquaintances can manage. One only has to locate a scrap of silk and experiment, leaving one hand free to type. But what if you have no penis, either personally or to hand? Will kielbasa wrapped in a scarf suffice? Should it be microwaved first?

Read the rest of this entry »

Is there anything as heartwarming as a loving orgy?

Multitudes of friends or intimate strangers, touching and loving and kissing and biting and thrusting and… well, you get the picture. A panorama of unqualified love and acceptance, a vista of exploration and discovery.

But, while I approve in the abstract, and I have nothing but admiration for those souls who enjoy broadening their horizons in this manner, I doubt seriously you'll see me in the punchbowl line at the next All-County gathering. Why? A number of reasons, really, and I'll list them now.

• Never enough places to rest a drink.
• That awkward moment at the beginning, when no one's quite sure how to start and the guys start making mumbled references to strip poker.
• I'd always want to be on the bottom so I can see what's coming at me. I mean, jeez.
• My embarrassing habit of vomiting at climax.
• A crippling fear of running out of bean dip.
• You know how, whenever you go to an orgy, there's always some guy with the hanging paunch and spindly legs, and you turn the corner and see him crouching over some poor woman, and all you can see is gray, hairy skin and swinging things and you wish you had never gazed upon such a horrifying, mood-killing sight? I'd totally be that guy.
• I'd be afraid that the group would begin assembling some strange geometrical shape, and my math skills aren't the best.
• I'm pretty sure I could only completely satisfy 8, maybe 9 women in an evening, and I'd hate to slight anybody.
• The awkward moment in the middle, when you're in between goes and everyone else is still going, and you start wondering what's on tv.
• My fondness for screaming my orgasmic cries in an Elmer Fudd voice.
• Seduction lines don't work when everyone in the room already heard you the first time.
• My secret fetish of sneaking up behind copulating people and screaming AAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGHHHHH!
• Did you know that when fluids from different people pool together, they makes weird little designs that keep endlessly mixing and swirling, like oil on water? I get distracted easily.
• Indecision, combined with the sure knowledge that few women wish to be chosen for erotic bliss via "eeny meeny miny moe".
• The uncontrollable urge I would feel to mix all the clothes up and then yell, "Run! The cops!"
• The suspicion that if someone came up behind me and smacked me sharply and playfully on the buttocks with a leather paddle, I would turn and deck the bastard. You have no idea how embarrassing that is, or how legally expensive.
• The indescribable feeling you get when you suddenly realize that the women with the amazing tattoo that you've just bent over a coffee table is your child's second grade teacher.
• I just know I would want to get everyone going in a spontaneous and synchronized rhythm to a snappy beat, like in Holly wood musicals.
• The way I feel after I'm sent out for more drinks and pizza, for the fifth time.
• I can't get everyone to shut up during "The Simpsons."
• Never enough towels.
• The ordeal of trying to find a bathroom that you can actually use as a bathroom. Alone. Off-camera.
• The fear of getting voted out of the room.
• If I really please my boss's wife, will he be happy? Or pissed?
• I don't think I would fully trust any food I didn't watch prepared, especially sauces, dip or any vegetables that are longer than they are wide.
• The obsessive need to know where all the pets in the house are at any given time. Don't like surprises.
• Pool filters won't handle as much as you'd think.
• My weakness for practical jokes. "That guy over there? Loves Mountain Dew enemas, sudden ones. No, really, take this and…"
• The awkward feeling at the end when everyone's done and gone except for one couple who are apparently out to break some heroic record and they're too far gone to hear your subtle nudging.
• The stuff that comes up in the vacuum the next morning.

Given the likely readership of this blog, the following exchange is probably not unfamiliar:

"Hi, glad you could make it. I'm Katherine, and this is my partner, Kimberly."

"Hi, thanks for inviting me. So, you're partners? Law firm?"

"Um, no, just partners. You know, companions."

"Chums?"

"Sort of. Girlfriends."

"Oh, hey! 'You go, girlfriend', huh? Heh heh."

"No, Kim's my lover."

"Ah, I see, it's a sex thing."

"Well, partly of course, but that's hardly all of it. She's my wife."

"Oh, so you're the guy!"

And so on, and so on. Replace the feminine names with masculine ones and the same dance occurs. It gets worse when you add more names than just the standard two. Is Ralph your primary husband? What does that make Tim? And is Noelle your wife, Ralph's wife, or Tim's wife? Two out of three? Do you have a marriage, an open marriage, a group marriage, a plural marriage, a line marriage, a corporate marriage, a civil union, or are you just shacking up? How do you determine who gets first crack at the shower?

Terminology for relationships is hopelessly behind the curve. If you are one of two romantically-linked females, what do you call her?

Wife? An inevitable comparison to heterosexual relationships.

Partner? Sounds like a corporate thing, no sex or love involved.

Lover? Now it sounds like just sex.

Spouse? Accurate, but awkward. Then again, it sounds awkward for straight couples, too.

Mate? Discovery Channel time.

Life partner? More intimate than just "partner", but still sounds pretty damn clinical.

Soul mate? Too spiritual for some tastes, sounds like something out of Omarr's Horoscopes for Star-Crossed Lovers.

Bitch? Chew toy? Possibly accurate, but perhaps more than casual acquaintances want to know.

Companion? Sounds like you hang around an old person, or else the two of you regularly armor up and investigate dungeons.

Chum? Now we're deep in Hardy Boys/Nancy Drew territory, which may indeed be your kink but doesn't get the idea across in a brief conversation.

Significant other? Other what?

Very good friend? Ambiguous.

Stalker/stalkee? Funny, but can backfire if you're talking to law enforcement.

Freemate, paramour, consort? A bit high-falutin' for the average conversation.

POSSLQ? (From a US Census: `Person of Opposite Sex Sharing Living Quarters') Romantic as all get-out.

Main squeeze? Hmmm… Maybe, although I would favor "my old lady".

This is hardly a new complaint, the lack of comfortable terminology has been discussed in articles and books back when "gay" just meant "cheerful". But what I'd like to point out is this: it's not just an "alternative lifestyle" problem. We've always had a lack of decent relationship terminology.

Consider this: Emily has three men in her life. Each one was previously married to her. One died, one abused her until she finally left him, and one is still a close friend even though they divorced years ago. All of these men are "ex-husbands". Okay, the dead one would probably be referred to as a "late" husband, or just "my first husband", but you see my point. Listeners have to distinguish her feelings by following her tone of voice, or the way she spits on the sidewalk when she mentions one of them. But the terms are the same.

Shouldn't there be a different term for the ex-girlfriend that tore your heart out by sleeping with all your male relatives, as opposed to the ex-girlfriend you still think of fondly? The terms we have are traditionally distinguished by using modifiers, so that a "goddamn scum-sucking son of a bitch ex-boyfriend" is one that you would happily dismember with a dull cheese knife, while a "son of a bitch ex-boyfriend" is one you dislike but would probably sleep with again.

Isn't it odd that someone who asked you to marry him and you agreed, mostly because it was really cold that winter, automatically and legally gets labeled with a more intimate term then the guy you obsessed on but never actually dated back in high school, the one you would still run naked laps for around the Chrysler Building if you thought he might notice? Which one elicits a stronger response? Well, tough, the other guy's your "fiancé", like it or not. Or possibly your ex-fiancé, especially if he saw you making that last tight bare-ass turn around the sidewalk.

How do you distinguish the best friend who hears all your secrets from the best friend that you kinda feel attracted towards? The girlfriend you plan to marry versus the girlfriend you're stringing along versus the girlfriend you really love but only see every few years? How do you differentiate, linguistically, between a husband that's the love of your life and a husband that's only exists so you can file jointly?

Some terms have popped up and become widely used, such as "fuckbuddy" or "fuckmate" (a friend you can have sex with, without romantic entanglements) and "um-friend" ("This is Bill my, um, friend"), but I would like to call for a wider search for usable relationship definitions. One poly group in Boston came up with a long list – my favorites were "comet" (somebody who comes really close for a short period of time) and "tocotox" (a sort-of anagram for "Too Complicated to Explain") – but nothing that lent itself well to standardization.

So I call upon you, my readers. Post your suggestions below, we'll figure this thing out yet.

And, if you'll excuse me, I have to go call my wuvmonster.