Straight Cocksuckers and Squirt School

Dear Jen,
I have an issue with a male friend of mine. We've been friends for several years and he has always been very emotionally open.  Since we were 16 we've hugged each other hello and goodbye, but on one semi-drunken evening he extended that hug to an open (his mouth, not mine) kiss. He saw my face afterwards and pretty much ran off before we had a chance to discuss it. I chalked it up to alcohol and a little too much affection.  Since then he has become increasingly open with his sexual urges towards me. He tells me how he would give me a blowjob, and sometimes tries to grab my crotch. He does and says these things in a joking manner, but it's obvious I could take him up on the offer any time.  I am completely straight and he knows this, but I feel because I don't punch his lights out for grabbing my crotch he thinks he has a chance with me.

He's a very smart person and is finishing his degree in sexual therapy (oh, the irony!), so of all people I shouldn't have to explain to him how I feel.  I make it pretty obvious I don't want what he's selling.  To top it off, he swears he's not interested in men, just me.  How do I get my drinking buddy back to his normal self (the one that doesn't start grabbing my balls after 2 beers)? 

P.S. This is not the first male friend that has behaved this way towards me. I mean EXACTLY this way, down to the whole "I only like women and you thing".  Is the fact that I'm not homophobic and totally willing to hug another man drawing some hidden bisexual-ness out of my friends?

HELP ME JEN! I'd like to be able to be emotionally open with my male friends without worrying about them wanting to pork me.
- You're Barking Up the Wrong Tree, Dudes.

Dear Barking,
I've been sitting here for a couple of hours trying to write something that would do justice to your hilarious letter (which means checking my email, my Myspace page, watching Jake Gyllenhaal perform in drag on SNL over and over, filing my nails, getting up to stand by the heater, watering my plants, reading the paper, putting away my dishes, etc.).  It's now one o'clock, and although my house is spotless and my eyebrows properly plucked, I still have nothing.  I really wanted to leave the house today, too.

Why is the brain at its most creative when it comes to love/lust/your best friend's balls and not when you have a column due the next day?  It's amazing how effortlessly people can fabricate these fantastic stories when they desperately want something to be true that isn't: "He said I was a psycho and that if I came near him again he was going to get a restraining order, but I could tell by the way he was looking at me that he thought it would be hot to restrain me."  Nearly everyone does it in varying degrees of absurdity.  It's the reason Greg Whatshisface has sold a bazillion copies of that book "He's Just Not That Into You" - nobody wants to listen to something they don't want to hear, they'd rather listen to their own version instead.  Regardless of how little fact they're actually working with. 

It sounds to me like your drinking buddy there has quite the flair for storytelling and that your polite, turn the other way methods aren't helping.  Here's why:

1.) You've informed him you're straight in hopes that that will get him to leave you alone.  He's informed you that he's straight, too, in hopes that you'll find nothing faggity about putting your dick in his mouth.

2.)  You're assuming your subtle non-acceptance of his offer will be taken for a no.  You're forgetting that when someone wants you, and isn't getting you, not saying anything is the equivalent to coming to the door dressed in nothing but a bow tie and cowboy boots next time he stops by.

You need to tell him, in no uncertain terms, that your meat is off limits.  He may not listen, he may see the fact that you mentioned your genitalia in his presence as a green light, but at least you'll have said your truth and can refer back to it when he's singing outside your window late one night, sobbing and demanding to know why you won't watch the game with him anymore.

The fact that you're pro-manhug and anti-violence is very inspiring indeed and may or may not be the reason you attract the "straight except-for-you types."  It doesn't matter.  All that matters is that you're honest with these dudes because as uncomfortable as it is to reject someone to their face, it's better than having to wear an athletic cup every time you sit down for a beer with them. 

Dear Jen,
I saw a "Women who squirt" porn with my boyfriend and I could not believe my eyes.  Then I saw that you wrote about it in your column -- how come I've never heard of this until now?  Better yet, how come we don't learn about this in sex ed? 
- Disconnected From my Vagina

Dear Vagina,
Did you ever see that documentary called, "Sick"?  It's about the now-deceased performance artist and S&M enthusiast Bob Flanagan.  He had Cystic Fibrosis (the disease that fills your lungs up with fluid and tries to drown you) and explains in the movie that he got into S&M because inflicting pain on himself was a way to regain some control over his diseased body.  He did things like nail his dick to a board, have his girlfriend stuff giant metal balls up his butt and perform a piece at MOCA where he was periodically, slowly hoisted up from behind a wall in the museum by his ankles, naked.  Thank you, MOCA.  Thank you, Bob.

Apparently the upside down and naked hanging thing started when he was a youngster.  In the movie, he tells how he used to hole up in his room and flog himself while hanging from hooks in his ceiling.  They cut back and forth from Bob telling this story to his astonished, elderly mother repeating over and over, "Where was I?  Where was I?"

You and your vagina remind me of Mrs. Flanagan and Bob, respectively.  You're so right, if only both of you had had some sort of class that enlightened you to all the millions of places sex and sex organs can take you -- Mrs. Flanagan could have left sandwiches outside young Bob's door for him to eat after all his hard work and you could have been writing your name in the snow (you still can, btw.  You can teach yourself how to ejaculate).

You raise an interesting question though - where do they draw the line in sex ed classes?  High school was such a very very long time ago for me that I'm not entirely sure I even had sex ed beyond a "getting your period talk," but how do they do it these days?  Do they teach about gay sex?  Do they quiz students on important terms like "teabagging" and "rusty trombone" or explain the proper etiquette for asking someone to pee on you?  If there are any high schoolers out there, write in and educate an old woman, won't you?