Don’t talk about your ex.
Don’t. Talk. About. Your. Ex. If you start to feel emotional, LEAVE. Go home. Cry in your car. Not in her, his bed. It really sucks and it’s not fair.
Jeff came over, Jeff looked at my books for an hour. After we finally got started, Jeff banged me for a solid 45 seconds and after his orgasm gazed off into the distance and started waxing about his ex. Who he moved in with after knowing her for two weeks. With his kid. Who cheated on him. Who got into bar fights. He got misty.
This puts me in a weird spot. The dude is having a moment, obviously, and we’re all riding this crazy train together. I want to be supportive. At the same time, we’re supposed to be fucking; I’m not your therapist. So if you find yourself in rocky emotional territory, get it together or get out.
Don’t point out your physical flaws.
This means don’t hide behind sheets or turn the lights off. He wants to see, so let him. The cellulite, the belly, the bat wings, the saddle bags, the love handles, the thunder thighs—they look different to him. Really, they do. Don’t point out your least favorite physical attributes. Don’t ask him for reassurance. Just imagine you’re somebody (you think is) hot and go crazy.
Guys, similarly…your cock. If it’s small, don’t call attention to it. Don’t apologize. Don’t bemoan. Rock what you got. Nobody’s going to hate you for it.
AND IF S/HE DOES…it is terrible juju and out-and-out crappy manners to say anything less than complimentary about any of your lovers’ attributes. If you reach in his drawers and pull out something that disappoints you, keep it to yourself. If half of her boobs come off with her bra, oh well. Maybe she gives really good head.