Probing men's anal fixation

FINDING THE ONE DOESN'T HAVE TO MEAN AN END TO SEXUAL PIONEERING.

Sometimes I wonder if people like Renee are merely plants -- dropped into my life for the express purpose of exposing me to some aspect of sexuality that I hadn't considered in any great detail. Renee was part of the Bored Cat Women clique: impossibly beautiful, sexually courageous females who slunk around my social periphery and batted my questions around with impassive amusement.

The last time I'd talked to Renee, she'd breezily related a tangle with a penile pierce and a pair of scissors. Now I'd heard from the other Bored Cat Women that she was in love, had changed jobs and had moved -- all in the space of nine months. After a few weeks of phone tag, we made a plan to meet late one evening at Farallon -- a beautiful and thoroughly expensive restaurant in downtown San Francisco. That was typical of Renee, who was known to match her surroundings to her appearance. I tried to imagine her downing shots of whiskey with Harriet and me in one of the old-man bars we frequent when in New York, and I shuddered at the thought.

"I'm late. I know, I know." I practically steamrolled into her. She was sitting at the bar by herself, calmly deconstructing a sculpture of seared ahi tuna and crispy lotus root with a heavy silver fork, and merely leaned over and kissed me on the lips.

"It's OK, sweetheart," she said, and with Renee, it actually was. It was rare to see Renee upset about anything. "Do you know Rick?" she said, as a GQ-type bartender began pouring me a glass of red wine. "He and I used to work together at Plump Jack's. Thanks, Rick."

"So," I began, feeling flustered and blown around next to these creatures of cool. I tugged on my cardigan, opened a few buttons, then buttoned it right up underneath my chin. "You've moved. You have a new job. And I hear you've met The One. Congratulations."

"Thank you," she said dreamily.

"No more pierces and tangles for you then."

"Nope," she said.

"No more pioneering of your body by some sexual woodsman."

"Uh-uh. Well, there has been some pioneering --"

"So it's just same old, same old, from here on in." I patted her hand. "Welcome to the real world, where sex isn't nearly as fun as what you're probably used to. But that's OK -- because you're in love! Seriously, I am happy for you." I clinked her glass.

"I am in love," she said, with a disgustingly happy gleam in her round eyes. "I bought a strap-on the other day for us," she continued. "Did I tell you about that? It really got me thinking."

I should have known. "It got you -- thinking? I wouldn't say that would be the purpose of a strap-on, but please, do share."

N E X T+P A G E +| They're usually afraid to ask