Dear Dale:

I’m married. Have been for about ten years. Things were pretty sweet at first. Sex whenever I wanted and pancakes every Sunday morning. But that’s all gone now. Now all I get is nagging. That and complaints. Why is that? Why is my wife always angry at me?

Signed,

Where have all the pancakes gone?

Dear WHATPG:

I understand your feeling. It’s easy to feel victimized when your wife stands in front of the TV and scolds you for forgetting to take out the garbage. But, as it says in The Book of Tao, that ancient Chinese self-help book, the thing that your wife is angry about is not really the thing that she is angry about. You may think that the reason she has blown a gasket is because you came home drunk and, not only did you piss all over the toilet, made a game of it by trying to write your name in urine on the floor.

But you’d be wrong. No, odds are, the real reason is that, like most men, you’ve been taking her for granted. You faked romance to get laid and now that you’re married, figure you can just kick back and relax. But that’s a mistake. Because romance is a fire that must constantly be fed and the real source of your wife’s anger is her suspicion that you no longer care for her.

So show her that you still do. Take her out for a big night at Henry’s Hot Dog Emporium, buy her a beer at your favorite dive bar and suggest a threesome with your girlfriend. You’ll be glad you did. Because it’s little things like that that warm a woman’s heart, cause her to break out in a big smile and drop that knife she’s holding. Truth is, it’s never too late. All you have to do is, as Frank would say, try a little tenderness. Hope this helps.

Sincerely,

Dale

Hi. If you’ve made it this far, you probably liked the story. So why not check out some others at my Medium page? https://medium.com/dear-dale

Why is my wife always angry at me? was originally published in Dear Dale: on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Dear Dale:

My boss went to this seminar about the importance of listening and now, that’s all he ever talks about. Which is ironic since he never shuts up long to let anyone else say anything. Why are some people all talk and no action?

Signed,

Tired of hearing about it

Dear TOHAI:

Because it’s easier than doing it. Quitting smoking, losing weight, pulling off the perfect crime… They’re a lot harder than you think. So rather than put in the effort to achieve their goal, most people prefer to just talk about it.

Fortunately, I don’t have that fault. No, I’m the silent type, the sort of guy who, if you invite me over for a barbeque, clocks your brand-new lawn mower but says nothing. And then one day you wake up, look out your window and it’s gone, stripped of its parts and sold on the black market to the Russians to aid them in their battle against freedom and democracy.

Now, I know some people think that’s a bad thing, that we should help the Ukrainians by refraining from our natural American instinct to make a buck but I say screw that. This country was founded on theft and genocide and I see no reason to turn our back on that, especially if it’ll help pay my bar bill.

So next time your boss starts droning on about the importance of listening, don’t alert him to the irony of the situation. No, just nod and think of other things — like that brand-new car of his and how easy it would be to hot-wire. You’ll be glad you did. Because facts are wasted on fools and the best revenge is one that puts money in your pocket. Hope this helps.

Sincerely,

Dale

Hi. If you’ve made it this far, you probably liked the story. So why not check out some others at my Medium page? https://medium.com/dear-dale

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Dear Dale:

I hate the Olympics but my wife likes figure skating so we watched some. Talk about boring. It’s just ballet on skates. Can’t people see that? And the other sports are just as bad. Saw a bit of ski jumping. All they do is slide down a hill, fly through the air a few seconds and then land in the same spot every time. I kept waiting for one of them to crash but they never did. The only real sport is hockey but even that’s a drag because the ice is too big and there aren’t enough hits. Why do people like the Olympics and how can we make it better?

Signed,

Fed up with figure skating

Dear FUWFS:

It’s called nationalism. Most people don’t give a rat’s ass about any of those sports. How could they? They’re boring as hell. Just the medals. How many does my country have? It’s like war, but without the killing.

Just ask Hitler. He had an Olympics, back in ’36. In Berlin, with racist rallies and Nazi flags everywhere. No wonder that black guy, Jesse Owens, ran so fast. He wanted to get the hell out of there as soon as possible.

As for why it’s so boring, I think I’ve figured it out: they’re too good. Ever watch kids play baseball? It’s so much more fun than the pros because they make tons of mistakes. Always dropping the ball or throwing it to the wrong guy. Half of the time, they don’t even know what they’re doing.

So we need to slow the athletes down a bit. With drugs.

Aren’t they always the answer?

But not the kind that make you better. The kind that fuck you up. I’d love to see a figure skater on shrooms try a triple axel. Wouldn’t you?

Or an LSD luge. With no helmets. I want to see the fear in their eyes as, ripped on acid, they go barreling down the hill at ninety miles an hour.

Or speed skaters on meth. Sure, they’d go faster. But just think of all the accidents. Like roller derby on ice.

Why that isn’t an Olympic sport, I’ll never know.

As for hockey, it’s great. But imagine how much better it would be if, every time a player returned to the bench, he had to toss back a shot of whiskey. Or vodka. Or tequila. Anything, really. So long as it’s hard liquor.

Just think of all the penalties that would cause. Boarding. Cross-checking. Charging. Maybe even a bit of spearing or the occasional hit to the head. What they lose in skill, they’ll gain in aggression. Because, let’s face it, that’s the problem with international hockey: not enough fights.

So next time your wife makes you watch figure skating, get ripped first. With a dozen beer or a couple hits of acid. Preferably both. You’ll be glad you did. Because that’s the only way you’ll ever enjoy it. Hope this helps.

Sincerely,

Dale

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Dear Dale:

I’m childless as far as I know anyway and don’t spend much time around kids but I got this nephew who’s eight and sometimes get roped into doing things with him and his parents like go to this place where kids can see what it’s like to be a grown up one with a job anyway something cool like cop or fireman and he chooses lion tamer so they give him a hat and a whip and put him in this cage and close the door and at first he just stands there with a big smile on his face cracking his whip at nothing but then they open another door and a huge lion comes leaping out. Poor kid was so scared he pissed himself. Call me soft-hearted but I don’t think kids should be exposed to that sort of thing. What do you think Dale? Should kids be exposed to shocking things?

Signed,

Think of the children

Dear TOTC:

First off, I’m going to have to disagree with you about cops. I’ve had a lot of experience with the police, most of it bad and let me tell you: they are not cool at all. Just try offering one a hit off your hash pipe after being stopped for drunk driving and you’ll see what I mean.

As for fighting lions… I’ve done it but not for money. I went to the zoo drunk once and, for a joke, climbed up onto the roof of the lion cage and taunted the beast below but the bars must’ve been a bit rusty because next thing I knew I was lying in a big pile of cat scat so I leapt up, whipped out my belt and snapped it in the face of the snarling feline.

Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever had an experience like that but let me tell you: when you’re all alone in the lion’s den covered in crap with your pants down around your ankles and desperately trying to hold off a four-hundred-pound lion with a tattered old belt… Well, let’s just say shit gets real pretty damn fast.

Fortunately, an employee with a tranquilizer gun happened to be passing by — the baboons had been acting up again, repeatedly banging one another in both broad daylight and full view of a kindergarten class and something had to be done to dampen their libidos — and he quickly put the big cat down.

Needless to say, I was grateful. So much so I took him to Slee Zees, my local strip club, and bought him a drink and a lap dance. How was I to know he’d fall for Scarlet, the raunchiest stripper of the bunch, leave his wife, quit his job and follow her around North America with a diamond ring the size of your knuckle in his pocket? Poor bastard finally blew his brains out in some place called Saskatoon. I still get hate mail from his wife.

But that’s neither here nor there. The real issue is whether or not kids should be exposed to shocking things. To which I say yes. Now, I know a lot of people disagree with me, think they should be sheltered from the horrors of life but look what that’s gotten us: millions of unfeeling gamers with thumbs the size of turkey legs who think that killing is easy and death, just a brief blip before pressing restart. No wonder they’re so badly behaved.

Compare that to kids who’ve suffered: the orphaned, abandoned and abused. Cancer victims, chimneysweeps and Cardinals fans. Which is why I prefer the company of child soldiers. They may steal your coke and gunpowder to make brown-brown but they, at least, know what it’s like to take a life.

So, to all you weekend dads out there with insensitive offspring in need of an attitude adjustment, next time you take them to the zoo, lead them to the big cat enclosure and toss them over the fence. You’ll be glad you did. Because not only will it shock them out of their complacency, they’ll have one hell of a story to tell their friends. Not to mention their therapist. Assuming, of course, they survive. Hope this helps.

Sincerely,

Dale

Hi. If you’ve made it this far, you probably liked the story. So why not check out some others at my Medium page? https://medium.com/dear-dale

Should kids be exposed to shocking things? was originally published in Dear Dale: on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Dear Dale:

I have a prostate the size of a grapefruit which makes peeing difficult so I go to a doctor once a month and they give me this cup but no matter how hard I try I can never fill it and I’m worried the women working there look down on me because my sample is so small. What should I do?

Signed,

Tiny puddle

Dear TP:

I know exactly what you mean. Truth is, real men fill the cup right to the top and women will judge you accordingly. Which is why I always chug a beer just before my test. Sometimes even in the waiting room. You’d be surprised the effect that has. Women love that devil-may-care attitude and there’s nothing that says I-don’t-give-a-shit like openly drinking in a doctor’s office. Hell, a real man doesn’t even go to the doctor. He just waits for the disease, cancer or whatever, to consume him and then blows his brains out in the comfort of his garage. So next time, take a six pack in with you and crack one right under their noses. You’ll be glad you did. Because, although some of the chicks may pretend to be disgusted, deep down, they’ll be impressed. Hope this helps.

Sincerely,

Dale

Hi. If you’ve made it this far, you probably liked the story. So why not check out some others at my Medium page? https://medium.com/dear-dale

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Dear Dale:

I’m a widower. My wife died a couple months ago and since my pension is small I had her cremated and her ashes stored in the columbarium at our church. It’s been tough but I’m getting through it. Figured I’d get the niche next to her and we’d spend eternity together but when I asked the pastor about it he said it was gone. Some guy who’s always had the hots for Edith scooped it up the second she passed. I couldn’t believe it. Asked if he could bump the guy down a few spaces since he wasn’t even dead yet but he said no. Seems all sales are final. Told me the next one over was available and asked if I was interested but I don’t want that. Why would I want to spend eternity trapped in a threesome? With that jerk in the middle! What should I do? How can I stop him from banging my wife in the afterlife?

Signed,

Columbarium cuckold

Dear CC:

That’s quite the conundrum. Have to admit: I’ve never thought of that. Partly because I’m not married — not anymore, anyway — partly because I don’t belong to a church — although I did meet Jesus once after taking a dump in an elevator — and partly because, when it comes to disposing of my remains, I’ve always leaned towards sky burial. You know, what the Zoroastrians do. Haul a corpse up a hill and let the vultures go to it. The ultimate in eco-friendly.

And I didn’t know the church was cool with cremation. I thought you had to do the dirt thing: coffin, plot and tombstone. Largely because of that bit in the Bible about how, after return of Jesus and the Last Judgement, all good god-fearing Christians will get a new, better body and, since God doesn’t like ashes, you have to present the old one, or whatever remains of it after centuries of lying in the grave, as a trade-in.

I’m also touched by your desire to spend the afterlife with your wife. Most guys get the itch to move on after a few years but not you. No, you want to be with her till the end of time. Which is really quite remarkable since “till death do you part” only made sense when most folks were dead by thirty. These days, of course, people live much longer — some even hit a hundred — and most marriages go stale long before that. So the fact you want to spend eternity with her is impressive. Either that or extremely masochist.

Threesomes, on the other hand, I know. I’ve had a few, mostly paid for, and they were all pretty good but none of them involved another dude so I can’t say what that would be like. My guess is it would suck. I know some guys are into double-teaming chicks and who am I to say that’s wrong but it’s just not for me. I like to have a woman’s full undivided attention, even if she is just getting back at her husband or half-asleep.

As for giving him the heavenly heave-ho… Sorry but I think you’re stuck with him. The guy cockblocked you fair and square and, as we all know, eternity is forever so he’s never going to give up and go away. But you could buy the niche above her. That way, in your threesome, you’re doing her missionary style and he’s standing beside the pair of you with his cock in his hand.

Now, I know you probably don’t want that either but what can you do? Even a small church can have up to two hundred niches in its columbarium, which is quite a crowd, so even if most of the dead are sleeping or watching TV, a few are always going to be up and alert to the fact you’re banging your wife. So I say embrace it: be proud of your pecker, its virile afterlife and the fact that, unlike some unlucky stiffs, you’ve got a partner forever.

Or do you? Because, as the marriage vows clearly state, till death do you part. Which means, the second you die, the shackles of monogamy fall away and you’re free to bang whoever you please. Not that that stopped me while I was married but it’s nice to know you’ve got God’s A-okay for it. They say everyone makes God in their own image and I do the same for heaven: to me, heaven is the Playboy Mansion on orgy day, with everyone’s limbs intertwined like a celestial game of Twister and God the Father, who I imagine looks a lot like Hugh Hefner, siting in a comfortable chair in his pajamas with a pipe and a big glass of whiskey as he benevolently watches his children frolic. Hell, on the other hand, is a place with no genitals, where folks rub up against one another like frogs and no one ever comes inside another. If I ever wake up and my cock and balls are missing, I’ll know the Devil’s afoot.

So forget about spending the afterlife with your wife. You’ll be glad you did. Because, although it may seem like a good idea now, after a few thousand years, you might change your mind and wish you’d explored other options — like that hottie a few niches over. Thank God for chicks that die young. And don’t worry about your wife. Odds are, by then, she’ll feel the same. So why wait? Accept that death is the end of your marriage, give your wife her freedom and let her bang whoever she pleases — if my version of heaven is correct, she probably already is — and do the same yourself. Find a hooker with reasonable rates and go to it. Besides, who knows? Maybe there is nothing after the grave and eternity is just the cold, dark emptiness of space. In which case, all the more reason to kick up your heels now. Hope this helps.

Sincerely,

Dale

Hi. If you’ve made it this far, you probably liked the story. So why not check out some others at my Medium page? https://medium.com/dear-dale

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Dear Dale:

I saw this thing on TV about host clubs in Japan. Chicks go to bars and pay a shitload of money to hang out with handsome young guys. Like prostitution but there’s no sex and we’re the whores. What’s that about?

Signed,

How can I get in on that

Dear HCIGIOT:

I saw that too. Thought at first it was for older women.

There’s a long history of that, of middle-aged women paying young studs to give them the banging their husbands can’t or won’t.

(I’ve serviced such ladies many times myself but always for free. Just the kind of guy I am: generous.)

But no: turns out it’s for young chicks.

Well, that’s feminism for you: used to be women sat at home by the phone, waiting for some young fool to call them up and ask them out on a date.

Either that or go to sleazy bars and let themselves be picked up by scumbags like me who promise them the moon, bang them once and then never return their calls.

But, for some reason, they’ve gotten tired of that.

So now they actively pursue men. Personally, I don’t mind. I like it when a chick goes down on me without being asked. Shows initiative.

Unfortunately, not all women are into sex. Most of them, believe it or not, prefer love. You know, that thing we dudes fake to get sex.

And the Japanese, in their infinite perversity, have figured out a way to accommodate that.

Which shouldn’t come as a surprise considering there’s a long history of that, of guys going to bars and paying chicks for conversation.

What they call geisha.

Now, when I was young, I just assumed they were whores, same as the rest, only high class, which, to me, meant being able to do something extra special with your tongue.

Turns out I was wrong. Turns out they don’t actually have sex with the dudes. Hell, they won’t even let them look down their kimono.

(Not that there’s much to see: Japanese chicks are notoriously flat-chested.)

And then, after we kicked their butts in Dubya Dubya Two, you got hostesses: modern girls, in cabarets and clubs, who entertain you royally.

But even they don’t sleep with the clientele. Just pour them drinks, light their cigarettes and listen to their problems.

Bartenders basically, but without the tips.

But, instead of spitting in your drink — which is what Bob, my bartender, does whenever I stiff him — they smile and tell you wonderful you are.

That and sing with you.

(This is the country that invented karaoke, after all.)

It’s expensive, but a lot of fun.

Now, just like everything else we men invented for our pleasure — smoking, drinking and serial killing — chicks are starting to do it too.

So some bright dude started up a male version of that, where chicks come in and have their emotional needs met by a handsome young guy.

And here’s the kicker: without him hitting on her.

Basically, they’re paying men to not have sex with them.

May seem strange but think about it: a woman comes home from work and wants to talk about what a hard day she had but all her boyfriend can think of is how to segue from that to separating her from her panties.

And, believe it or not, most women aren’t stupid. They know we’re just trying to get laid and it annoys them.

So why not go to a club and spend a few bucks on a good-looking guy who will actually listen and sympathize?

(Chicks have jobs now and some of them actually pay more than minimum wage.)

Besides, are we really any better? I spend half my salary in strip clubs.

(I’m sure you do too.)

And how often do we get laid there? Never. It’s the last place you’ll find sex. You’d have better luck picking up chicks at a Bible study meeting.

(Tried that once, back in my born-again days. Met Jesus after taking a dump in an elevator and took that as a sign. Started going to church and ended up banging a college girl in the parking lot and for some reason, the pastor took exception to that. Well, it was his daughter. Banned me from the barbeque he did. Which was really unfair since I had already listened to his sermon and only fallen asleep once. So much for turning the other cheek.)

And yet we go, over and over again. Because there’s about watching a naked woman shake her tits on stage or rub her snatch against a stripper pole that’s inherently appealing — even if it doesn’t end in orgasm.

(Except maybe later, at home, in the privacy of your mind.)

In fact, for a serial cheater like myself, it’s the safest place to be.

(I tried explaining that to my wife. How, by going to strip clubs and spending most of my money there, I was doing my best to be faithful. This is for you, honey, I would think, as I stuffed a bill into a stripper’s crotch. Sadly, I could never convince her. So I stopped going and slept with her sister instead. Now, you tell me: is that really any better?)

So forget about it. You’ll be glad you did. Because keeping Mr. Friendly from springing into action while surrounded by hot young chicks is hard work and those guys deserve all the money they get. More, actually. Because on top of not getting laid, they have to sit and listen to women whine. Hope this helps.

Sincerely,

Dale

Hi. If you’ve made it this far, you probably liked the story. So why not check out some others at my Medium page? https://medium.com/dear-dale

Why are women paying men to not have sex? was originally published in Dear Dale: on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Dear Dale:

I’m a young woman. I don’t think I’m particularly attractive but everywhere I go, men hit on me. I’ve tried dressing down, wearing conservative clothes and no makeup, but it makes no difference. They just keep trying. At bars, banks, coffee shops, concerts, libraries, swimming pools, gas stations, little league games, pet grooming salons and even church. In the middle of a funeral! Why are men always hitting on me and how can I get them to stop?

Signed,

Not interested

Dear NI:

Clearly, you’ve got it. And men want it. Which is far from unusual. Because women have always been the gatekeepers to sex.

Problem is, we men never know whether that door is locked or not.

Unlike animals, which have a specific mating season. All a male has to do is look around him: if the flowers are blooming and the trees have green leaves, it’s time to get it on — with any female close enough to climb onto.

Not us. We humans can have sex anytime. Or never. Which, sadly, is the case of most men. Unless of course we pay for it.

(Which explains the enduring popularity of prostitutes.)

With dinner, drinks or a lifetime of servitude.

(Also known as marriage.)

So we have to be vigilant. Keep our eyes and ears open to any sign of female willingness, that the drawbridge of your drawers is about to come down.

That and put ourselves in a position to benefit: by hanging out in sleazy bars, getting you drunk or lurking about the exits of a Chippendales show.

Unfortunately, some guys, in their eagerness, fine-tune that to a hair trigger: to them, a homeless woman urinating in an alley is a come-on.

And there’s really nothing you can do about that.

But you can make yourself less desirable by wearing an earthy scent: musk, moss or patchouli — preferably so strong it brings tears to our eyes.

Or, if you can’t handle smelling like a skunk, go for something floral: tuberose, jasmine or gardenia. The sort of thing old women wear.

(Only the weirdest of pervs wants to do his grandma.)

Or, if you really want to discourage a guy, wear cologne. Nothing turns a man off more than a deep voice, a large Adam’s apple or a masculine odor.

(Unless of course he’s gay. In which case he won’t hit on you anyway.)

So go ahead. Soak yourself in the strongest, least appealing scent you can find. Pour galloons of it over your head if you have to. You’ll be glad you did. Because women aren’t the only ones turned off by a bad smell. We just have different ideas of what that is. Hope this helps.

Sincerely,

Dale

Hi. If you’ve made it this far, you probably liked the story. So why not check out some others at my Medium page? https://medium.com/dear-dale

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Dear Dale:

I’m a university student and my major is engineering. It’s interesting and I hope to get a good job, one where I make lots of money. All my friends are the same. We spend our weekends sitting around, eating chips, drinking soda and playing computer games. Thing is, I met this girl. She’s hot and I really like her but can’t understand anything she says because she’s a philosophy major who questions everything. Like yesterday. We were in the cafeteria having a donut and she asked me how I knew my donut was real. Because it tastes good, I said, figuring that would be the end of it but then she started talking about some guy named Berkeley and how everything was just an idea in the mind of God and it was so confusing I couldn’t enjoy my donut. Have you ever dated a philosophy major and what should I do?

Signed,

Feet on the ground

Dear FOTG:

Unfortunately, yes. Years ago, back when I was young and foolish, I met this chick who was crazy about philosophy. Kept talking about Occam’s razor, which I thought was a beauty product. Thought she shaved her pussy and was really looking forward to hitting it so imagine my disappointment when her bush turned out to be as big as Joe Thornton’s playoff beard. I still did her of course but not with the same enthusiasm.

As for getting her to act like a normal person… sorry bud but that ain’t ever going to happen: once someone catches the philosophy bug, they never recover. It’s incurable, like herpes, HIV or being a Cubs fan.

Some people have even wasted their lives on it. I can’t tell you how many screaming matches I’ve had with cabbies about Plato’s Cave. Sometimes, I actually get out and walk. Either that or pass out on the shoulder, which has an unfortunate tendency to attract cops.

But you know what they say: if you can’t beat them, join them. Either that or slash their tires — my favourite way of dealing with people who piss me off, especially bartenders who refuse to serve me.

So become a nihilist. Wear a turtleneck, smoke Gauloises and tell her life is meaningless. You’ll be glad you did. Because, odds are, it’ll turn her on and, before you know it, her panties will be hanging from your PlayStation. Just don’t expect her to be clean-shaven down there. Hope this helps.

Sincerely,

Dale

Hi. If you’ve made it this far, you probably liked the story. So why not check out some others at my Medium page? https://medium.com/dear-dale

Have you ever dated a philosophy major? was originally published in Dear Dale: on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Dear Dale:

I’m a young guy with a problem. Every time I go to the washroom, people try to look at my penis. It’s not that big or strange looking but they can’t keep their eyes off it. Old people, young people, even girls. I see them hanging out by the door pretending to wait for a friend but I’m not fooled. I’m especially worried about kids. I’m scared to death one of them will be traumatized so every time I take a whiz I stand so close to the urinal I’m almost inside it. Why are people always trying to sneak a peek at my penis?

Signed,

Penis paranoid

Dear PP:

I understand your feeling. No one wants to be labelled a weenie wagger.

(Just as Dino Ciccarelli.)

Especially around kids.

I should know. Made the mistake of passing out in a sandbox with my pants down once. Woke up to the sound of some kid shouting “stranger danger!”

(If I had a nickel for every time I’ve heard that, I’d have retired years ago.)

Needless to say, the cops were less than sympathetic. As was the judge. Had to do a little time for that and let me tell you, once my fellow inmates found out what I was in for, they were less than friendly.

(Which defeats the whole point of prison: networking with other criminals.)

So, yeah sure, I understand your concern. But it is a washroom, right? How can you take a leak without exposing yourself? You can’t.

Seems to me the onus is on the observer. This is your private time. A chance to clear your head as well as empty your bladder. If they intrude upon it with their eyes… well, that’s their problem.

As for kids and chicks… they’re just curious. I was always trying to sneak a peak at people’s privates when I was young. Girls, mostly.

But now, in these LGBTQ-friendly times, we have to make an allowance for gay guys who also want to take a gander. It’s only fair.

So next time you saunter up to the urinal, don’t hide your junk from others. Pull it out and wave it around for all to see. Spray the walls if you want.

(I have, more than once while drunk, and it’s a great feeling.)

You’ll be glad you did. Because, as my bartender likes to say whenever I get into a stupid fight with a stranger, all the world’s a cock show and us, merely participants. Hope this helps.

Sincerely,

Dale

Hi. If you’ve made it this far, you probably liked the story. So why not check out some others at my Medium page? https://medium.com/dear-dale

Why are people always trying to sneak a peek at my penis? was originally published in Dear Dale: on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.