Savage Love Web Extra

Hey, Everybody…

Some weeks back, One Less Douche wrote in
about his new relationship. Thirty-five years old himself, OLD was
dating a 20-year-old woman. “As a longtime reader, I know and agree
with your ‘campsite rule’ about having sex with younger people,” OLD
wrote. “I have a responsibility to leave her in better shape than I
found her. Part of that is easy—be honest, caring, open, GGG,
etc.—but I would like to humbly request that you ask your readers
who have been in relationships with a large age gap what their partners
did for them that left them better off?”

Honoring the campsite rule requires simply
being honest, caring, open, and GGG, I replied to OLD. He also has to
make sure this young woman emerges from this relationship with no STIs,
no fertilized eggs, no restraining orders, no emotional trauma, and
improved sexual skills. Tons of Savage Love readers wrote in with
specific, real-life examples of older partners honoring—or
failing to honor—the campsite rule. Here’s a selection of their
letters.

—Dan Savage

I’ve had two flings and one relationship
(still in it) with two significantly older men, and based on one
memorable positive outcome, I can offer a good piece of advice for One
Less Douche: wear condoms with a smile.

While in college, I didn’t have the
strongest boundaries when it came to boyfriends and was pressured
sometimes—against my better judgment—to not use condoms for
a variety of lame college-boy excuses. I ended up having a couple STD
scares and endured uncomfortable side effects from the pill (as well as
the $25 monthly charge). Then I had a wonderful fling with a man in his
early 40s who kept a variety of condoms in all shapes and flavors by
his bed. He was a fantastic lover, by far the best I’d had at that
point. He believed that using condoms was a good way to show respect
for his partner.

The next time I had a younger boyfriend who
didn’t want to use condoms because they made sex less “skillful”(?), I
had the confidence to tell him, “That’s a shame. All of my best lovers
haven’t had a problem using them,” and walk out the door. The boyfriend
showed up at my door 20 minutes later with a pack of Lifestyles and an
apology. I’m forever thankful to this older lover for teaching me to
stand my ground.

Confident and Careful

When I was a 20-year-old study-abroad
student (and virgin), I got involved with a man 14 years older. Neither
of us was perfect—he should have gone slower in bed and used a
condom; I should have been clearer about the fact I wasn’t in love with
him—but the big problem was that we were at completely different
life stages in terms of readiness to settle down.

The first thing about the campsite rule is
remembering that you are almost certainly not going to spend the rest
of your life at this “campsite.” So don’t pressure your younger partner
to say, “I love you,” to move near you or in with you, to meet your
parents or let you come meet hers, etc. Treat the relationship as
precious, but temporary.

Being Realistic Is Being Responsible

I was 22 when I was involved with a woman in
her mid-30s who had just ended a long marriage. As an idealistic
22-year-old male who believed that love conquered all, I allowed myself
to get caught up in the fantasy that our relationship had a future. She
did as well, but only briefly.

She did nothing wrong, really: Once she got
over the initial rush and reality set in, she talked with me about her
issues with the age difference, which included the fact that her
conservative family could never accept her having a partner who was so
much younger. She tried several times to warn me that the affair was
time limited but I was too starry-eyed and, what’s more, lacked enough
life experience to understand WHY it wouldn’t work.

Now I’m 10 years older/wiser and I do
understand why it wouldn’t have worked; as she told me, I needed to
have the chance to have my own life, and had we stayed together, she
would have been a senior citizen at the point where I would be having
my midlife crisis. The memories are great and I wouldn’t trade them for
anything, but I think OLD and anyone else who hooks up with much
younger partners needs to be aware that lack of life experience will
make young partners more susceptible to fantasizing about a future
together that may or may not be feasible or well-advised, no matter how
honest and considerate the older partner is.

Former Campsite

I wish I had known about the campsite rule
eight years ago when I met “Todd.” He was 38. I was 18. To make matters
worse, I had low self-esteem and felt obligated to fuck the rare guy
who took an interest in me. He was only my second sexual partner.

Was Todd GGG, kind, and caring? No, no, and
no. For starters, he unexpectedly whipped his cock out as I sat in a
chair in his apartment on our first date. At 18 I didn’t have the
strength of character to just walk out the door. He didn’t volunteer to
wear a condom, and because I felt insecure, I didn’t demand that he
wear one. We kept seeing each other and it never got any better. He
would wake me up by poking me with his erection. He mauled my clit
while trying to finger me and refused to cut his nails when I told him
that he was scratching my labia. Any request I made during sex was met
with sulking and hostility. It was hard enough, as an insecure
teenager, to ask for what I wanted, and his attitude killed any notions
of sexual assertiveness I might have had.

I’ve got a whole slew of stories about this
asshole but I’ll leave you with this: During all this bullshit that he
was pulling on me, he was ALSO demanding that we incorporate his
cross-dressing and desire to be pegged into our sex life! I wasn’t
enthusiastic about either of these things, but at least I tried. He
wouldn’t even trim his fucking nails.

Basically, this guy was the biggest loser
ever. Luckily I figured that out after a few months and dumped the
motherfucker. My current guy is six years older than me and for the
past five years has been a model camper. Too bad I had to learn the
hard way how to tell a decent person from a douche.

Current Lover Is Terrific

When I was 17 I dated a 26-year-old. I don’t
think he was a Savage Love reader, as he definitely didn’t follow the
campsite rule.

After a year and a half of dating, he
started calling 20 times a day. He would tell me that I didn’t need to
go to college or start a career because he was going to be an attorney
and I could stay at home and take care of our children.

After a while, I decided to break up with
him. I called him and explained that I thought we were looking for
different things and that we should look for them in other people. He
went off the deep end, yelled and screamed and cursed at me, called me
everything under the sun, and then had his best friend continue the
tirade.

The day after the breakup, I started getting
e-mails from friends wondering why someone had posted comments about me
on their LiveJournals. Turns out my ex-boyfriend’s best friend went to
every person I had listed as a friend and copy/pasted a paragraph using
my full name and saying how horrible I was, that I had cheated on him,
everything except alleging that I had killed his puppy. Everyone I
actually knew deleted the comments, but one comment, left on the
journal of an online webcomic, stayed up. I tried contacting the owner,
but it hadn’t been updated in years and no one responded.

This meant that when I applied for colleges
and when I applied for jobs, this comment was fully visible to anyone
who knew how to Google. I would have to explain the situation to anyone
I knew that happened to randomly Google me, including potential
mates.

Lesson Learned

I wanted to share my campsite rule story. I
was 19 and had a 31-year-old boyfriend. He made me feel safe at first
and took on the role of teacher with me, sexually and otherwise. I came
to care about him a lot.

He could tell how I felt, and he told me he
was uncomfortable with it. I thought he was breaking things off, but he
said it was just a “talk” about boundaries. I didn’t understand exactly
what he was getting at (although I figured it out later). He began
taking me to parties a lot where we’d drink heavily and do lots of
drugs. We’d go back to his place and almost always ended up in bed. At
some point he stopped wearing condoms, claiming they “freaked him
out.”

Being a healthy 19-year-old, it took less
than a month before I ended up pregnant. When I told him, he said, “I
won’t have a kid.” The only way he would be involved, he said, was in
planning an abortion. I was in no position to raise a kid on my own. He
drove me to my appointments, paid for half of the procedure and bought
me lunch after. That was the grand finale of our relationship—a
cheap-ass lunch.

I found out later that he had been sleeping
with other girls at the same time, all of them about my age. I was
lucky, I suppose, in that I came out of this without an STD. But he
broke my heart and definitely didn’t follow the campground rule in the
relationship. I was young and vulnerable, and he took advantage.

Younger And Wish I’d Been Wiser

I pretty much credit my ex-older-boyfriend
for making me feel like I’m a catch. We had lots of hot sex all the
time, and he always told me how hot he thought I was, he always wanted
to hang out, and he always came to pick me up, either on time or 10
minutes early. He didn’t care if I had my period, if I hadn’t shaved my
legs, whatever—he still made me feel like I was the hottest thing
he’d ever seen. Eventually we broke up because I was completely
immature in other key ways, but it’s been four years and I still feel
like I’m so hot that I shouldn’t settle for just any old jerk-off. He
essentially left me more sexually experienced, with higher expectations
about how a guy should treat me, and with solid self-esteem. Before I
dated him, I would have thought that my current awesome and totally hot
boyfriend was out of my league, but here I am, in a great relationship
with the hottest guy I’VE ever seen.

Better Off Now

A few years ago I dated someone 22 years
older than me. She was smart, sexy, and I thought we had great
chemistry, but the age difference (not to mention the difference
between our professional statuses) contributed to a severe imbalance of
power in the relationship. In other words, she insisted on holding all
the cards, and I had none. It probably didn’t help that she was also a
psychologist. When it came to sex and physical intimacy, she had to be
the one to initiate all contact, refusing to let me even so much as
initiate a kiss. She thought she was giving me what I wanted, but it
was cold and detached, without foreplay or even looking at me naked,
then ordering me to relax and enjoy it. Afterward, we had to sit down
and have a serious discussion about why I couldn’t “achieve an orgasm.”
I don’t know if she thought she was doing me a favor, but it’s safe to
say the campsite was NOT left in better condition than when she found
it.

Disappointed Young Dyke

When I was 40, a very young woman in my
office, age 20 (my God, she could have been my daughter!!!), made it
abundantly clear she wanted to jump my middle-aged bones. I was happily
married at the time (still am) and she was about to be married. For
her, it was a prewedding wild-oats-to-be-sowed thing. For me, it was an
opportunity to fuck an amazingly hot 20-year-old who thought I was
still hot. So, WTF…

Not only was it totally hot (for both of
us), it didn’t break up my marriage, it didn’t break up her impending
marriage (she’s happily married with kids!), and it was totally
sexually instructive for her. She improved her blowjob skills with me,
we tried things like anal and toys, and had many other fun learning
experiences. I could go on but I’m getting a little turned on reliving
this.

Ultimately, we ended the affair after two
months, and I left her emotionally healthy, not pregnant, not diseased,
and I think a very happy girl. We agreed to end the sex, no more
teasing or flirting at the office, and we kept our word. We’re still in
touch—an occasional catch-up e-mail exchange—so it can be
done.

A Devoted Fan

I grew up in a small town, in a devout
Catholic home, and I had no clue there was more than one kind of
sexuality. I had thoughts and feelings I didn’t know what to do with,
but I don’t think I’d ever heard the word “gay,” much less knew what it
meant.

I’d had sex with girls, but I didn’t have my
first experience with another guy until I was 18. I was at an
ex-girlfriend’s party, and it wasn’t pretty; everyone was bombed or
high. Except for this older guy: late-20s, maybe 30, somebody’s
brother. I knew he was looking at me in a way that men weren’t supposed
to look at other men. We got talking, realized we both hated the party,
and agreed to go for a walk in what by then had to be the wee hours. We
were in a big deserted park, grass, bushes, streetlights, when he
turned to me and I thought, “He’s going to kiss me and I’m going to
throw up.” He did; I didn’t.

I was so awkward. I had no idea how to do
the things my feelings were prompting me to do. I knew I wanted to top
him, but didn’t know that word or how exactly to get there. He was so
patient and gentle and understanding. This is not a story of a teenage
kid being preyed on. I took the lead; he guided. He never pushed
anything. He helped introduce me to myself.

He lived halfway down the East Coast, but he
kept in regular touch with calls and long affectionate letters,
checking in on me, listening to me, reassuring me that whatever I felt
was okay.

Not everyone felt that way. This was almost
40 years ago. When I got comfortable enough to tell my parents I
thought I was gay, they had me committed to a mental hospital. That’s
another story, and not a very nice one. I was there till I was 21 and
could legally insist on being released. Shock treatments, megadoses of
Thorazine. I don’t know why I didn’t go truly nuts. I think a big part
of it was the memory of that kindness and that closeness, and the
rightness of it, for me. I lost a lot during those years locked up. I
lost track of that wonderful guy who’d been just what I needed when
nobody else understood.

I never had a chance to thank him, so I’d
like to do that now, and maybe imagine he’s reading this and
remembering too.

Anonymous

When I was 20, I was involved with a man in
his mid-30s. He left me better off by making me feel smart, sexy,
self-confident, and by never letting me believe that I needed him.
Being together was always a choice, never a necessity. This was after a
string of teenage and early-20s boys who were possessive, manipulative,
and needy (as I’m sure I was). My advice to OLD: accept her, be crazy
about her, fuck each other’s brains out, and DO NOT let her move in.
And don’t do anything to distance her from her peers.

Ultimately, my older man didn’t introduce me
to any sex act or practice that wasn’t already in my repertoire, but 15
years later, I still look back on it as some of the best sex of my
life. He showed me that sex doesn’t need to be part of an emotional
stranglehold. He showed me that sex is fun and that safe sex is hot. He
showed me how to care about someone without being obsessive. And when
it was time, he let me go.

Gone But Not Forgotten

When I was a young, curious, somewhat
well-informed teenager, I met and got involved with a man 10 years my
senior. I was smart enough to know about Planned Parenthood and be on
the pill before I became sexually active. This man had a bisexual
female roommate. I became great friends with them both and,
predictably, all three of us had sex together. They were both careful,
understanding people, particularly the woman, and I recall fondly dates
that began with the three of us cruising around Seattle, talking and
laughing, and ending with all of us cuddled up after lovemaking. After
a few months, I moved away to work for the summer.

They taught me technique, patience, how to
give and receive, both in bed and out. I’m still glad I found them at
such a formative point in my life.

Right Bi Me

I am a 22-year-old lesbian woman. I was
recently in a relationship with a 31-year-old very experienced lesbian
woman. We ended the relationship for various reasons, mainly bad
timing. She was incredibly careful to leave me better, emotionally and
sexually. Having been out for a couple years prior to meeting her, I
had multiple sexual encounters with more experienced lesbian women,
young and old. Rather than being respectful of my “performance anxiety”
and lack of experience, these women took it upon themselves to make me
into a challenge they needed to conquer. They didn’t give me time to
become comfortable or explore. There was no equality or partnership
with these earlier woman, and I was left confused and numb equating all
of my gay sexual experiences with my earlier straight encounters
feeling as if I had no place or orientation.

What this older woman gave me was priceless.
She gave me time, space, guidance, trust, and respect. Instead of
viewing my inexperience as comedic, or enticing, she viewed it
consciously, taking note the responsibility she had to me. I walked
away with a newfound confidence, and a new beautiful view of sex.

Better For It

When I was 20, I fell in love with a man
twice my age. He was handsome, strong, well put together. Sexually, he
used the campsite rule to perfection. I was a virgin when we met and he
let everything be on my terms. It was wonderful. He let me explore my
sexuality without ever pushing me. I came out of that relationship more
sexually confident and happy with my body.

Unfortunately, he messed up the emotional
side. He told me he loved me, but kept me a secret from his friends,
explaining that he had a “public life” and a “private life.” When he
left me for someone else after a year of secretly dating, he explained
that he could never have stayed with me for the long haul, due to our
age difference, but had been afraid of hurting me. I was heartbroken
and it took me a good three years to get over him.

I think that one of the most important
things an older partner can do in a relationship is make sure that both
parties are on the same page with where the relationship is going,
because I was so swept up and in love that I was completely blindsided
and bewildered when our relationship came to a close.

Over Him Now

A few years ago, I met a beautiful and
brilliant bipolar ex-stripper 18 years my senior in rehab. I was 22,
she was 40. After having several forbidden, thrilling sexual encounters
on campus, we both agreed the wisest thing to do was move in together
and fuck the days away. It was my first long-term sexual relationship,
whereas she’d had dozens of partners in her time. We parted a year
later—I was afraid she’d stab me in my sleep—but she left
me with a lifelong confidence in my ability to please a woman. In
particular, she discovered a position that takes advantage of my, um,
curvature, that I have since used to spectacular effect on women my own
age. It cost me psychologically, but I’ve never regretted taking that
chance.

Happy About My One Older Woman

When I was 20 I met a man from London who
was 33 years old and in my city on an extended business trip. We ended
up spending about a month getting busy regularly (in the back seat of a
car… whatever was hot at the time), and it still remains in my memory
one of my best sexual experiences ever. Why? Because he followed the
campsite rules: He didn’t screw with my mind, there were no false
promises of a long-distance relationship, he was kind and mature, sexy
as all hell, and he taught me how to suck a dick so well that every man
that has followed him should thank him profusely. The campsite rule
works people—obey it!

ZFJ

I lost my virginity to a man who was 12
years older than me. I was 18. He was married, in an open relationship
with his wife, and I was a recovering Catholic. His wife came to me
first and told me her husband liked me. I was weirded out, but I knew
both of them through mutual friends and I saw them fairly often at
parties. It was made clear to me that I had a standing invite but there
was no pressure, and nothing more was said about it. I thought about it
for about three weeks. I wanted to lose my virginity—I was at
college, and it made me feel like a child to not know what everyone
around me already knew.

I made my decision clear after checking
again with his wife that it was absolutely, definitely okay. Once he
knew about my inexperience, he was fantastically gentle with me. I can
honestly say I couldn’t have picked a better guy to be my first. I was
so uptight about sex, about looking stupid, about my own body. He asked
me my permission for everything, even down to changing positions during
sex, and it made me feel much more secure, like he was reminding me
that I could stop at any point. He let me feel in control. He was
completely up-front about his wife and their relationship, and did
everything in his power to make me feel comfortable. He opened my eyes
about how people can be very different, and can live by very different
rules, yet still be wonderful inside. I got the benefit of his
experience. I can’t imagine what my poor, guilt-laden, self-conscious
libido would have done without him. I would never have loosened up
enough to have any fun, and I probably never would have met my
husband.

Older Men Rock

When I was 22 years old I was the boyfriend
of two men who were already in a relationship. Jack was 31 and Roscoe
was 34. Just as Jack and Roscoe had an open relationship before they
met me, the three of us maintained this openness while we were
together. Most people hear this story and think, “Recipe for disaster!”
On the contrary, our relationship was emotionally solid, healthy, and
based on the core values of honesty and mutual respect. I was not only
an equal member of our threesome, but I also became an intimate witness
to how they interacted with each other, in their own relationship.
Through them I learned: Love is best served without judgment;
boyfriends should always be given the benefit of the doubt; and
communication is key. In bed, they were more than loving and caring.
They never commented on how I was less experienced in bed (even though,
in retrospect, I’m sure it was only obvious) and instead taught me,
through example, how to be a better lover. Most importantly, they
taught me that what matters most is not your sex or your sexuality, not
if your relationship is monogamous or open, not if you’re the same age
or not, but rather how you treat each other and the actions you decide
to take, or not take, every day you’re together. Every relationship
choice I’ve made since I was with them has been at least somewhat based
on my experience with them. They still represent my gold standard.

My advice to anyone wondering how to follow
the campsite rule: Remember that the younger person is still in a
formative stage and everything that happens between you will be etched
into his or her memory, never to be forgotten. It is your
responsibility to make decisions that originate from your most mature
and caring side.

JP

This is for OLD’s girlfriend: Run girl, run!
Let my experience inform yours. At 20 I became involved with a man of
38. He was smart, funny, and (I felt) mature. I felt that I was growing
up sexually with him and spent years with him turning down other men in
my age range. I have since learned that he was not only a lousy lover,
but a sad controlling asshole. I could have had a great time in my
early 20s and instead I spent it with a man who didn’t appreciate my
cute young body enough to make half an effort to keep me happy.

The vast majority of men who want to date
girls 15 years younger are not worth the trouble. They want the control
over someone less experienced. Sure, maybe one in a hundred is
different, but those odds stink. Go find someone closer to your own age
who is looking for a partner, not a campsite.

Older, Wiser, And Happier Now.

I’m a 27-year-old GWM. When I was 17 and
first started realizing I liked the guys on my lacrosse team a little
too much, I turned to internet chat rooms for answers. Long story
short, I met this gorgeous, blond, huge muscle stud on AOL named John,
who claimed to be 25 and lived not too far away. So I decided to dip my
toes and see if I really was gay…

When I finally met up with John he admitted
that he was 35, not 25. One would think this would be a huge
deal-breaker for a scared, closeted high-school student, huh? A
nightmare in the making? It was a dream. John was caring, attentive,
talked to me about my fears as a newbie gay, and related some of his
own experiences back when he himself was a newbie. He insisted on
meeting up in a public setting, and while he disclosed his full name to
me (even showing me his driver’s license), he never asked for anything
more than my first name. There was absolutely no pressure for sex, but
when I inevitably lost control of my budding young hormones and
initiated physical contact, John immediately reached for the condoms
and explained to me the purpose of lube and of going slowwwwww. After
cleaning up afterward, he fed me dinner and drove me back to our
original meeting place, managing to get me home by my curfew.

Even though John was an A+ sexual
instructor, he knew deep down that our age gap, plus my being a newbie
gay, precluded us from ever being more than a one-time fling. And this
is what made John such a great First Time Experience for me—days
later, when I started getting upset that he wasn’t dating me (like I
had wanted), he calmly put up with my temper tantrum and explained all
the perfectly sound reasons why it was a bad idea for us to be more
than just one-timers.

I hated John for months afterward and never
talked to him again—but in retrospect, he was 100 percent right.
And when I did finally meet a gay boy my own age, who would go on to
become my first boyfriend, I recalled all of John’s tutoring—how
to kiss, how to fuck safely, how to treat other gay men with
respect—and I was able to go into that relationship with some
knowledge under my belt.

My story ends on a sad note. A few months
ago I finally looked John up with intentions of reinitiating contact,
of at last saying, “Thank you for helping me become the gay man I am
today.” I found out that John had passed away just a year ago in a car
accident. I cried for days at the thought of my wonderful tutor being
taken away like that before I could say thanks, or even goodbye.

Eventually I reconciled my feelings by
realizing that, corny as it sounds, the legacy John passed down to me
10 years ago will never be lost as long as I keep practicing it with my
own current and future sex partners. And maybe when I’m 35, I’ll meet
some lonely, scared young gay lacrosse player, and be able to leave him
in as good shape afterward as John left me.

One Very Happy Camper

Your “campsite rule” about older people
dating younger people seems pretty universally applicable. I mean,
shouldn’t you “be honest, caring, open, and GGG” to everyone you date?
As well as “do all you can to make sure this young woman [or man]
emerges from this relationship with no STIs, no fertilized eggs, no
restraining orders, no emotional trauma, and with improved sexual
skills”?

I thought it was frowned upon in general to
be dishonest and disease-spreading, right? A scumbag is a scumbag at
any age, and any old person who heeds your rule is probably already
disposed to being a decent person. Anyone who doesn’t is a jackass, and
probably won’t change. Though he might sink into denial and lame
justifications.

Thanks For Reading