Fornication location, location, location.

Are things becoming bland in your relationship? Is sex usually horizontal and routine, instead of vertical and extreme? Fear not! You don't need drugs or therapy, Sweetiepeep. You need a gentle nudge. It's time to consider doing it in places not typically designed for doing it. For the next thirty days, you are forbidden from having missionary-style sex on your bed. I don't care if you feel you can only hit your peaks that way. Change it up!

I'm your SPS (Sexual Positioning System), and here is your suggested route, which will lead you away from drinking too much and having regretful sex with a neighbor or coworker:

Bathroom--more specifically bent over the sink, in the tub, in the shower, or on the toilet:

• Good: Nothing is cushy, so nobody should fall asleep during it. You have various lotions available at arm's length. Ooh, a razor. Look, a towel--what a handy baby-batter-picker-upper.
• Bad: Toilet seats break. Tiles can leave odd marks on posteriors. You'll notice those spots you missed. Mirrors are not always our friends. Try to avoid seeing your O-face.

Car:

• Good: It reminds one of giddy teenage years. Music is conveniently close by. The woman has to do most of the work, as usual.
• Bad: Leather seats make farting noises. Windows fog. The steering wheel and rear view mirror tend to get in the way.

Outdoors:

• Good: The additional sensations of the elements, such as wind and dew. Fluids are disposed of in the most bio-friendly ways possible.
• Bad: Sand, grass, or pebbles in ass crack. In a word: YouTube.

Pool or Hot Tub:

• Good: Additional lubrication provided free of charge. Chlorine sterilizes, to a certain extent.
• Bad: Floating sex goo and the possibility of encountering some that isn't yours. Air bubbles are often assumed to be rising farts.

Kitchen:

• Good: Access to sex aids, including food and frozen goodies. Counters are conveniently set at penis height, depending on your nationality.
• Bad: I was looking forward to having cucumber slices on my salad, and now ... ew, just ew.

Love is a piece of cake.

The key to happiness: Don't be needy or needed.

Have you ever noticed that the most attractive people are independent? The people who need you the least are the ones you want to spend the most time with. Why is that? It's because they owe and offer no services to you and require nothing from you. They're free entertainment. There's no obligation either way so you're free to come and go as you please.

I have a guest on my weekly webcast this coming Monday who is a dating and relationship expert. I have never met her, but heard her described as oozing sexuality. Well, that certainly has my interest piqued. I'll bring a hanky. Still, I bet she's single as most matchmakers and relationship experts are.

Since I recently exited yet another relationship, I anticipate a well-deserved scolding about how I don't open up and dedicate enough of my time (what time?) to nurturing my relationships. Allow me to preminisce (my new word):

"How many serious relationships have you been in since your divorce?"
"A couple."
"How long did they last."
"A couple months."
"That's not a serious relationship."
"Ya think?"
"Fine. When's the last time you were in love?"
"May eighth of last year at around one in the afternoon."
"Wow, she must have been special for you to recall it in such detail."
"Yes. She was warm dark chocolate cake with peanut butter icing. I'm becoming aroused as we speak."
"See, that's your problem: You don't take relationships seriously. How can you expect to find love?"
"I can't. I expect to find happiness with or without a copilot."
"Don't you seek companionship?"
"Sure."
"... with something other than a dessert?"
"Can't I have both?"
"What about sex?"
"With a pastry?"
"No, jackass, with a woman."
"All right."
"I mean, don't you want to have lots of affection and sex."
"Define 'lots.'"
"You know, five or six times a week."
"You frisky little vixen, you."
"It may be a medical problem. You could be running low on testosterone."
"Or, I could be preserving it and my sanity."

Yes, as I age I'm not quite as sexually-centered as I used to be, but I have my moments. It has little to do with my hormone levels and more to do with maturity and being honest with myself. Sometimes with some women I desire frequent bonding; with others, occasional linking is fine. Either way, I don't need to have a girlfriend, roommate, or wife to be happy. I don't need lots of sex. Sure, I want it, but not when it comes attached to drama. In that case, a few yanks and a towel keep me from acting needy, and I've found the less needy I am, the more attractive I become. Strange.

Words to use between the sheets.

Are you a bedroom introvert or extrovert? I'm referring to verbal skills as opposed to oral or physical ones. If your partner is tossing a variety of compliments your way you can't lie there without reciprocating--unless you have a mouthful. You can be proactive by using lines before your partner does and score points for originality. This is important, people, pay attention! Look how haywire things can go if you're unprepared.

"Oh my God."
"Yes."
"That's right, Baby."
"Mmm."
"I love your penis."
"Me too."
"Huh?"
"I mean I love your ... um ... insides?"
"Yes, yes, give it to me."
"I'm giving it to you."
"Fuck. Oh, yes."
"Yes."
"It feels so good."
"I know."
"God, you make me so wet."
"You make me so wet with your ... wetness."

"CUT!"

Where's the originality? Where's the sincere appreciation within the verbal volley? They'd both enjoy it more if he were mute. In his defense, I need to ration my blood between brain and love muscle, so witty retorts aren't always easy to come by. One needs to tread lightly on the freaky fringes as to not cause offense. 

• Some women don't mind being fucked like a dirty little schoolgirl and others will react by undocking and leaving him dangling.
• If you ask, "You like that, don't you?" there's always a chance your partner will say, "No, not really, now that you mention it."
• "Who's your daddy?" never works. Never!
• Even if she actually works in such capacity, it's probably not a good idea to refer to her as a ho.

What's inevitable is one of the lovers will say something to the tune of "You're so hot." You can't respond with, "No, you are." Here are your choices:

• "You're so sexy."
• "You have an amazing body."
• "I love the way you feel."
• "I wish I could spend the entire night inside you."
• "Did you catch the score of the Suns game?"

Dear Philly: Why do men [fill in the blank]?

I realize it's dangerous to post such questions on Facebook and Twitter because men are stupid, psycho, stalkers. So, you can post your question anonymously as a comment on this blog post and I'll write a reply on my Facebook fan page at SuchaNiceGuy.

Post any question or observation you have about dating, relationships, and sex. Philly the Guru will rub his crystal balls, end your confusion, and ease your pain.

The debate about multiple partners.

When is it OK to have multiple sexual partners? I have a hard enough time finding one; that's why I'm asking. I guess if you're having emotionless sex, it's fathomable to go there as variety could be the attraction. Depending on the mood you can pick a lover to fit.

When deciding on today's man, she could select:

• The young boy with stamina, because she's up for a workout or he's better for daytime sex when the lights can't be dimmed.
• The ex, because he knows her special places.
• The coworker, because it's naughty.
• The married guy she met at the bar last week, because he'll leave her alone afterwards.
• The high school sweetheart, so she can show how much she improved at the sex thing.
• The bartender, to keep the free drinks flowing.
• The yoga instructor, since he seems so pliable.
• The other ethnicity, because it's there.

When deciding on today's woman, he could select:

• The young girl, who will be clumsy, stoned, and an image he'll be able to recall and use when he's with Ms. Notsofirm.
• The older woman, who is typically more of a cockologist and less of a pregnancy risk.
• The career woman, who goes from VP to freak when she lets her hair down.
• The neglected wife, who is so tired of her husband's nonsense that she's about to sexually explode.
• The neighborhood man-hater, who walks three dogs at a time and claims she doesn't need a man, which we all know is untrue.
• The larger girl, who works harder with fewer expectations.
• The diamond-in-the-rough, who has something sexy hiding under her frumpiness.
• The drunk chick, who he'll need to sprint-fuck to get her done and gone before she passes out or launches waves of pink puke onto his comforter.

One is enough for me and one more than I have. *sigh* Still, my barroom bud is retired, living off his inheritance, and plowing women like Chicago snow. He doesn't hide it and makes no excuses. A woman confronted him about it last night and I sat between them enjoying the volley.

"Do these women know you're sleeping with others."
"No."
"Are you at least using condoms."
"No."
"You're disgusting."
"Why? We all get checked every six months. It's safe and fun. As soon as any of them get too serious I cut them loose."
"You either have a small penis you're compensating for or you're dimented."
"My penis isn't small; it's happy. You probably haven't been laid since Jimmy Carter."
"I'm a very sexual woman, but I'm also careful. Sex to me is intimate and I need to get to know someone before I go there."
"Your loss."
"What happens if one of these women starts sleeping with other men?"
"If I don't know about it, it doesn't happen."

This banter went on for hours. Oddly enough, I suspect he took her home and knocked the bottom out of her. When she acted disgusted by him, I could tell she was acting. I wonder what the allure is.

How can she tell if he really likes her?

This is a problem most women have, although few men do. Perhaps it’s because women have more to invest and lose … oh, and because they don’t have hanging brains beneath their privates.

“How can I tell if he really likes me or just wants to sleep with me?”

“You’re hoping for both, aren’t you?”

“I don’t want to have sex with him if he’s not emotionally invested.”

“All right. That means you like him.”

“I do. I also don’t want to frustrate him and scare him away by making him wait too long.”

“Yep, that happens. Like you would with a new hire, you need to set expectations.”

“Right. I’ll tell him he can’t touch me until he likes me.”

“No, you need to be more specific. Show him some light at the end of the love tunnel. Tell him you’re selective about your lovers, and it could take a dozen dates before you’d be willing to go there.”

“Will a guy wait that long?”

“If he likes you he will … or, if his prospect pool has dried up.”

“Great.”

This is quite a love tug, isn’t it? If I’m attracted to a woman, by definition I want to have sex with her. That desire usually arrives before I have her name memorized. It’s a good thing as long as I don’t insist upon sex too soon, or have it and leave. It takes days or weeks to build a strong like; it takes seconds to build a strong desire.

I’m fighting myself by suggesting women make their men wait when women desire long-term relationships. Sometimes (right fucking now, in fact), a casual encounter is what the doctored ordered to get Russell the Love Muscle back in shape. A long sexual drought will cause a man to say and do whatever is required to close the deal. Humbly, I’ve been stunned by what came out of my mouth (and wallet) when I needed a slump-breaker.

Still, I bet most women can see through all the pleasantries and tell if there’s potential for a walk down the aisle or a walk of shame.

“If you know how you feel about him and have specific desires and goals regarding your relationship, you should tell him. Be honest. Be prepared for him to be scared off due to impatience. His departure will be a blessing.”

“Fine. Give me an example of what to say.”

“OK. Remove all distractions, sit across from him, and look into his eyes. It’s probably a good idea to hold his hands so he doesn’t sprint away. I’m kidding, sort of. Then say something to the tune of, ‘I want you to know I really like you and am excited about the possibility of building a significant relationship between us. I’m highly attracted to you and eager for the day we make love. If you feel the same way, we should enjoy the build up and not take things too quickly. Don’t worry. I won’t make you wait forever—just long enough to be confident that our hearts are equally invested. Fair enough?’”

“Wow. Can you print that on a note card for me?”

“Stop it, silly. Ad lib and he’ll find your sincerity refreshing … or, you’ll be back tomorrow for my consolation services.”

Not Gonna Do It

Hank has been seeing Kim for a few weeks now. She wants to take it slowly. He wants sex, regardless of the complications it may cause. Men. Kim likes Hank. If she didn’t see anything longer term she’d gladly bang his brains out and then stop answering texts. Hank realizes he’s thinking with his penis again. He can’t fight it—never could. Kim sets the boundaries.

“You can come over, but we’re not going to do anything so don’t get any ideas.”

“You mean we’re just going to lamppost all night?”

“I’m talking about sex. We can play around, but no sex.”

“I’m fine with that,” Hank said, fully aware that Kim may relent if he finds the right spot.

“Are you?”

“You bet.”

“Good.”

“Just for clarification sake, what does ‘playing around’ include?”

“You know.”

“I don’t and you don’t want me guessing. I tend to have a liberal sense when it comes to coitus.”

“There won’t be any penetration.”

“All right.”

“We can kiss. I love kissing.”

“Fine. Can I grab your butt?”

“Yes, I suppose.”

“Excellent. How about some cupping of the boobies?”

“Um …”

“Through the shirt, naturally.”

“OK, fine.”

“I agree. Nothing too naughty can happen through clothing, right?”

“I suppose.”

“So, might I surmise that I can rub you in the right way in any area as long as I stay on the outside of your clothing?”

“Within reason.”

“What if my hand slides between your jeans and your panties?”

“Fine, but nothing under the panties.”

“This is getting you all excited, isn’t it?”

“Not really.”

“Damn. If, in the throes of passion, your top slides up a bit and I happen to drive by a nipple or two, would you grant the pardon?”

“Probably.”

“Good to know. I’ll grant the same pardon if my penis accidentally pokes you in the tonsils.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“Ah, I kid. You should let me give you oral pleasure though. I’ve been reading up and would love to try some new methods.”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh, come on—be a sport.”

“Let’s just see how the night goes.”

“Fair enough. Can I bring some wine?”

“Sure.”

“Hey, why don’t we take a bubble bath? That would be fun. I can stop on the way over and pick up a tub teabag.”

“If we do that, we’ll probably end up doing it.”

“You think? I know you grow weak around my gun show. I’ll make sure you behave yourself.”

“Sure, you will.”

“Then, it’s settled. The ground rules have been established and I expect you to follow them or there may be an erection.”

“Ejection.”

“Ah, you caught that, did ya?”

“Yep.”

“Semantics. I’ll be over in a few, my love.”

“See you soon and remember to behave yourself.”

How do you think this all played out? I’d say there was a high chance of penetration followed by a twinge of guilt, apologies, and probably a second coming.