Get Naked: Sex advice for New Yorkers (October 25, 2012)

Jamie Bufalino entertains a tale of oral at the opera.

Photograph: Courtesy Shutterstock
Q Have you ever been blown at the Metropolitan Opera? I’m only 18, but I’ve been avidly reading the penultimate page of TONY since my father got a subscription five years ago. Needless to say, I’ve had a more sexually adventurous youth than most of my classmates. I’m writing to you for the first time, because I have to share something that I really can’t tell anyone else. It all started when I purchased student tickets for the production of Il Trovatore one Thursday night. Twenty-five bucks each for seventh-row, dead-center seats. Dressed in my best, I met my girlfriend of nine months (which is eons in high-school years) by the fountain at Lincoln Center. I presented her with two boxes, one containing diamond earrings, the other containing a bracelet, and she began to weep with delight. We proceeded to our critic-quality seats and watched the first act together. At intermission, we shared pineapple and cheesecake by the fountain—all very romantic and sappy thus far. When we walked back inside, though, they had already closed the doors and we were forced into the deserted “viewing area,” which is essentially just a movie theater that projects what’s happening onstage. Now with front-row seats and the entire room to ourselves, she plopped herself on top of me and started to unbuckle my belt. Next thing I knew, she was on her knees, while on the screen Leonora is belting out how she can’t go on without Manrico. And just as Leonora swallowed the poison that will reunite her with her love, so too did the girl sucking my dick at the Metropolitan Opera. After I was done, she did it again! (Twice in one night—I’m going to buy her diamonds more often!) Anyway, the opera ended (they all died, what a surprise), and I escorted my girl to her cab ride home. I walked home, smiling to myself. I’m writing this because it’s always been my dream to contribute something to your column.

I have to admit, you’ve got my emotions all over the map with this letter. I love you because you’ve got great taste in magazine columns, I’m jealous of you because you’re still in that stage of life that’s filled with all sorts of sexual discovery, I’m intimidated by you because you authentically seem to appreciate/understand/not fall asleep during opera, I’m in awe of you for your seemingly nonexistent erectile refractory period, and yet I’m also a bit repulsed by the “critic-quality” stuff you feel the need to go on about. I guess that’s my lengthy way of saying, “No, dammit, I have never been blown at the Metropolitan Opera, you lucky little bastard!” (I did, however, get a through-the-pants handy during Six Degrees of Separation at Lincoln Center years ago.) Anyway, I’m psyched that you’re having the kind of exciting sexual adventures that (a) are worthy of being written up in “Get Naked” and (b) won’t contribute to the nation’s teenage pregnancy statistics. The only tiny red flag of caution I would raise is that I’d be careful about using gifts as a romantic crutch. I’m sure your personality alone (minus the highfalutin airs) could have coaxed back-to-back blow jobs out of your girlfriend. And wouldn’t that make you prouder of yourself than chalking up your sexual conquest to materialistic foreplay?

Q I’m a happily married twentysomething, and my husband and I enjoy various bedroom games, including cuckolding and BDSM (we switch playing dominant and submissive roles). Recently he’s become more interested in male chastity and wants to be kept locked up long-term, making him my slave so I control when he comes (he says it’ll motivate him to focus on other things and we’ll have better sex). What’s your take on this? I’m worried about having this much control (I usually prefer being submissive), and I wonder if it’s healthy to be locked up for months, unable to masturbate/ejaculate. Do you think it’s a good idea?

Forgive me for my lack of familiarity with the BDSM lingo, but when you say “locked up,” are you talking about simply keeping his sperm encased in the pimply, dangly prison of his nut sack, or having him physically corralled in a closet or bedroom or some such? A cursory surfing of BDSM sites leads me to believe both practices are common in your community. The physical-imprisonment thing is not a healthy option if it lasts for more than a few hours. The nonejaculatory angle, however, is really not that big of a deal, and could in fact lead to an extremely satisfying and explosive outburst when you decide it is finally time to end his period of chastity. I say go for it. Taking charge of this situation will make you feel more empowered and confident about the breadth of your sexual capabilities, and after a significant stretch of sexlessness on his part, he’ll be raring to take the reins once again and give you a night of submissive bliss.

I’ve gotten a surprising number of letters from people who felt the need to weigh in on the recent letter from a guy whose wife was suffering from all sorts of gyno issues, like vestibulitis. Since it seems like more women are facing problems like this, I thoughy it might be helpful to pass on a few suggestions. Take this recommendation, for example:

Q I’m a frequent reader of your column, and I just came across the gentleman’s letter about his wife’s disorders. I too have suffered for years with a host of gynecological diseases, surgeries, etc. I go to the Pelvic and Sexual Health Institute of Philadelphia. They’re doing amazing work there—injections, water therapy, even using alternative methods such as antidepressants and a sliding-scale psych clinic for couples. They’re treating women that have given up all hope that they’ll ever be sexually healthy again. I know Philly is a two-hour train or bus ride from NYC, but it’s well worth the trip. 

Send letters to Jamie Bufalino c/o Time Out New York, 475 Tenth Avenue, 12th floor, New York, NY 10018, or send e-mail to