Dear Joely: The Case of the Wandering Toe

Dear Joely,

I am fortunate to live in one of the nicer areas of Sydney with my husband and our two young children. All is as well as can be in those departments.

We are very good friends with our neighbours across the street. They are a couple, about ten years older than us. Every month or so, the four of us get together for drinks and some food. We alternate between our houses as the venue.

We both have spas in our yards and, at the end of these evenings, we usually end up having a tub together, with more drinks and chats. We don’t wear clothes on these occasions. This isn’t for any racy reason. It just came about because none of us normally wears clothes when in our own spa, so we figured: why would we start on these social evenings?

Nothing is made of the nudity, and we all really enjoy chatting together in the warm tub under the stars.

All good so far, but the problem is this: the male neighbour has taken to touching me underwater with his toe.

I don’t mean an accidental touch. I mean he is putting his toe between my legs and looking for encouragement.

This is incredibly awkward for me. If I call it out when it’s happening, that’s the evening — and possibly future get-togethers — finished. Or he could deny it.

If I speak to the female neighbour about it alone — we are very close as friends — she might feel awkward or jealous, or not believe me.

I told my husband, and he seems more amused than anything.

I don’t want to encourage him in any way. I like things, apart from this problem, as they are.

I learned of your page from a different friend and thought — hoped — you might be able to help.

Yours

Unwanted Toe Attention

Dear Unwanted Toe Attention,

What a beautifully civilised arrangement you have created: good friends, warm water, drinks beneath the stars — and one man’s big toe attempting to start a separate social programme.

Let us clear up the only part that appears to be confusing anyone. Being naked in a spa is not an invitation to be touched. Your neighbour knows the difference between an accidental brush of the foot and deliberately placing his toe between your legs while watching to see what happens next.

This is not a rogue limb. He is conducting a small underwater feasibility study:

Will she react?
Will she say anything?
Might the toe be permitted to return?

The answer to the final question must be no.

You do not need to turn the evening into a neighbourhood emergency or suddenly announce, “Whose toe is that, and why is it there?”

Although it would settle the question rather efficiently.

The next time it happens, move away, look directly at him and say quietly:

“Please don’t do that again.”

No nervous laugh. No apology. No long explanation that allows him to pretend you have misunderstood the fascinating migratory habits of his foot.

If he denies it, simply say:

“Good. Then it won’t happen again.”

That is all you need.

I would not begin by speaking privately to his wife. He created the problem, and it should not be handed to the two women to manage between them over coffee. Speaking to her first also gives him the opportunity to deny it before you have ever addressed him directly.

Your husband’s amusement deserves a second conversation too. Tell him plainly that you are not flattered, entertained or secretly enjoying the attention. You feel uncomfortable and sexually intruded upon, and you need him to take that seriously. He does not have to storm across the street with a pool noodle unless that is what you want, but he does need to stop treating it as a saucy neighbourhood anecdote.

You are worried that objecting may spoil the evening or end future gatherings.

But darling, the evenings are already being spoiled. You are sitting in warm, bubbling water wondering whether a toe is about to make another covert border crossing while everyone discusses schools, renovations and interest rates above the surface.

That is no way to relax.

One calm, unmistakable boundary may be enough to return the foot to ordinary civilian life. Should it happen again, I would retire the shared spa evenings altogether. Not because nudity caused the problem, but because one guest has shown that he cannot be trusted with the arrangement.

Warm water, cold drinks and neighbourly nudity can coexist perfectly well.

They simply require all four adults — and all forty toes — to behave themselves.

Yours, with both feet firmly where they belong,

Joely

More dilemmas? Read more letters and replies in the Dear Joely advice column.

Dear Joely: The Vixen Across The Road

Dear Joely,

Emotionally, I'm all over the place at the moment and I could really use your advice. I've been married for seven years to my husband whom I love very much. We're both 36. We're both Geminis. I work for a bank, he's a photographer. We live in a nice house, in a great area. We don't have kids yet, but I'd quite like to start trying soon.

Over the road from us lives a woman I would call a vixen. She's about 45 I'd say, and stunning. Lots of auburn hair and a very curvy body. Rumours in the neighbourhood are that she hosts certain get-togethers at her place. These involve couples and 'swapping'.

We're not into that. But the other day, when I got home from work, she was talking to my husband at our front door. When I asked him later what they were chatting about he avoided the question. I tried a few times, and it was like I'd never even asked. This made me cross.

I pushed the point again when we were in bed later. He eventually admitted that we'd been invited to a gathering at her place Saturday week. I got snippy. He shook his head and turned away from me. We've not mentioned it since.

I'm scared. I want to be the only one holding my husband's car keys.

Heckles Up

Dear Heckles Up,

First of all, let us be calm.

You have not yet lost your husband to the auburn enchantress across the road, nor has he been discovered dangling upside down from a chandelier with a stranger’s house key in his teeth. At present, all we know for certain is that your husband was approached at the front door by a woman with a reputation, and instead of answering his wife honestly, he chose the communication strategy of a nervous schoolboy.

That is annoying, yes. But it is not yet an orgy.

The real problem here is not the invitation itself. Adults are invited to all sorts of things in this life, from gallery openings to mild depravity. The problem is that your husband avoided the question. Then avoided it again. Then eventually coughed up the truth only after you pushed the point in bed, by which stage the whole thing had already acquired the atmosphere of a diplomatic incident.

That matters.

Because once a person starts acting evasive over something sexual, however hypothetical, the imagination does what imagination does best: puts on heels, pours a drink, and gallops straight into catastrophe.

You did, however, strike gold with this line:

“I want to be the only one holding my husband’s car keys.”

That is deranged in exactly the right way. I salute it.

But your real task is not to seize the keys. It is to seize the truth.

At a calm moment — not in bed, not in a huff, not while glaring through the curtains at the vixen’s hydrangeas — say this:

“The invitation is one thing. What bothered me was that you dodged me when I asked. I need honesty from you, even when the subject is awkward. So tell me plainly — what did you feel about it, and why didn’t you just say so?”

And then, crucially, listen to the answer.

It may be that he was embarrassed, flattered, intrigued, awkward, or simply trying to avoid upsetting you. None of those are ideal, but they are not all equally sinister. The point is to find out which one it was.

Also, a useful question to ask yourself: are you frightened that he wants to go, or frightened that some part of him was tempted by being asked? Those are not quite the same fear, and knowing which one is haunting you will help you speak more honestly.

If he tells you clearly that he has no interest and simply handled it badly, then good. You can both laugh grimly about the swingers over the road and move on with your lives.

If he becomes slippery, defensive, or tries to make you feel ridiculous for minding, then I would pay much closer attention. Not because the neighbours are wicked, but because evasion is often more revealing than temptation.

In short: don’t catastrophise, but don’t ignore the wobble either. Talk properly. Demand honesty. And remember that the woman across the road may be a vixen, but she is not the issue if your own front door is sound.

Yours, in defence of candour and proper key management,

Joely

More dilemmas? Read more letters and replies in the Dear Joely advice column.