Too many people believe that a vanilla type and a kinkster can never live happily ever after. Others are convinced that anonymous internet hookups always end in tears and positive HPV test results. Where do people get these false impressions? Reading columns like mine. Contented couples—twosomes who have successfully incorporated one partner's kinks, internet hookups that stay hooked—don't need my advice. To counter the false impression created by my column, I invited contented kinksters and happily partnered sluts to send in their happy-ending stories.
Last week, we heard from straight readers; this week, gay, lesbian, bi, and trans readers share their happy endings. Enjoy.
I was an inexperienced 19-year-old girl from the suburbs. After dating for a few months, my boyfriend told me that he was bi. I freaked out. I struggled with the normal question: Is he gay? But my boyfriend was extremely open and honest, we had a great sex life, and I loved him—so I decided to see where this would go.
About a year later, we started fooling around with other guys (my idea), mostly bi guys who gave us equal attention. It's the hottest thing ever, and it turns out my boyfriend has a bit of a cuckold fetish. This has brought us closer and helped us let go of ALL inhibition during "normal" sex.
I am marrying the amazing bi guy with a cuckold fetish and I couldn't be happier.
In Love With A Kinky Motherfucker
I'm a submissive gay boy. I tried dating vanilla tops, but it didn't work. One night, I initiated a conversation at a club with Mr. Nice. I was actually cruising Mr. Nice's friend, because his friend looked more hardcore—shaved head, torn jeans, leather jacket. Mr. Hardcore turned out to be Mr. Vanilla, but I enjoyed the company of Mr. Nice so we occasionally hooked up for vanilla sex. It didn't work when he tried being dominant, so I had some one-off dates with experienced dominants.
About a year later, Mr. Nice decided to do sex work—as a professional dominant. Learning "on the job," Mr. Nice transformed himself into Mr. Raunch. And last month, in front of a group of close friends, we celebrated our four-year union—as Master and servant.
My darling husband came out to me a few years ago: He wanted to be a woman, but didn't want to lose me, his wife. We're STILL together after all of it—happy and loving, and still enjoying each other sexually. I hope all your success stories involve even half the affection and fun that we have together. Sign me...
Grateful, Generous, Giddy
I was a "bathhouse Billy." At least three nights a week, I went to the gay bathhouses and took on an awful lot of men. There was one guy I saw at the baths all the time who was so painfully shy he hardly ever came out of the locker room. One day I went to visit a friend and who should open the door? Mr. Shy. I asked him out. One thing led to another and we moved in together. It has been 30 years now. He changed me...
Still A Billy But Only At Home
I used to be incredibly embarrassed by my foot fetish. But the four wonderful guys I've dated during my relatively short 28 years on earth have gone out of their way to reassure me that it turns them on to see ME turned on. Now I make no apologies and I make sure to do what I can to turn on my boyfriends and hookups. Sex is so much better now that I've relinquished that shame.
Kinky In Minneapolis
I'm femme, she's butch, we're dykes. Before we met, my "husband" had ended a sexless relationship of many years and knew she wanted to be more true to her passionate sexual self, but had never considered even the mildest BDSM. I brought up the subject of my ordinary kinks (spanking, daddy/girl role-playing), and she responded like any good lesbian feminist. We talked—a lot. She didn't want to hurt me, be violent, or act out artificial roles. I questioned whether BDSM had been an unhealthy substitute for intimacy in my previous relationships and might be unnecessary in the context of our new profound love. She questioned her resistance to doing things that would get me wet.
Eight months later, she spanked me for the first time. Then she started referring to herself as "Daddy" while fucking and spanking me. We don't only have kinky sex, but we have plenty of it. I might have married her even if she weren't so GGG, but the self-examination, self-disclosure, and risk taking we've done around my kinks has been a very significant, possibly essential, part of the intimacy we've created.
My first boyfriend and I were together for three years. It wasn't a great relationship but I was too scared to DTMFA. Finally, he dumped me for someone else. We continued to live together, which made it hard to resist continuing to have sex, which created lots of gay drama. Eventually I moved out, met someone else, and began the relationship of my dreams.
That's a happy ending, but where's the dirty part, you ask. Well, after I moved out, I didn't talk to my ex for months. He broke up with the guy that he had dumped me for and started seeing someone new (and much better for him). We gradually started talking and hanging out again, he got to know my fantastic new boyfriend, and I got to know his, and the four of us are now great friends. One weekend we took a trip to a nearby big city, got a hotel room, and consummated the friendship with an intense, several-hours-long fourgy. An entire bottle of lube was used, and after our final moans and grunts, we heard clapping from the hallway.
Gay Couple Friends
I met my boyfriend on manhunt.net. We corresponded for a month before meeting, because we were both out of town. I was so anxious that somebody else was going to get that hot piece of ass before me. When we met the first time, we hooked up that same afternoon. Now we share a home and he's introduced me to his family. Not to mention I get to pound his hole every day. Despite how we met, he's the best partner I've ever had: understanding, loyal, and too cute for words.
All the queer happy endings that didn't fit in the column can be found at www.thestranger.com/savage/homohappyendings. Next week, we return to our regularly scheduled programming: unhappy endings, hookup disasters, and my very special brand of sometimes spectacularly unhelpful advice.