Dear Dirty Talker,

I become more infatuated with your possibilities with every e-mail I get from you. Next time you decide to let a lover take you from behind while casually describing the sex to another lover over the telephone, won’t you please dial my number? Or maybe that’s a bad idea. The truth is, these days I can’t even pick up a telephone without getting slightly aroused. I have conversations with women working for my bank, at the other end of a toll-free number, and I become convinced that cocks are slipping into them from behind and driving them wild. This woman is naked, I think to myself. I am completely convinced, and I wait for her to begin describing the fucking and drive me mad with desire.

This is what you’ve done to me, little screamer. Some would say you’ve merely enhanced my fantasies. Others would say you’re driving me insane. I mean, talking to women on the telephone and waiting for them to tell me how they’re being fucked  is insane. But don’t think I’m not also enjoying it.

So our next experiment: fuck two dozen people at once, preferably in public, and tell me all about it.

You see the problem? No matter what I propose, you’re likely to pull it off and add some other twist. Two dozen? Please. Why not four dozen?

So forget the two-dozen-person orgy. I’m beginning to realize that what you may need is not encouragement, but restraint.

And so here’s my actual next experiment for you, in which you will be restrained. More precisely, consider yourself married from this moment forward. Dream up whatever backstory you like. Make him a prince or a politician or a boxer (all three?) if you get a kick out of that, and wear a simple ring on the correct finger to signify your eternal devotion to the man. Then, whenever you next go out socializing (which knowing you likely means in the next five minutes), make sure that the men who pay attention to you are made to pay attention to the ring.

Ultimately your challenge with this marriage experiment is to have fabulous sex with a man who pleases you (you know I wouldn’t be so cruel to want anything but that for you, my lovely), but before you get that man into bed, he must know that you are “married”. Will this put him off? Will he require convincing? Or will those extraordinary breasts of yours (oh nostalgia!) blind him to any potential ethical concerns?

I’ll be impatient to hear all the details of how you break through these restraints that I’ve (briefly) put upon you.

Your admirer,

X

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