What-EVER

I know, I know, I'm not supposed to respond to people giving me unsolicited advice about my sex life. I know, I know, that's my writing and they don't know "the real me." But really - can we all read the last paragraph of this and marvel at the lunacy? My body is not a car, neither is my mind or my heart, thank you very fucking much. It's funny to me the people who read whatever they want into what I think and write, when I am so far removed from that it's like being in a dream watching yourself. If I've learned anything it's that I have to be honest with myself and true to myself and that is, in many ways, all that matters. Not in a selfish way, but in a self-assured way. I'm sure I'll have more to say later about this once I take a step back, and my response is so NOT for Mr. James D., but for anyone else who actually has something thoughtful to say. It amuses and saddens me when people try to put their values onto other people, like we are all stick figures carved from a mold. Which, mind you, was my entire point in writing the two virgin columns, and I'm much prouder of the fact that people like Wendy Shalit and Dawn Eden and Jason Illian who I, admittedly, differ on many counts from, got the points I was trying to make and respect me for it. How's this for comedy? I don't care about intimacy. It actually does make me laugh because if there's anything I care about, it's my relationships with other people. That IS my fucking life, thank you very much and I'm so, so lucky to have so much intimacy, both in my current relationship and in the many brilliant, beautiful, honest, caring people who I count among my friends. You know who you are, and that's what matters, NOT having someone size me up like a g-ddamn car in a parking lot.

Village Voice letters to the editor, November 14th



Letter of the Week

Re Rachel Kramer Bussel's "Like a Virgin" [Lusty Lady, October 25–31]: You don't value intimacy. It makes no sense to be more timid about sleeping with someone you actually love than sleeping with a stranger. What do you have to offer when it's time to commit to someone you actually love? Nothing but the fun of telling them about all the people you fucked whom you didn't care about. Control yourself until you're ready to commit so you can really feel special about having sex with someone you love.

Flirting: Staring at the car in the lot.

Hugging: Getting in and testing out the comforts.

Kissing: Starting her up.

Sex: A reckless drive on a rocky road, chipping the paint, over-revving
the gears, scaring the fuck out of the salesman. Bringing her back with well over a hundred miles on the odo. Moral of the story: Buy it before you drive it. It won't sell as well after it's been driven into the dirt.

James D.

Bensalem, Pennsylvania