My partner, for various reasons, has come to separate sex from love. I suspected this for a while, but now I’ve come to accept that this is the case. I don’t think we’ll be able to overcome such an obstacle, so I’m moving on . . . it’s already been a confusing and passionless (in the physical sense) year and a half. It’s sort of a Madonna/whore syndrome, where my partner sees me in the “sweet, nice people” category instead of the “wild, fun sex” one.

I did some research on men like him who are compelled to seek a challenge and devalue the people who value them the most. They think they’re looking for some “perfect” person who is everything they want, but really they can’t be with a woman they genuinely like and get along with because those aren’t the women they want to have sex with.

What do you think?

I think you need to say buh-bye. I just got rid of one of those myself. I loved hanging out with him, but every time we had sex, he’d freak out and disappear afterward. This push/pull routine was excruciating, because I genuinely cared about him. I didn’t understand how he could like me so much, seemingly enjoy having sex with me, then vanish, and return only to declare us “just friends.” Then he’d make another move on me, and the whole ugly cycle would repeat itself.

My jackass did eventually cop to a variation on the Madonna/whore syndrome. I should’ve noted that almost all his friends were girls he’d started off dating and then rejected sexually. In sharp contrast, the girls he’d had extended relationships with were almost exclusively exceptionally cute near-retards who would be flummoxed by questions like what the claw end of a hammer is used for. (I can think of several things to do with it right about now.) Inevitably, the bimbo’s short attention span would be distracted by something shiny, and she’d dump him. A normal, nonpsychotic man enjoys having sex with people he also likes talking to.

I understand your need to figure out what his problem is, but it really doesn’t matter what freak show is playing in your man’s twisted little brainscape. Why waste precious energy trying to decipher the whys and hows of his fucked-upedness? Who cares why? The guy’s nuts, and he’s making you sad. You and I need to find men whose brains and libidos didn’t stop maturing sometime around their First Communion.

A big warning sign is finding yourself spending copious amounts of time researching your date’s various psychiatric symptoms. Better he consult a mental-health professional than drive you to one.

My penis is large. Large enough that women sometimes have trouble sleeping with me. But my bigger problem is that I just came out of a long-term relationship. My ex was on the pill; we were monogamous and had both been tested, so we rarely used condoms. That’s no longer an option. I’ve tried some of the larger brands; Magnums seem to work best, but it’s still a huge step down from condomless loving. Now, whenever I have sex with a condom (and only then; I’m not glossing over some kind of STD here), I can’t urinate (or have another orgasm) because there’s an almost unbearable, sharp pain as whatever’s coming out comes out. If I wait an hour, it usually goes away and I can pee. Is this normal? Is it something I should just get used to?

Reluctantly Gloved

Problems that involve bleeding, sharp pains, pus, and/or weeping sores are not problems that the Girl of Date addresses. You and your massive wiener should march right over to your doctor’s office.

And quit complaining about condoms. Nobody likes them, but if you’re going to do the nasty, you have to suck it up and slap it on. Don’t put your girlie in the position where she’s made to feel guilty for insisting on it. That’s not fair.

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