You're listening to a Stranger podcast, www.Thestranger.com.

Hey, this is Dan Savage, and you've downloaded the Savage Love podcast, the once-a-week, out-loud version of my sex advice column, Savage Love.

The number here, if you want to record a question for a future podcast, 206, 201, 2720.

Feel free to call with your questions.

Or you can just call and yell at me for occasionally recording a podcast with a hangover,

which I swear to God, I promise you guys, is going to happen again sometime.

That's just the way it is. All right, is going to happen again sometime.

That's just the way it is.

All right, let's get to the calls.

Hi, Dan.

I'm a male in my late 20s, and I'm about to get married to a really wonderful girl with whom I get along really well and have terrific sex.

In my relatively brief window of single life before her, I had a great lung.

I made of the sexy time with all manner of girls, boys, trees, and rocks.

I feel pretty satisfied and really ready to move on to the next stage of life.

But I've been thinking back to a lot of those times lately, and there is this one sexual experience I continue to feel very guilty about.

And I wanted to tell you about it, so that you could tell me if I deserve to feel guilty about it or not.

So a few years ago, I reconnected with a girl who I had, like, quote, unquote, dated in seventh grade, and she had blossomed into quite the brick house.

So on a totally casual basis, we embarked on this just week-long marathon of the most

awesomely depraved sex acts.

And we had a great old time together before she left to go back to the West Coast where she

was now and she just left me sitting in my house with my cock like glowing and

humming like a spent nuclear fuel rod. It was terrific. But here's the bad part. We grew up together

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