Damian's Lair: Beerly Capable

Love advice from the Scene's resident literary lotharioDear Damian: My boyfriend gets a couple beers in him and suddenly he's the amorous, insatiable lover who first won my affections three years ago. Problem is, after four or five cold ones, he (pardon the expression) peters out. So there's a two-beer window of opportunity there, and after that I'm left to my own devices, so to speak. Is this common? Has it happened to you? How do I take advantage of the love-enhancing properties of fermented hops without falling victim to its hazards? Or, as my friends and I put it, how do I solve the “lager rhythm”?St. Pauli GirlDear SPG: Like the Riddle of the Sphinx, Zeno's paradoxes and the enigma of Donald Trump's hair, you've touched on a subject that has mystified the ancients, puzzled the experts and ruined more than a couple of frat parties. For some men, the social lubricant is just that—a harmless aid to dissolve the inhibitions. But for many others, once these inhibitions dissolve, so does any sense of self-control. One beer leads to the next, and the next, and before long, your erstwhile Romeo is body-surfing naked across a Tabasco-covered Slip 'N Slide as he makes a home-audition video for Jackass 3. Of course, for me—as in all matters of love—it's a significantly different situation than for the normal male. My powers for pleasuring women are so extreme that my partners often prefer that I have at least seven or eight malt beverages, at which point my preternaturally excessive testosterone levels dwindle to, say, the virility of a 20-year-old Tommy Lee on a three-day Viagra bender. Men often tell me they would give anything to have my unusual sexual gifts, but I try to explain that with great staying power comes great responsibility. At times it’s a burden—my prodigious skills are so overwhelming that almost instantly, I bring my lovers to a level of pleasure that is more than they can bear. At least that would explain why they all beg me to stop after just a few seconds.But for your circumstances, I have a few suggestions. First, if you're at home, the obvious solution is to keep only a couple of beers in your fridge. But if you're out at a bar, after your man downs numero dos, start flirting with the hottest guy within eyeshot to make him jealous, so he grabs you and runs out the door. If that doesn't work, accidentally knock beer No. 3 on his lap so he has no choice but to go home with you or look like he wet himself. And if that doesn't work, and he still chooses to drink himself into oblivion—well, just email  damian@nashvillescene.com. My BlackBerry is always on, and, in the extremely unlikely event that I'm not previously engaged, I'd be glad to meet with you to discuss a possible solution. Over a beer. Or seven.