Dear Sugar,
I started dating a really wonderful man about a month or two ago. He’s extremely smart, good-natured, funny, and – you’d approve of this – he definitely turns me on. I’m extremely happy to have met him, and even happier that he likes me as much as I like him. But before he came along, I hadn’t had a serious relationship in at least three years. Needless to say, I’d gotten quite comfortable with the single life – doing what I want, when I want, how I want.
Now, I’m quickly remembering what it means to be in a relationship and realizing relationships are much different at my age, twenty-five, than when I was younger and sex wasn’t really part of the equation.
Our sex life is really good, but my man has this bad habit of mentioning past sexual experiences. I’ve never had to deal with this because all the men before hadn’t been that experienced, so they didn’t have much of a sexual past to share. That’s not the case here.
He does not go into detail (thank God) and I don’t think he realizes his stories bother me. I think he genuinely trusts me, and simply wants to talk about these things because he’s never talked to anyone about them before. I want him to be open and honest with me, but part of me feels like, when it comes to his past sexual experiences, I just don’t want to know.
He started to tell me, very matter-of-factly, that he’d been in an orgy before. I stopped him and said, “I’m sorry, but I don’t want to know anything about this.” He said okay, was not upset, respected my request and talked about something else. But now, this image is floating around in my head. Constantly. Haunting me. I keep imagining what it was like, what he was like, what the women were like, and it’s making me sick.
Sick with jealousy. Sick with insecurity. Sick with fear, fear that I don’t really know him, that somehow being in an orgy (something I know I personally don’t want to do), says something about him. It intimidates me, makes me feel crazy.
I’m not worried that he’s going to cheat on me to go have an orgy, but I guess I do worry that maybe I won’t be enough to satisfy him.
I don’t know what to do. This image is still in my head—as are others—but I don’t know if talking with him about it (i.e., finding out more details, that my imaginative little mind will feast on in potentially terrible ways) will help or just make it worse.
Is this something that, if left alone, I’ll eventually just realize is a natural part of his healthy sexual past? Or do I need to tell him how it makes me feel, at risk of sounding like an irrational, insecure, jealous woman who doesn’t trust him, possibly pushing him away? And if I do have to talk to him about it, how can I keep from fanning the crazed fire that’s already burning in my head?
Love,
Haunted by His Sexual Past
Dear Haunted by His Sexual Past,
Hmmm, so let me see. Your boyfriend is:
- Wonderful.
- Extremely smart.
- Good-natured.
- Funny.
- Terrific in bed.
- As into you as you are into him.
- Trusting.
- Trustworthy.
- Respectful.
- Interested in talking intimately with you about his life.
Am I going to have to remove my silk gloves and bop you with them, sweet pea?
You aren’t haunted by your boyfriend’s sexual past. You’re haunted by your own irrational, insecure, jealous feelings and if you continue to behave in this manner you will eventually push your lover away.
I don’t mean to be harsh, darling. I’m direct because I sincerely want to help you and because it’s clear to me that you’re an incredibly good egg. I know it’s a kick in the pants to hear that the problem is you, but it’s also fucking fantastic. You are, after all, the only person you can change.
So let us dismantle your mania.
You say that your knowledge of your lover’s past sexual experiences makes you feel jealous and insecure and afraid that you won’t be “enough to satisfy him.” Really? One thing about love—especially free, unfettered and uncommitted love such as the kind you and your man are in—is that people pretty much do what they want to do. If you weren’t enough to satisfy him you’d know it because he wouldn’t be with you. The fact that he is means that he likes you, honey. A lot. And he doesn’t want to be with all the other women he’s fucked. Or at least not all that much.
Contrary to what the Bachelor/Bachelorette television franchise and the entire spirit-decimating Hollywood Industrial Complex would have you believe, romantic love is not a competitive sport. Some of those women your boyfriend used to fuck have nicer asses than you. Some are smarter or funnier or fatter or more generous or more messed up than you. That’s okay. That has no bearing on you whatsoever. You’re not up against those women. You’re running your own race. We don’t dig or not dig people based on a comparison chart of body measurements and intellectual achievements and personality quirks. We dig them because we do. This guy—your lover, my anxious little peach? He digs you.
Don’t ruin it because at some point in time he dug other women too. Of course you’re going to get a pinchy feeling inside when you think of those women rubbing up against your man! I get that. I know what that’s like. It was not so long ago that I was standing in my basement and I came across an envelope addressed to the man who’s taken up permanent residence in the innermost sanctum of the Sugar Shack and when I picked it up out fell about seven thousand little bits of glossy paper that if you put them all together would be a photograph of the woman who was the last woman my man fucked who wasn’t me. And this woman was not just any woman, but an impossibly lithe modern dancer of some acclaim, her body so tight and taut and bitch fiddle-esque I might as well be the Pillsbury Doughboy. And these seven thousand pieces were not the result of my man ripping up the photograph because he didn’t want to see the image of the last woman he fucked who wasn’t me anymore. No. This was a love puzzle she made for him—I know because I also read the card inside—which basically said, Come and get me, Tiger.
So of course I stood there among the spider webs and laundry lint and put the seven thousand pieces together, until there she was—sculpted and bedazzling—in all her not-Sugar glory.
It felt a little like someone had stabbed me in the gut.
But that was all it did. By the time I scooped the seven thousand pieces of her into my palms and returned them to their rightful place in the envelope, that feeling was just a tiny punch. I took a walk with my sweetie later that day and I told him what I found and we laughed about it a little and even though I already knew the story of the woman who was in seven thousand tiny pieces, I asked him about her again—what drew him to her, what they did together and why he did with her what he did—and by the time we were done talking I didn’t feel anything in my gut anymore. I only felt closer to the man I love.
I felt that way because we were closer. Not because I more deeply understood the woman who makes me look like the Pillsbury Doughboy, but because I more deeply understood the man who has chosen to take up permanent residence in the Sugar Shack’s inner sanctum. The jealous fire that’s burning in you, Haunted—the one that speaks up when your man tries to share stories of his sexual past with you—is keeping you from being close to him. The women your lover knew and loved and fucked and had wild orgies with before you are pieces of his life. He wants to tell you about them because he wants to deepen his relationship with you, to share things about himself that he doesn’t share with many others.
This is called intimacy. This is called fuck yes. When people do this with us, it’s an honor. And when the people who do this with us also happen to be people with whom we are falling in love, it lets us into an orbit in which there is only admission for two.
Isn’t that cool?
It is. It really is, pumpkin. It’s gratitude that you should be feeling in place of jealousy and insecurity and fear when your lover shares stories of his life with you. I encourage you to reach for that gratitude. It’s located just a stretch beyond the “crazed fire” that’s burning in your head. I’m certain that if you apply some effort you’ll have it hand.
Please read the letter you wrote to me out loud to your boyfriend. This will be embarrassing, but do it anyway. Tell him how you feel without making him responsible for your feelings. Ask him what his motivations are for telling you stories of his sexual past. Ask him if he’d like to hear about your own sexual experiences. Then take turns telling each other one story that makes each of you feel a little bit like you’ve been stabbed in the gut.
Let yourself be gutted. Let it open you. Start there.
Yours,
Sugar
21 responses
You nailed it again, Sugar. Honestly, WTF? I’m a man. I don’t read advice columns, but I’m addicted to you. This is good stuff. You get me where it counts.
your sugar made me cry today: “Let yourself be gutted. Let it open you. Start there.” Perfect advice, it reminds me so much of a forever favorite quote by Adrienne Rich, that writing should be “the axe for the frozen sea within.” But it’s hard to let yourself be gutted! We work so hard to protect that deep freeze.
aww. It made me cry, too. Because it is so true.
Dear Sugar,
You’re an inspiration.
Love,
Christian
Fuck Yes, Sugar. Thanks.
I have structured my entire attitude about relationships based on the presupposition that romantic love IS a competitive sport. I can’t thank you enough, Ayn Rand.
I maintain sex is a competition.
I guess I do worry that maybe I won’t be enough to satisfy him.
Ya know, I actually think this is a valid fear, depending upon what kind of information he’s sharing. If it’s general stuff, then yes, she’s probably just insecure. But I have to say, if my lover dropped anecdotes about the past lovers with whom she’d enjoyed hard spanking and leather, I’d probably take it as a hint that something was missing from our sex life — and in the example I just gave, it would be something I’m never going to be interested in providing. I’m not insecure, but I do know where my sexual boundaries are. I guess the difference between me and the reader is that I’d come right out and ask: “Hey, are you dropping a hint, babe, or just shooting the breeze?”
Sugar really knows what’s up.
I just love you, Sugar.
Smartest romantic advice I ever read.
The A. Rich quote from Anonymous is actually from Kafka.
Love on!
Dear Sugar,
I never need to write to ask questions of my own because they keep getting answered anyway! Once again, you have somehow got to the heart of the matter. What a great gift and talent you possess. Thanks ever so much.
Sugar –
I don’t know what to say, save “Thank you.” This is lovely – and potentially life- & love-saving advice.
Plus, you make me feel less alone . . . and grin. Hugs.
Thanks for all the Sugar love, darlings. It means a lot to me. If you’d like a bit more Sugar in your life you can join my Facebook page and/or follow me on Twitter:
http://www.facebook.com/home.php?ref=logo#!/pages/Dear-Sugar-on-The-Rumpus/126374877375391?ref=ts
http://twitter.com/Sugar_TheRumpus
That Facebook link got messed up. This one should work:
http://tinyurl.com/3ajl2dk
You know, Sugar, I wonder about you. How can anyone write the most empathetic, chock-full-of-wisdom-and-kindness column ever, every single week? Are you a whole database of Sugars? Though–actually I agree with James who said that perhaps there is real information about appetite and boundaries that her lover is trying to convey, and that she might realize makes them a mismatch. Still, with your advice, she and her lover could examine that question. Ah, what a soul-emboldening conversation that would be! You go, Sugar! Your tag line should be, “Making the world a better place, one lovely obstacle at a time.”
You’re so kind, Rebecca. Thank you. There is no database of Sugars, only me, slaving away here each week, making the world a better place, one lovely obstacle at a time (love the tag line!). I would appreciate an assistant, however. His/her job right now would be to bring me an Americano with cream and one of those gobsmackingly giant muffins that have chocolate chips inside. Anyone?
As for the thoughts you and James have shared ala appetite and boundaries: I hear you both and I even agree. But I don’t think it applies to this situation. My read is that the boyfriend in this case really is just telling the letter-writer pretty general stories about stuff he did with other lovers. The letter writer states that her beau doesn’t go into detail by giving her a sexual blow-by-blow (which would be gross and unkind) and she doesn’t suggest that he’s got a theme to his stories (constantly speaking of orgies, for example, by way of not so discreetly pressuring her into one). But yes, in any case, I do think whatever is at work will only be made better by an open conversation. I hope they take my advice.
This is called intimacy. This is called fuck yes. When people do this with us, it’s an honor. And when the people who do this with us also happen to be people with whom we are falling in love, it lets us into an orbit in which there is only admission for two.
Hi! I just started reading your column. Love the love darlin’. But I have one question or nit pick or whatever. I know I’m a bit late to the game on this post.
This quote says there is only admission for two in a love orbit. Have you ever known any polyamorists or whatever they chose to call themselves? I like to believe in triads, and possible larger-ads. Any thoughts on open, loving, sexual relationships between three people? I’m talking triangles, not Vs.
Thanks for the wonderful column,
G
As much as I shouldn’t comment on a dead thread and zombify it, I just feel so compelled to.
Reading this hurt me inside. Not, as others have said, because you’re right – but because you are wrong.
My boyfriend has told me over and over that, despite being with me, despite enjoying our relationship, I am not and will never be good enough because a woman in his past – we’ll call her “Caroline” because that’s her name – was, is, and always will be better than me. More beautiful. Kinder. Better in every way. And because of that, he says that he can never love me. It tugs on my heart, because he says that despite caring for me, being happy to be with me, and wanting to love me, he can’t, and every time he looks at me he is nothing but disappointed because I am not her. He is disgusted because I’m fatter and I have smaller boobs and an uglier face and a darker past and less money. He can’t love me and I will never satisfy him, because, yes, his past so overshadows my presence in his life that all he feels when he looks at me is, as he’s confirmed, disappointment and disgust – he can’t love me and can hardly respect me because next to her, I’m a clumsy, ugly, stupid, mean, poor, careless piece of trash with emotional scars and a checkered past. I wish you were right.
I can’t help but comment after the last one. The difference between the original question writer and you, honey, is that her man seems caring and yours seem like an asshole. What he’s saying to you is unfair and I hope you come to realize soon that you don’t need to be with him. Best of luck.
Dear “Me”: There is a difference between sharing details of your past with your partner (as the LW’s BF is) and using them as a club to beat up your partner and wreck their self-esteem (as your partner is.) If your partner really cared about you, they would not be regularly comparing you unfavorably to ex-partners. That is manipulative and emotionally abusive. You deserve someone who is emotionally available and loves you for yourself-whatever your financial status, emotional status, weight, cup size, or attractiveness level. This man is telling you point blank that he will not do that. Take him at his word and go find someone who will.
Be afraid. I wouldn’t care to be with a man who spoke of previous sexual experiences in that way to me.
I experienced a sociopathic situation in a four year relationship which after lovemaking started with him talking about threesomes in detail, for fun he said, then requests for accompanied tantric sex progressing to demands for public exhibitionism and ended four years later with the revelation that everything he purported to be, he wasn’t.
It happens slowly and insidiously and little by little I lost who I was and was discarded. Read about sociopathic discard.
I am now emotionally damaged and medicated.
This man is red flagging you to see your reaction and how far he can push you into the type of sex HE wants.
If he loved and respected you he would move on from the past in his mind, not create insecurities in yours.
My advice. Run. It gets worse.
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