News Queer Abby
posted by March 20 at 9:23 AMon
Hm. When I read “Dear Abby” on Monday my first reaction—as a fellow advice professional—wasn’t, “My God! That man’s wife was raped! And Abby just pissed all over her face!” It was, “That letter was total bullshit.”
Here’s the first part of the letter:
I am 27, and my wife, “Marybeth,” is 26. We recently went to my folks’ house for supper. That evening a heavy snowstorm was starting and, because the trip home is 30 miles, we decided to stay overnight.
My old bedroom is upstairs, as are the rooms of my brothers, ages 25, 24 and 22. The guest room is downstairs. Because the room is quite small, and Marybeth said she felt a cold coming on, we decided I’d sleep in my old room.
The next day, while we were driving home, Marybeth told me she was glad I had come to her room after all and made love to her. Abby, it wasn’t me! She had mistaken one of my brothers for me in the darkness. We are all about the same size and build.
Okaaaay, Savage Love readers, how do we know this is a fake? Well, for starters, there are the ages of the protagonists: 27 and 25. Not 37 and 35, not 47 and 45, but 27 and 25—which just so happen to be, for most folks, the years of maximum hotness. Fake letters to advice columnists about sexual issues always involve the young and hot, never the old and average. Because the author of the letter wants readers to find the scene he’s describing just as titillating as he does. Next there’s a cascading set of circumstances beyond the control of the letter’s author: the sudden snowstorm, the long drive, the wife’s cold forces them into separate bedrooms, the husband’s old bedroom is upstairs but his brothers’ old bedrooms—all three of them—are in the basement with the guest room. Oh, and all his brothers came home for dinner too—all three of them. Oh, and those three brothers? All also in their twenties, all presumably home for dinner—at mom and dad—what? Six bedroom house? (Let’s not even address the odds against a woman not being able to tell her husband from his brothers—even in the dark, even with a cold “coming on.”)
Here’s the ask:
I have talked to each of my brothers (they all know about this), but they won’t say who it was for fear of causing a rift between the guilty party and me. I told them that unless I find out who it was, there will be a permanent rift between all of us. (Marybeth still doesn’t know it wasn’t me.) How do I handle this?
This is the kind of letter you handle with the delete key, Abby.
What ultimately gives this away as a fake is the fact that a huge number of straight men—those sickos—fantasize about being cuckolded by male friends, coworkers, or siblings. When a reader spins improbable/impossible set of circumstances—the whole family gathering for dinner at mom and dads, a snowstorm, everyone spends the night, wife doesn’t realize that she’s fucking one of husband’s brothers, etc.—and the payoff/problem amounts to a common heterosexual male fantasy scenario (in this case cuckolding), well, that should set an advice professional’s bullshit sensors flashing.
So, good ladies of Jezebel, you needn’t be overly concerned for this man’s wife. I can assure you that this man’s wife wasn’t raped because this woman doesn’t exist. That letter was the work of a lonely cuckold fetishist—a man without a spouse to cuckold him—with an overactive imagination. (A man that spent Monday furiously beating off over Abby’s column.) Yes, yes: Abby took the letter seriously, and accepted its premise, and her answer was clueless. But let’s not get too worked up over this.
Because it didn’t happen.