Ozzy Osbourne - Trust Me, I’m Dr. Ozzy

Dear Dr. Ozzy:

I have an embarrassing fetish (it’s surprisingly common). I want my girlfriend to put me in a diaper and treat me like a big baby. My girlfriend and I are compatible in every way, but I’m terrified to ask her about this. What would you do?

This one’s a bit far-out even for Dr. Ozzy. I mean, there’s plenty of time later in life to wear adult nappies, so why speed it up? Having said that, I had the opposite problem to you in my drinking days: Sharon was always telling me to wear nappies, ’cos I used to piss in the bed so often. I also used to shit my pants on a fairly regular basis, which ain’t very fucking nice. I suppose if you start doing the same thing, your girlfriend might make the same suggestion, saving you the whole “I want to be a big baby” conversation.

Dear Dr. Ozzy:

I’m 29 years old and have become increasingly dependant on seriously hardcore porn to get turned on. Is this going to ruin my performance with real women?

No. Women didn’t stop getting knocked up when the internet was invented—although maybe their husbands don’t pester them for sex as much, ’cos now they’ve got online filth on demand, 24 hours a day. The trouble is, even the XXX stuff gets boring very quickly: it’s not like there’s ever a surprise fucking ending. The trick is to ration your exposure, not try and find stronger and stronger stuff. If it ever gets to the point where there’s crapping or donkeys involved, trust me, you’ve gone too far. Otherwise stop worrying.

Dear Dr. Ozzy:

I’ve just returned from a bachelor party in Las Vegas. Being married with kids, however, I’m concerned that the stripper with whom I, er, “relaxed” in a private booth might have given me oral herpes—we didn’t do anything improper, although she did feed me strawberries and cream, mouth to mouth. Any words of wisdom?

Forget oral herpes, Brian, it sounds to me like you’ve come down with a classic case of married man’s guilt. That’s the problem with strippers: they don’t just take your dough, they also make you feel like the worst husband in the world the next morning. And if you think strippers are bad, by the way, try groupies : I used to get so out of my mind with guilt, I’d be down the doctor’s office every day of the week, thinking I had some new disease. Then I’d finally break down, tell Sharon everything, and I’d get a houseplant over the back of my head, which meant another visit to the doctor’s. As for the good old herpes: your GP will give you a test to see if you’ve got it, but the virus can lie dormant for years, so there’d be no telling if it was from the stripper or, say, an unwashed glass you picked up in a pub. I used to get outbreaks myself when I was stressed out or tired, but I haven’t had any for years. One thing I wouldn’t recommend is confessing to your missus. Believe me, it’ll only make your life worse.

Dear Dr. Ozzy:

Out of the blue, my husband has suggested bringing another woman into our bedroom, to liven things a bit up after twenty years of marriage. I’m not keen. What do you think?

Sounds fair enough to me—as long as what’s good for the goose is good for the gander. If your husband gets to bring Debbie from accounts to bed, then you should be able to bring along Dave from marketing. But that raises the obvious fucking question: if you both want to sleep with other people in your own home, what are you still doing together?

Dear Dr. Ozzy:

I’ve noticed that I can’t last as long in bed with my girlfriend as I could when we first started going out with each other three months ago. Now I’m worried that if I don’t fix this, she might leave me for someone who can fully please her. Any advice?

Send her to me! Seriously though, Ethan, this kind of thing is a big problem when you’re a rock star. I remember one time when me and the guys from Black Sabbath were staying at a Holiday Inn in America, three groupies came to my room—one after the other. You’d have to be superhuman not to run out of steam during a session like that, especially after number two (and it’s not like there was any Viagra around in those days). Fortunately I was a young man, so I activated the Special Reserve Tank and finished the job. But you’ve gotta bear in mind: that was just one wild night, which ain’t exactly the same as a long-term relationship. When it goes to a steady girlfriend, it’s natural that things simmer down a bit over time. Wait until you’re married: you’ll be in and out within five minutes while your missus is still doing the crossword.

Dear Dr. Ozzy:

A friend recently showed me some photos on his mobile of him boning a very hot girl. The problem is, the girl is a good friend of mine. Should I tell her what he’s doing, or keep my mouth shut? I guess what I’m asking is, are you a “bros before hos” kinda guy?

Send me the pictures and I’ll decide. Seriously, though, this ain’t a question of some bullshit code of male honor. If she’s a friend, and you want her to stay your friend—tell her. Simple as that.

Dear Dr. Ozzy:

I’m 54 years old and sex mad. Does the lust ever fade?

If you’re a red-blooded man, I firmly believe that the only time you’ll ever get any peace from down below is when you’re in the ground. Until then, the second brain below your waist is gonna be making its own decisions, whether you like it or not. I mean, I’m almost 62 years old, and I still love a good old game of “Where’s the Salami?” Getting anyone to play it with me is another matter entirely. Luckily, as you get older, your memory goes, so if you see a sexy woman and start to feel randy, you can’t remember what it was you were excited about five minutes later. That makes things a lot easier.

Dear Dr. Ozzy:

What’s the nicest way to let a girl know she smells bad, especially, uh, y’know…“down there”?

Try throwing up during sex. As they say, actions speak louder than words.

Dear Dr. Ozzy:

Is it ever acceptable for a married man to get a lap dance at a strip club?

If you’re gonna tell your wife about it— no . If you’re gonna NOT tell your wife about it— yes . But they’re stupid places, strip clubs. I know people who spend most of their lives in them, like kids in a toy shop. I’ve never seen the attraction, personally. I mean, every female performer in a titty joint has been up close and personal with about ten other guys in the same night. How is that a turn-on? If someone’s so desperate to see a pair of naked breasts, I suggest they buy a copy of Playboy and save themselves $500.

Dear Dr. Ozzy:

I’m a 28-year-old virgin (ouch). I recently met a girl and we tried to make love—but I couldn’t finish. She accused me of indulging in solitary pleasures and wearing “the big chap” out. Is this possible? We tried again in the morning but my problems just got worse, and I couldn’t even achieve match fitness. What’s wrong with me?

This could just be nerves, Chris. Also, if you were drinking before your first attempt, that might have stopped you from reaching the fireworks ceremony. Then again, maybe you are “wearing the big chap out”—you don’t exactly seem to be denying it, do you? So my advice to you is calm down, don’t drink beforehand, and cut out the five-knuckle shuffles.

Dear Dr. Ozzy:

My husband—a builder—has always enjoyed it when I’m dominant in the bedroom, but the other day he asked me to call him a “good little girl” while we were making love. Should I be worried, or do all men have weird fantasies?