Ken & Ariel

Dear Ken & Ariel: My ex and I broke up in 2001, when we were in our early 20s. I thought he was the love of my life, but apparently, I was wrong. However, after a relatively long hiatus that allowed me to heal, we became friends. We haven't lived in the same city since 2002, but I still consider him my best guy friend. The problem is, ever since late 2006, we have been sleeping together, talking on the phone every day, and hanging out with each other when we can. This has made me revisit all of those old feelings. I somewhat addressed this with him, saying that I don't feel just platonically about him, and while he said he doesn't feel platonically about me, either, he admits that he doesn't particularly "feel that way" about me. Yet, the sex and the daily conversations continue. I don't want a relationship with him (or anyone, for that matter), and yet, I find myself discounting other opportunities because I prefer him to anyone else, new or old. What the hell is happening here, and more importantly, what the hell am I supposed to do about it?

Ariel Says: My friend Petra really liked this guy, but she suspected he might be gay. Never one to be discouraged by such trifling details, she tied him to the bed and proceeded to fuck him six ways from Sunday. Now, they live happily ever after... except he insists that she wear a strap-on and calls her "Bob." So basically my dear, as much as you try to deny it, you are back with the ex. Call it "friends with benefits", call it another version of recycling, but if it walks like a duck, quacks like a duck...you know the rest. What the hell are you supposed to do about it? That's entirely up to you. Are you happy? If you are, stop writing to us and have fun. If you're not, it's time to take off the sex-colored glasses and realize if you keep doing what you're doing, what you got is what you gonna get. At least, that's what my gynecologist tells me.

Ken Says:Hey, you know how you can’t leave dogs alone with any open containers of food because the little fuckers will just sit there and eat the whole goddam bag, even past the point that they’re full? That’s kinda like how guys are when it comes to sex. If it’s there and it’s available to us, we’re going to continue to hit it until such time that it is taken away from us or we reach that magical age when we become more interested in hedge funds and Vick’s Vapo-Rub than attempting to maintain an erection for more than six minutes. So to answer your question of “what the hell is happening here,” I can tell you it’s a textbook case of “guy being offered free, no strings pussy and guy, being a guy, accepting said pussy.” As for what the hell you’re supposed to do about it, well, let me think; you’ve got two people who admit they don’t want to be in a relationship with each other, live in different cities and hook up every time they’re together. As much as I hate to stand in the way of a dude and his freebies, it’s probably time to recognize this guy for the Fuck Buddy he is, and move along. Or just enjoy the ride. Christ knows a reliable fuck buddy is more valuable than gold these days.

Dear Ken and Ariel: Whenever we go out somewhere, my boyfriend's always asking me to "slut it up." As in wear incredibly tight pants or skirts, low-rise jeans with my thong hanging out, or any top that shows off my boobs. I don't want to brag -- I've got a great body -- but even I like to wear a sweater or long coat sometimes. But he won't let me. Is there a problem here?

Ken Says: Speaking as a guy, I can say that from a very young age, we’re more or less genetically programmed to try to one-up each other. As kids, we want to have the coolest bike, the most baseball cards, and the sweetest video game set up. As teenagers, we want the nicest car, the best sneakers and the most effective fake ID. Then we segue into adulthood and most of us realize life is full of enough bullshit without trying to outdo everyone else, so we drop the game and just live our lives and try to carve out a respectable living for ourselves. But there’s always gonna be that guy – most often spotted in a too-tight, pink Abercrombie & Fitch shirt with the collar popped -- who never quite grew up, and feels that a night on the town with his woman is a chance to parade what he’s got in front of the masses. But instead of waving around his talking G.I. Joe to make everyone wish they were him, he’s essentially using your ass. You’ll find him in front of Riley’s Roast Beef in Chelsea with one hand in a bag of pizza rolls and the other down his girlfriend’s pants. Or dry humping her against a wall on Lansdowne street, one eye carefully scanning the crowd to make sure everyone knows that he’s making out with this Extremely! Hot! Chick! Does it work? Fuck, I’m a red-blooded straight male; if it’s out there and it’s wrapped up tight, I’m gonna soak it up. But for the most part, these guys just come across as desperate or pathetic. And, by extension, if you continue to willingly partake in such bullshit, it makes you nothing more than a talking G.I. Joe. But with sweeter tits, of course.

Ariel Says: Hey, you slutty hottie. I ain’t mad atcha, so go on with yer Monistat-jeans self. I love your confidence, love your healthy body image, and love that you ain’t afraid to show it off. Good, good, and good--EXCEPT when you say “he won't let me.” Excuse me? I'm sorry, I thought this was 2007. I thought this here land was called Ameri-CA. Freedom, happiness, and the pursuit of fashion. Or something like that. If you don't understand my displeasure, let's flip it for a minute: say he told you to wear long skirts, thick woolen stockings, high-collared dresses, perhaps a burka. You'd be out faster than you can say “Mahmoud Ahmadinejad.” I personally have avoided any restrictions on my clothing since I left Catholic school (and I never obeyed those damn nuns anyway). May I suggest you do the same.

Want fake advice? Contact kenandariel@barstoolsports.com. Or visit www.kenandariel.com for daily madness.