‘Have you ever kissed another girl?” “Have you ever been to a prostitute?” “What, you really own porn?” “Why did you want to try it with two guys?” “You’re sure it doesn’t hurt?” “What does a lap dance feel like?” “Who had the biggest penis?” “Who was your best lover?” “Do you fantasise about my friends?” “Ever had an affair?”
Everyone in a long-term relationship must ask or answer at least one of these questions at some point in the first year. Why we ask them is not as clear as we would like to think, because some guarantee a certain answer, if you’re in love; others do not.
When my lover first asked me if I had kissed another girl, I had to answer “Yes, lots.” When he asked if it was anyone he knew, I had to answer “Yes, you know most of them.”
He seemed to find the idea titillating and almost appeared to admire what I’d done. He even jokingly asked if he could watch next time. But I now know he wouldn’t really be okay with me kissing another girl. Only a dumb sexist could see it as anything different to me kissing another guy. And that’s partly why I don’t think it’s okay anymore, either.
Sometimes you don’t want to know the answer. Many guys have been to prostitutes. I don’t like finding out that they have — but my first boyfriend’s sexual repertoire would have been rather small without their professional help. But you ask anyway, don’t you? Perhaps mainly imagining you’ll get told a reassuring “no”.
And in your mind you imagine how it worked. And what they were like. And whether every time they drive past that neon-lit building or see the adverts in the classifieds, they think about going back one drunken night.
I guess being a girl can be tough in that way sometimes. You can’t just go pay for sex like guys can. It gives them power we don’t have.
I always, always refuse to answer the size questions. And you should too. Good ways around it include: “It depends. Everyone changes size” or “I don’t really remember much about him” or the real passive aggressive zinger “Why? Do I feel too big?” (Resort to this only if you really want to know. Guys, the only right answer to that one is “you are perfect”.)
Questions about affairs? Well, if you lie, you’re untrustworthy. If you don’t, you’re a potential cheat. I think the only way to handle past deviations is to be very honest. You need to explain why it happened, so your lover can be sure he, too, won’t fall victim to your wandering eye. And explaining why you behaved like a total jerk can be hard and humbling work. Believe me.
I don’t ask if he fantasises about my friends. I’m convinced he must — how couldn’t he? For Christ’s sake, I’ve fantisised about half of them myself! I just never want to hear him admit he does. Instead, I let him off the hook by admitting to it for him. When it comes up in discussion with someone and he is standing within earshot, I make sure I say, audibly, “I’m sure he fantasises about my friends, because they’re hot, and as long as nothing happens, that’s okay.” And I mean that.
But what’s the point — I mean, why on earth ask at all?
Well, you will always want to really and truly know someone. It is half the reason you’re still sleeping with them, and not shopping around, or already secretly sleeping around. You want everything to be clean and honest between you. But finding out some things can strangely scar your love if you find out the wrong way.
The last thing you want to feel ever, is a slight twinge of disgust, a slight feeling of distrust to smirch the romance and kill that shiny, arrogant lust you so treasure. My friend Jinty wrote a poem that I always thought was about this conundrum. There were some lines in it that I think I remember almost right: “Ballet step on the ravine / I dance carefully / Always.”
You’ve got to go there, in other words. But it’s worth trying to do it without falling flat on your face and making yourself ugly to your lover forever.
And if you ask me? The only safe questions are probably “Who is your best lover ever?” or “Who gives the best head?” Safe, because I know I wouldn’t be sleeping with anyone who wasn’t the best I could remember.
This is not, by the way, an objective evaluation of anyone I’ve shagged. You see, a male friend of mine points out that the only really honest answer to the question “What’s the best blow job you’ve ever had?” is actually, “The last one.”