The most intense encounter happened two weeks ago, where we basically threw all our cards on the table and spent the whole afternoon with our faces two inches from each other talking about how much we want each other but can’t do anything about it. Why? He’s got a girlfriend of three years. I have not met this lucky girl at any of his social functions yet (which is probably not a coincidence), though several of my cohorts in my program have, and the general consensus is that I’m smarter, more attractive, more interesting and have far more chemistry with the boy.

My reason for not already having tied him to my bed is an extreme reluctance to be That Girl. You know what I mean: the temptress, the homewrecker … that girl. (I’ve seen the damage Those Girls can do.) It’s a combination of karmic protectiveness and morality: I wouldn’t want someone doing this to me someday. My friends’ reactions run the gamut: They say he’s already cheated, or at least he’s already cheating in his mind; that he needs to break up with his girlfriend; that “if you can wreck it, it’s not a home” (my personal favorite); or simply that I need to not encourage him to act this way. But I am way fucking sick of taking care of other people’s behavior and I’d like to trust that if I pursue something that honestly makes me happy, I’m doing the right thing for the world.

This is where I get into tricky territory — I’m convinced that this means so much because I’ve invested a deeply creative/spiritual interest in this boy. After years of emerging from a Catholic upbringing, I finally see my sexuality as a creative force, not gross, uncivilized lust or a series of biological impulses. Something brand new and glorious pulses in me, and for now I pour it into the new play we’re working on, writing songs (which I’ve never done before), journaling, photography, decorating my room, opening myself up to new friendships, learning the cello for my role in the play. I don’t necessarily see a distinction between these forces — sexual and creative — anymore. Not with him, at least, because he’s an amazing actor who is absolutely riveting. And his brilliance binds me to him with the potential of creative possibility, and I know he understands the difference between just getting off, and actual communion. He’s opened up my whole being, and he has no idea how much he’s affected me.

So. What do I do? We’re totally straight with each other all the time, so sitting him down and examining his relationship is not that far-fetched. But is it out of line? He’s indicated that he certainly doesn’t plan on marrying his girlfriend, and he speaks freely of all kinds of desires and then backtracks with, “But what I have with my girlfriend is great.” At this point I think they may be a bit stale. (I was incredibly stale for two years of my relationship; I can see it a mile away.) Or I’m projecting. And I’m not looking for the next great love of my life, just someone who wants me in a completely different way than I’ve ever known. I think I should at least let him know how much he’s flooded me with electricity and passion and thank him, but I wonder if it’ll just complicate matters if reveal this and then still can’t act on it.

I Don’t Want Him to be the Best Sex I Never Had

Dear Mother Theresa in Ireland,

It’s admirable that you’ve spent so much thought on this question, but the solution lies in action. Jump on him before it’s too late. It’s his decision what he does about his girlfriend, not yours. If he wants to cheat on her, he’s going to cheat on her.

Stop trying to be such a good person. If you try so hard to do the right thing that you do nothing, you’ll miss your chances to learn the truly important things in the only way they can really be learned. Let experience teach you. It’s not your job to do the right thing for the world. Such concern may seem righteous to you, but it also contains an element of youthful grandiosity. The world can take care of itself. You will only complicate the situation by trying to make all parties happy — him, his girlfriend, the world population. It sounds like you’re still doing what you said you want to stop doing: “taking care of other people’s behavior.”

You’re going to break a few hearts along the way. As long as you’re not breaking kneecaps, you’re morally and ethically in the ballpark. So I would try to get a little more down to earth in your thinking, trust your heart, and go for it.

Dear Cary,

I am 49 years old. I have a 15-year-old daughter. I’ve raised her myself. We started out on welfare, but I now have two degrees and am an administrator and occasionally an instructor at a major university (well, Big Ten). Father is not available for weekends, summers or much of anything and never has been. Believe me, I have implored him. You can just imagine how his negligence affects my daughter’s self-esteem and how frustrated I am in many ways.

I have not had one significant romantic relationship in the past 15 years. When lust gets the better of me, I have a short fling or a one-night stand, but truthfully, I’ve never known how to introduce someone to the sensitive dyad of single mother and only child. Moreover, call me a snob, but I have never gotten weak in the knees over the men around here. Like a relocated Chekhov sister, I ache daily for the New York City of my 20s and its noir delights.

Just recently I met someone here who does make me weak in the knees. He is 29, but I don’t think that’s the issue since in the past 15 years I have never dated anyone close to my age. (Men my age never ask me out.) Besides, I like who he is. But, alas, as our rowdy evening together wore on and I with drunken perspicacity asked him if he had a girlfriend, I learned that, yes, he does, and he lives with her. The situation he described was quite familiar. She won’t sleep with him. And he wants to be with me because he just loves everything about me, especially (maybe ending with) the way I look. I’m just a goddamned goddess in his eyes. And he can’t leave her because she’s extremely depressed; in fact, he recently had to escort her to a psych unit.

I was too drunk to dis him then, didn’t want to, and he did drive me home and come inside and look at the feral kitties I’m tending in my bathroom and he likes the posters and the artwork in my room (where we made out but didn’t have sex). He asked me to meet him a few days later.

But I just e-mailed him and said, upon sober reflection, I didn’t want to date an unavailable guy. (I also begged off because our date happens to fall on my daughter’s birthday — a fact I couldn’t wrap my mind around in my inebriation.) Did I mention too that at one time my daughter had a crush on this guy? I guess it all sounds very sleazy.

Nobody ever seems to have ideas about how one is honorable when one goes so long without. What does a 49-year-old babe do when all relationships pan out in such humiliating ways?

On the Verge

Dear On the Verge,

Well, it’s tough having a romance as a mother of a 15-year-old, but if you’d apply the same diligence it took to acquire two degrees, get off welfare and raise a daughter on your own, you can do it. It would make sense, though, to try to forge a stable relationship with a guy closer to your own age and temperament. Picking up younger guys in bars is probably not the best way to go about finding love.

If I were you, I’d try to get ahead of the curve; change this habit of waiting until you’re very horny and lonely and then pouncing. Instead, try to forge a routine, like getting groceries, based on the knowledge that you need love just like you need food. If you’re utterly surprised every time you get hungry, and have to rush out and buy food and eat it and then assume you’re not going to get hungry again, until the next time, when you dash out again, you’re kidding yourself and setting yourself up for these mad panicked dashes to the A&P. Rather, accept the fact that eating is a part of your life and try to work it into your otherwise hectic schedule: shopping, cooking, eating on a regular basis.

Apply that logic to your need for love, thrills and companionship. Consciously seek out someone. If it feels frightening, that’s probably why you haven’t done it yet. It will probably feel strange at first, but keep at it. You have to work at it. And if somewhere deep down you feel like you’re not entitled to have love because your husband left you and your daughter needs you, well, that’s not true. You are entitled to have love.

You just have to do the footwork.

Dear Cary,

I have a bad temper. I come from a family of women with bad tempers. We call names, we shout, we throw things, and at our worst, we hit people. We often say things that can’t be easily taken back. We have trouble leaving people alone when their capacity is overflowing.

In the past few years, I’ve done a lot of work on myself. I no longer call names or throw things or hit people, though I have a way to go. And about a year ago, I began dating somebody I’m crazy about but who is equally willful. I thought — and still hope — this relationship had a definite future. But while I pursue during an argument, he runs.

Though his childhood is riddled with conflict and even violence, he has no experience talking matters through to resolution. If there is no immediate answer and emotions become highly intense, he deems the relationship “unhealthy” and wants out. This happened once before, and now it’s happened again. Last time, he contacted me within a few weeks, we worked it out and eventually we got back together.

A bit of background: Soon after getting back together, I got pregnant. We were in agreement over terminating the pregnancy, but because I was still angry over him leaving before, and because I felt somehow entitled since I was pregnant, I instigated fights. I yelled and I accused and I said things that couldn’t easily be taken back, and often he returned the venom. Two weeks after the abortion, we got into another spat in which I suggested we were spending too much time together. He thought I wanted to break up (I didn’t) and said he agreed but refused to discuss it. I called him at work repeatedly, sent him numerous e-mails and left messages on his voice mail, all of which enraged him. I even tried to force him to talk by refusing to leave his apartment (he was out of town, and I’d been staying there). In short, I behaved like an ass. Predictably, he broke it off — by e-mail — saying we weren’t good for each other and couldn’t ever be happy together.

I left his apartment before he returned home, and I have since left him alone, other than to apologize by e-mail, but he won’t talk. What to do? Right now I want more than anything to patch things up but I wonder if it’s wise — or if it’s even an option.

The Chaser

Dear Chaser,

It sounds like you’re personally on the right track but this wasn’t the right combination. I’d suggest you write down what you learned this time and try again with somebody else. And when you start to have trouble the next time, look at your notes and see if you’re repeating your past mistakes. If you are, try to come up with new behaviors. As you continue to get better at controlling your anger, and you learn to pick better people, you’ll eventually find the right match.

It might be that while you’re making admirable progress yourself, you’re still picking men who exhibit the kind of characteristics you yourself are trying to overcome. When we’re enmeshed in inner struggle, sometimes people who aren’t struggling with the same thing can seem oddly hollow or insubstantial, and we’re only attracted to people who have our same problem. But that makes for volatile pairs.

So let him go, and concentrate on finding a man who knows how to fight but isn’t out of control. If you are truly a fighter, letting him go may feel like letting him win, so you may find yourself reluctant. You might want to keep at him until you win. But that’s not right. He’s trying to get away, and you have to let him escape. Your pursuit is not healthy, and it’s not ethical. He has the right to end it, and you have to respect that.

Dear Cary,

Simple modern etiquette question: Is it acceptable to ask for a date by e-mail?

Just Wondering

Dear Just Wondering,

I use e-mail a great deal to arrange to meet with people I already know, and I would assume that people use it frequently to arrange dates, but my sense of it would be that only if you already know someone face to face would you use it to ask for a date. And probably not a first date. If you’re trying to make a date with someone for the first time, I would suggest you use e-mail to ask for her phone number, and then call her. Then, after you’re better acquainted, I would think e-mail would be a convenient and useful tool for arranging further assignations.

That’s not to say it can’t be done; but people who ask etiquette questions are usually alert to nuances, and I think the nuances of first dates tend to favor traditional methods, and they favor a certain demonstration of effort. Everyone is nervous, and she’s going to have to form a narrative for her friends, and her friends might consider using e-mail to ask for a date just a tad tacky. Not horrible, but not gallant and suave either. Just a little lazy, a little careless. If you really want to shine, take the extra step. Go to some trouble. It shows you mean it.

Dear Cary,

I am 36, recently divorced (nine years together, four of them married), and two months ago my short but very passionate relationship with a man ended after he dumped me for getting “too serious.”

I have been set up on a blind date. There will be two other couples there, we’re going bowling, and it’s as casual and low-key as you can imagine. So why am I sweating? Because I haven’t been on a date in 10 years (never dated the guy who dumped me, just jumped in with both feet). I have not a clue as to how to behave. I like the idea of casually hanging out with someone, but beyond that it gets murky. What’s the etiquette? Are there any basic rules? Give me the man’s perspective, please.

Using the Hand Dryer on My Face

Dear Sweating,

Blind dates are so fraught with interpersonal awkwardness that you need a game plan and you need to manage your expectations. One way is just to stick to the bowling. Be cheerful, pleasant, interesting and kind. And then just bowl. And here’s an idea: Unless you really, really don’t like the guy, at some point before the evening is over, acknowledge to the guy that you and he both know that you’re on a blind date and it’s the world’s most exquisite form of social torture and allow that things might be a little awkward, and arrange for a second date — something casual, get together for coffee, something like that. That will give you an opportunity for a postmortem regardless of how things work out, so 1) if you both don’t hit it off you can sort of mutually acknowledge that, and 2) if one of you is attracted and the other isn’t, the one who is attracted can at least have a second shot at being charming. It’s a corrective to the inevitable distortion caused by the experimental setting.

Dear Cary,

I’ve finally met the woman for me and we are getting married this summer. At the ripe old age of 40 I have finally met the woman that makes me believe in love, romance and fate, all ideas that seemed more and more unrealistic as I grew older.

Now the woman of my dreams is showing me all the wonderful things I forgot to dream about. She even brings a child to our relationship. I adore this girl and treat her as my daughter. She calls me Daddy and I melt. When I’m with her I am so proud to be her father, I feel like telling the world!

At 11 years old and entering adolescence (a tricky time for all of us), she has grown curious about certain parts of the male anatomy. She often asks questions about my equipment that catch me off guard. I try to be reasonable and answer her questions like any good father would, but I can’t help but feel uncomfortable. Her mother only encourages these curiosities and has been asking me to show my member to her daughter. I’ve told my lovely wife-to-be how uncomfortable I am with this idea and she still insists I show our daughter my piece.

About a month ago, after much nagging, I agreed. While discussing the logistics of the viewing, wife-to-be said quite nonchalantly, “You can just take it out and let her play around with it.” At which point I retracted my earlier conceit to expose. Since then, wife-to-be has become a first-class guilt-trip travel agent.

This argument is one of the only arguments we have and by far the most frequently occurring one. Wife-to-be even uses it against me in our sex life, saying, “If you won’t show it to her, I don’t want to have anything to do with it.”

Her argument is that teens these days are experimenting with sex far too early, and that she thinks we should do anything possible to give her a proper sexual education and make her aware of all aspects of sex and sexuality. I have assured wife-to-be I feel the same way, but I just don’t feel comfortable with it being my penis that she sees. WTB counters that with, I want her to see one in real life, and I want it to be somebody that she loves and trusts, not some horny pubescent middle-school boy, who will probably end up putting it in her. What do I do?

Shy-Proud Papa

Dear Shy-Proud,

What you are being asked to participate in sounds very much like incest and child sexual abuse. If you adore this 11-year-old girl, if you would readily carry her out of a burning building or push her out of the path of a speeding car, then you must also find the courage to save her from this trauma. You must leave the relationship, postpone the wedding and contact a professional — a marriage and family counselor, a psychiatrist or licensed clinical psychologist. If you are already living together, move to a hotel or go stay with friends. Do not delay; do not equivocate. Get out of there. Run.

I know his M.O. because he used it on me initially. He talks about how he was abused, is very open about his ex-girlfriends, is very smart and well-read and witty. Girls tumble into his bed and then he disappears. It’s classic and lame and I can not really believe that people still get away with this kind of behavior. The problem is that I think I can change him; I’ve been around so much longer than the other women and he always comes back to me.

I know I should just be done with him, move on, whatever. But I run into him everywhere I go. I can’t make a quick run to the store without bumping into him in the aisle. (Our friends have started to get very snarky, with me being portrayed as some sort of martyr and him as some sort of randy devil. I tell them I don’t really care what he does, but I am a notoriously ineffective liar.)

I wonder if I don’t seek out men like this because I am looking for some sort of validation or something based on the fact that my father left my mother when I was 3 and I haven’t seen him since. Do I just look for someone who will eventually disappear on me to make sure I relive the whole daddy-trauma with every man in my life? And if so, if I find and confront my real father, will I then be able to have a functional adult relationship? Or am I doomed to a life of odd relationships with men I cannot stand?

P.S. The sex isn’t even that good.

Dear Isn’t Very Good,

If I could just boil this down: You’re doing something over and over that feels good at the time but you feel bad about it later. It bothers you that you can’t control it, and it bothers you that you make rationalizations that, when your mind is clear, you know are not sound. And so you ask if you are driven to do this by some powerful event in the past that has configured you in a certain unchangeable way, and you wonder if some dramatic event could undo this programming, or if you are doomed to live in thrall to this programming forever.

I would say you need a new way of thinking.

You need a new courage to see reality the way it is. In order to see reality, you need to use your imagination. Consider this: What if it was somebody you really admire doing this; what if she was getting everything she wanted out of it and could walk away from it when it ceased to interest her? What if she recognized that her thing for this guy was perhaps a personal weakness but she turned it into a strength by achieving some detachment from it, by shrugging her shoulders and walking away? What if she came to utterly accept that this guy is a worm, that the thought of “losing him” is not only trivial but meaningless because she doesn’t have him to begin with, that her friends can go fuck themselves if they don’t approve and that if the drinking — which seems to lead to these episodes — ever gets so bad that it’s truly unpleasant or dangerous she can always quit.

What if you were completely at peace with whatever you’re doing? What would you do then? Would you cease to find him alluring? Or would you find yourself comfortable with the degree to which you like him and the degree to which you have contempt for him? Would you begin to pity him or want to mother him or would you just become bored with his shallow and transparent games?

What I’m saying is that you need the strength to act, but you can only find the strength to act by taking the time to discover and admit to yourself what your own personal truth is about the situation. Once you find it, it becomes a powerful tool. Once you know your own heart, you can do anything. You don’t have to explain. You just act. But you have to find it yourself. I can’t do that for you.

P.S. You say you think this may be all about your father, and that the sex isn’t even that good. In a deep and twisted way, that makes sense: If you were having sex with your father, you wouldn’t want it to be all that good.

Dear Cary,

My girlfriend and I have been together for over seven years. She has been one of the most wonderful people I have ever met. Kind, thoughtful, bright and loving, she has been immensely patient over the time of our relationship, moved 1,500 miles to be with me and has been a stellar partner and friend. I love her and will always. Of course, we had problems. Sex between us had been literally nonexistent for nearly four years, and our differences — over politics, ways we communicate and different lives — became more pronounced in my heart and mind when I met another woman.

My new friend, with whom I became acquainted over a common interest and shared values, brought a spark back into my life I had long forgotten. Passionate and articulate, she stirred powerful emotions that, I later learned, were shared. I loved her when we first met and still do. We fell into a relationship (she knew about my girlfriend) and, through our agreed-upon carelessness, she became pregnant.

My news of this relationship and pregnancy with my girlfriend and family was, as you might expect, painful and shocking for everyone involved. Up to that point, I had been my family’s “good kid” and a seemingly solid partner. And the whole situation certainly wasn’t a cakewalk for the new person, who was also dealing with physical and emotional torrents as she decided to go through with the pregnancy. I prepared to move my own life to be closer to her and to embark on a relationship with a person who was to have my child.

At some point, the forces of others, stress and emotions conspired against us and derailed the potential relationship with my new partner. She broke off things and, amid the unraveling, chose to terminate the pregnancy. She was left to deal with her emotions about that decision and I was left to pick up the pieces of my life, though I had committed to helping her through the difficulties. Through all this, despite the advice of virtually everyone who knew, my seven-year now-ex-partner stood by me, offering her support and friendship despite what I had done. Part of me knew there were other motives — she desired a reconciliation — but her gesture was still wonderful at a time when I felt like my world had crumbled.

Shortly after the termination, my passionate friend said she still loved me and wanted to try again. Much as I appreciate my former partner’s loyalty, love and years together, I still love this new person, despite everything. There are things I am unsure about — from her flighty personality to her occasionally out-of-control temper — but she seems to be making inroads toward stability. I also have some insecurity that she will decide one day to push me away, as has been her pattern. Knowing that I care for her, she is now pressing harder for me to relocate to be near her.

My question is simple — am I freaking nuts? My head tells me this new person kicked me to the curb for auspicious reasons and I should make a better go at my passionless relationship and make up with my ex-partner before she comes to her senses. My heart wants to hold on to this new love, flightiness and all. It’s the eternal question, I suppose.

So spare me the yummy chai of kind advice and give me the hard facts. Karma owes me a spoonful of castor oil in that chai eventually. Why not here?

Possibly Squirrelly but Not a Chipmunk

Dear Squirrelly,

This whole thing was a disaster and you should clear out, move to another town and have a sign posted on your lawn warning others what happened in the last town you were in. And the sooner the better. Everybody acted foolishly. The woman who got pregnant and dumped you and then informed you she’d aborted the kid: Wow. That was a knifing. And your betrayed partner standing by you like Mother Mary: What’s she still hanging around for? She should have gathered her tattered pride and fled. But she’s still there offering “support” in the hope that you’ll come back to her? You’re not fabulously wealthy by any chance, are you?

Anyway, somebody has to have the guts to clear out and not come back and it might as well be you. So say bye-bye.

And in your new town with your new name and your new anonymous face, get some principles and live by them. Don’t drink and listen to old Smiths songs. Avoid martyrs and harridans. And if you have sex, use a condom. Better yet, use two condoms. You evidently can’t feel anything anyway.

Dear Cary,

This one may be more along the lines of emoting rather than asking for advice, but I really would like to know what you think.

I am 31, a transactional lawyer in a fairly liberal Southwestern capital city. I find that I’ve fallen in love with a woman who works in the same office building I do, though for a different firm (she is 34 and a securities trader).

She is everything I could ask for in a woman: intelligent, funny, ambitious, drop-dead (and I mean drop-dead) gorgeous, etc. We met through mutual friends at a New Year’s day gathering, and I’ve been goofy for her ever since.

My last relationship was with a woman five years my junior, who was in school for the whole, rather messy three-year off-and-on affair (I was already practicing law). I came to realize that that particular relationship was based mostly, as I think I remember you putting it in one of your previous columns, “intense sexual attraction between two very incompatible people.” Having had four years of a Catholic education, I continually question my motives, and after that one finally ended, I promised myself never to get involved again unless I at least saw the potential for a genuine love.

So, here I am. This one has potential for days. The problem is that she is slow-playing me like crazy — we go out maybe once or twice a week in a good week but always have an amazing time. I haven’t even kissed her yet, but she is very sexually explicit in her conversation with me, which drives me insane (i.e., she told me the other night that she’d like to perform a certain sex act with me during halftime of a football game — and that ain’t the half of it).

I’ve repeatedly expressed my attraction to and affection for her, and she has said she is also attracted to me and finds me sexy, but “is just not ready for something like that right now.” When we met, she was in the process of bouncing a live-in ex-boyfriend who is, as far as I know, history. Despite being one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen, she is not at all promiscuous (she claims to be able to count all of her ex-lovers on the fingers of one hand), which heartens me a bit, though it doesn’t lessen my frustration.

Between the time we spend together, which is great, there are long lulls in contact and communication, and I feel like I initiate everything (though it’s probably closer to 70-30). I really don’t want to blow this — I can see myself with her for a long time — but I constantly struggle with whether to push her toward a decision or to hang back and let it happen (if it ever does happen).

This woman is certainly worth the wait, but I am incredibly frustrated (to the point that I have vowed never to call her again on at least two occasions, only to break the vow within three or four days). I guess I need some assurance from her that when she does decide that she’s “ready for something like that,” I’ll still be around and ambulatory. In the meantime, I’ve ceased pursuing other women, which is indicative of how head-over-heels I am for her.

So tell me, just what the hell do you think I should do?

Champ to Chump, and Back Again

Dear Champ,

If this woman is a securities trader, she’s probably got more balls than you and me combined. The way you’re acting, she can hardly tell you’re there. You’re just some spectral presence paying for steaks. So be a man. Make your goddamned move. Kiss her hard on the lips. She’ll either slap you or fuck you. Either one would be an improvement.

Dear Cary,

My boyfriend and I have been dating for three and a half years. One year ago, he moved to Chicago to be near me. I love this guy and want to marry him, but he shies away from the question and won’t even discuss moving in together. Sometimes, he says things like, “We should travel when we retire,” which is confusing since I don’t know if he means together or separately.

He’s 28 and I’m 26 and I don’t know how much longer I want to stay with this guy if he’s not going to give some sign that he wants to tie the knot. He says for sure he wants to get married someday and also have children, but he’s not ready to say he wants to do those things with me. What should I do?

Hopefully He’ll Get Moving Soon

Dear Hopefully,

I don’t see why you don’t just propose to him: yes or no. But the women I’ve talked to find the idea alien; perhaps it would seem mocking or controlling, especially if you bought a ring. But life without cliffs to jump off of or back away from gets muddy and drab; it lacks contrast, and narrative drive. Things have to happen.

Barring a straight-out proposal of the take-me-or-leave-me variety, you could endeavor to understand what is going on in his head, and try to make your own assessment of whether he intends to marry you or not. There could be a lot of reasons he fears committing to you, and he could be resisting because he senses you’re pressuring him. You might be displaying an off-putting impatience. Or he may be the child of messy divorce and failed marriages and just be wary of repeating that kind of chaos and pain. But you won’t find out any of this if your questions are in the context of trying to persuade him, or trying to overcome his objections. He’ll stonewall. So seek first to understand who he is, how he feels and what he really wants. And then make your own prediction: What do you really think he’s going to do? Do you get the gut feeling there’s no future? If so, drop him. But if you really feel he’s with you in his heart, and he’s the guy, then while he’s buying time, you have to buy some patience.

Dear Cary,

I often get hurt and angry because I think my boyfriend is looking at other women. I’m afraid it’s going to wreck our relationship. He sometimes even says he doesn’t want to go out because he’s afraid I’ll get mad just because his glance “happens” to fall on what “happen” to be attractive women. And yeah, seeing as they’re in pretty much every ad, on every billboard, etc., I understand that he can’t just stare at the ground. I don’t even know if he is looking, really. Of course he must be, sometimes. And I have seen it happen, for sure, sometimes. That’s what they’re there for, after all. Just thinking of all of the images I see of women everywhere, sexy, often barely clad, in perfect lighting, and all done up for the cameras, I feel actual, physical pain. I’m so pissed at not being able to go out on a date with my boyfriend feeling able to relax, feeling like he wants me, only me, that I am the one he wants to look at for the whole of Just One Night.

I might be more sensitive than most women (but then again, maybe it’s just that I’m worse at hiding how I feel). But is it really unreasonable to feel the way I do? I don’t know if you, being a man, are the best person to ask. Men don’t have to watch their dates gazing appreciatively at other men all scantily clad and gorgeous on every poster. Men don’t have to compete with all that billions and billions of dollars can buy. And because you’re a man, I don’t know what, if anything, of any real help you can say to me about how it feels (or “should” or “should not” feel) and how I can (or should or should not) deal with it. I don’t know if I can trust you to give me a sincere, human answer to something that is generally derided but is real pain.

I’m unable to keep from wondering how often my boyfriend wishes he could touch this one’s breasts, find his way between that one’s thighs. Worse than that, I wonder how often he is truly enchanted by the sight of one of these women.

And I’m an attractive person to begin with. But that doesn’t matter. How can any woman truly feel good about how she looks, given all of this? How many women feel like I do but don’t want to admit it? Am I the only one ending up feeling miserable and crazy jealous over it all?

(And I’m sorry, but simple admonitions to believe that those images don’t matter won’t work.)

Jealous

Dear Jealous,

If you care about political justice for women, you have to look at the big picture. If your outrage is truly about equality, and this irritation with your boyfriend’s habit is just a symbol of that, then it is your duty to work toward tangible progress in the area of women’s rights and well-being. If you do not accept the challenge, if you do not turn your anger into something of use to others, then your complaint is nothing but childish petulance, isolated and impotent, worthy of no more respect than the arrogant demands of a Fifth Avenue matron. If you do not put it to good use, you will grow into a small, unhappy person.

It will take some work and some compromise, because politics is the art of the possible. But your only honorable option, if you feel this strongly, is to attack the culture and its symbols in a principled way.

And don’t attack your boyfriend. There’s no point in that. Instead, attack models — billboards of models that is, not actual models. Actual models will scratch you.

San Francisco spoken word was a cultural product in search of a business model, and we were artists in need of adult supervision. After a while it wasn’t the same. I quit just like you quit a band.

But recently, at the conclusion of a Media Alliance panel on editing, a woman came up and said she remembered a performance at the Sacred Grounds coffeehouse in the early ’90s where I did this piece she still couldn’t get out of her head, “Men at Work.”

I said I really ought to record that for Salon, and this is it.

– C.T.

For broadcast or other reuse, contact Adrienne Crew.

Things had been going downhill from a sort of low place, but no one was admitting it. At a very fragile moment, another man came into the picture. A nice, loving person, but like me in some crucial ways: impulsive, searching, adventurous. I moved out. The scenario was pretty “Eyes Wide Shut” and “Scenes From a Marriage.” I took a long trip to the other side of the world. I returned and tried to have a pure friendship with my boyfriend while secretly seeing the other man, finally consummating our attraction. The other man quickly saw that I wasn’t ready to move on and broke up with me. My boyfriend wanted to make our break more real and stop seeing me altogether. So what did I do? I went to our apartment to pick up some things, found my boyfriend there and, after a long and depressing talk, rolled on top of him, which determined that, in the near future, we would be together.

So, we are back together after a very half-assed break. Our problems haven’t been solved, but we are more aware of them. There is a painful weight in the air that only I understand. I can’t bear to tell him I was with someone else, but I wish I could. I wish that all the real shit and muck and horror could come out, that we could truly work through them and come out brighter and stronger, but it’s fucking unbearable. And because we are unable to talk about this, I know we have no future.

I mean, why couldn’t my boyfriend say, OK, Dear, go, run like the wind, explore the world, see other men, and I won’t hate you, you can call me, I’ll still be there. I can’t be a free spirit and be with him at the same time, and I can’t let go of him.

I Cannot for the Fucking Life of Me Make a Real Decision

Dear Indecisive,

Let’s be clear about what a decision is. A decision is a done deal. It’s not a bid, or a bluff, or an experiment; it’s a commitment to a course of action. When a runner fakes to the left, that’s not a decision, that’s a gesture intended to induce a decision by the opposition. The runner uses the fake to clear the field for himself; it’s a way of gaining power and flummoxing the opposition.

What you’ve been doing is throwing fakes.

The person who refuses to commit gains a temporary advantage; he can sit back and wait and see what the opposition does. But eventually, if you don’t commit to a course of action, you get crushed with singularly professional violence.

The only difference between taking a flight to Rome and breaking up with your boyfriend is that on the flight to Rome you can’t turn the plane around just because you start to feel scared about Portugal or rejected by London. When you make an adult decision, you stay on course, just as though there were a strong-jawed, mustachioed pilot up there saying, “Sorry, Ma’am, you bought your ticket to Rome, start speaking Italian.”

Your behavior so far has not been good. It sounds to me as if you have equivocated and practiced self-deception in order to avoid making decisions and following through on them. You are living in a world of suspended wish-fulfillment and unrealistic expectations; your boyfriend is not likely to say, “Fly, free spirit! I’ll always be here for you!” So what you have to do is stop pretending that things just happen to you. You are doing all this. Own up to it. If you don’t want to be married, don’t live as though you were married. If you feel trapped in your relationship, end it.

Buy a ticket to a breakup and get onboard.

Dear Cary,

I have been on a friendly basis with my oldest sister’s husband (he’s 55) … um, let’s call him Mark, since they got married some 25-odd years ago. She is in her late 40s; I’m in my early 40s and blissfully married to my husband, let’s call him Clark (he’s 52), for 21 years.

Despite many opportunities presenting themselves over the years, I have remained happily faithful to Clark, and I am certain he has been true to me as well. I had always just assumed Mark and my sister had a similar situation.

Recently I was on a business trip in the vicinity of their home and decided to take a side trip and visit them for a couple of days. One afternoon, my sister had to work for a few hours and the kids were at school, leaving me and Mark at home to amuse ourselves. Much to my horror, he asked me to have sex with him, and said he had been in love with me for years. This was accompanied by tearful lamentation about their sex life having been virtually nonexistent for the past year. I was not even remotely interested in consummating this one-sided lustfest, and dismissed the idea in as lighthearted a manner as I could. (I asked him if he’d ever seen “Hannah and Her Sisters” — he hadn’t.) A couple hours later, everyone came home, everything was fine.

So the obvious question: Do I tell my sister? Do I tell my husband? Do I tell anybody? If I try to put myself in her position I think I would want to know. However, I’m afraid if I go to her she won’t believe me, or will think he was just kidding (he wasn’t), or they will get in a big ugly drama of my making. I sort of want to tell Clark, but I’m not sure what his reaction would be either. In retrospect the whole scene was just really weird, and I wish I had reacted with more shock and horror, because that’s how I feel now. I am best friends with my sister and don’t want to jeopardize that. We only see each other’s families about once a year, but next time is gonna be weird. Thoughts? Advice? (Honestly, I feel better already just putting this in writing.)

I think I know that I just need to keep silent about this and hope nothing ever happens again … right? Thank you!!

Dear Hit On by the Brother-in-Law,

Yes, I think you are right that the damage and the costs of telling your sister would vastly outweigh any good to be gained from it. However, do not just try to shut it away in your mind. Instead, take it as evidence that your sister is in some sort of danger, and reach out to her. Become even closer to her, because eventually something is going to go wrong in her marriage, and she will need your support.

And if you find yourself waffling, wishing to tell her, and need to see clearly why you cannot tell her, consider: It would force her into an agonizing conflict: Either her husband is untrustworthy, or her sister means her harm and is trying to wreck her marriage. That would cause her much suffering with little positive result. If there is a way to inquire discreetly if there are problems in the marriage, OK. You would know best. But, in spite of what seems right, telling her would just be like blowing up a bomb in her living room.

Dear Cary,

About six months ago I met a girl at a function. We ended up spending the night together. I thought everything was fine, but the next morning she was quiet and aloof. I asked her what was wrong. She said, “You don’t want to hear this.” I pressed her about it, and finally she said, “You’re too small for me.” I was about to point out that I’m nearly 6 feet tall when I realized that she wasn’t talking about my height. There was no snappy rejoinder available to me at that time, so I dressed and left.

In looking back over the past couple of years, I’ve had at least three potential relationships that seemed to end once things got carnal. For the record, I measured myself at 4 and three-quarter inches, fully erect. There. I said it, albeit anonymously.

There isn’t much more to tell, other than that I’m fairly devastated. I now avoid places where sex generally is commodified. I go to movies, but not with dates. I drink more. I look at ads about implants and surgeries, but I cannot envision myself making that peculiar phone call. Does size matter that much? Do you think women have one of those threshold/roller-coaster signs — “You must be this long to ride this ride”? Or should I pretend nothing happened and ignore what she said, putting my trust in the human race and hoping for a better result next time? I’d appreciate your advice, though I’m ready for the jokes.

Not-So-Biggie Smalls

Dear Not So Biggie,

Well, size definitely does matter to some women in some situations, and to varying degrees, but there is no universal standard. While penis size occupies an especially powerful place in the psyche, it is, like many other things in a relationship, also a matter of personal taste. It probably has an exaggerated importance in the kind of casual settings where, as you put it, “sex generally is commodified,” but there’s no use ignoring it or pretending it doesn’t make a difference.

The key is to finding the role it does play in a relationship and not having it be a deal-breaker. If a woman is really crazy about you, she’s going to make exceptions. Not only will sex take its place as only one of many important things you do together, but the communication that comes of long acquaintance will enable the two of you to find things to do that make you happy that don’t necessarily depend on your having a great big impressive schlong.

There is a wealth of technical information about penis size available, and there are experts who know much more of the clinical details than I. But I would focus on assigning this particular fact about you its relative importance in your overall makeup.

And now, I’m going to go measure myself.

Dear Cary,

I need to stop drinking so much — I suppose that means I need to stop drinking entirely. There was a message this morning on my voice mail from my boyfriend saying he came over last night and I wasn’t sober enough to talk to. His having come over at all is news to me, and not good news. He’s seen me drunk many times, more than he’s seen me sober, though we have spent wonderful time together when I’ve been sober. He’s the best, the one. He’s patient (he works with underprivileged kids), he’s kind, he’s funny, blah blah blah.

I’ve been through outpatient rehab programs twice. I’ve gone to AA, but there are too many danged people! I don’t know what I’m asking you, really. I know the answer is, “You have to stop drinking.” Maybe I just want to tell you that I read your column and I like your advice. I’m 36 too, so not all of your readers are under 30.

I’m supposed to call him today, because “we really need to talk.” I know we do, but I don’t want to, not about this, and not now. I love him with a new kind (to me) of love. It’s not fierce, or crazy, but it’s deep, and spectacular. It’s like reading “Moby-Dick” for the first time — I never knew it could be like this.

Jon

Dear Jon,

You just have to keep at it. We both know you have to stop. So just keep trying. Don’t mind the people at AA. Just keep going. Try a residential treatment program, too. Why not? Ninety days with a bunch of misfits could be just the thing. Just keep at it. I know, I know, I know. But what can you do? Sure, that’s true. Right. I know how you feel. But there’s nothing for it but to quit. So you just keep at it. Learn to be uncomfortable and not to care. Nobody says you have to be comfortable. We live in a narcotized society of smooth, comfortable people, and some of us just aren’t comfortable. Why should we be? When I quit drinking I learned to be just fantastically, profoundly uncomfortable and defiantly not to care! To be aware of how uncomfortable I was and to just say screw it! It was a spirit of marvelous defiance in which I found the strength to be a writhing mass of jittery fear and just walk down the street anyway. Who cares? Screw ‘em! Let ‘em live in their own little hells: I’ve got mine! Plus, it is nice to remember who came over last night, even if you just played Scrabble. Just keep at it every day. Get up and go to a meeting. Call somebody who doesn’t drink. Do everything possible, do everything the old-timers say and then do everything possible again. And then keep doing it. When you feel like breaking down and crying, break down and cry. And then just keep not drinking. And eventually you’ve made it through the day, and then you go to sleep and get up and do it again.

I was a dropout, not an activist. The best of the ’60s activists were smart enough to enjoy the music and the free love but not to confuse the addlepated, pseudo-spiritual epiphanies acid provided with real-world political ideas and strategies.

One of those Easters on acid was spent in an immense sinkhole near Gainesville, Fla. In a state with no mountains, such enormous holes, made when underground rivers and streams eroded the limestone under our feet, provided, in the inverse, something like the thrill of steep, vertiginous cliffs, so flatlanders liked to go there.

Wandering barefoot the wet, sandy trails of the Gainesville sinkhole, I hallucinated myself as an ancient holy man in robes, complete with gnarled stick and sandals, walking outside the walls of a city, conversing with the younger representatives of two warring parties. “It is an ancient enmity,” my thoughts proclaimed with all the solemnity of a sage from “Star Trek.” “There is no human solution. It is up to the gods.” As was typical of acid hallucinations, the sheer vividness of the recognition gave one the feeling of insight into it, when one had only seen the problem with a chemical vigor hard to achieve in a natural state: the tragic and ineluctable prison of ancient enmity, the sad, irretrievable waste.

That is a far cry from political insight. In fact, cut adrift from any social movement, it’s the kind of pseudo-mythical thinking that became an element of New Age hedonism. Oddly enough, it also seems eerily like the hazy, fatalistic approach the Bush administration has taken to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. While former President Clinton may have exhausted all efforts and failed to bring the two sides to agreement, his actions to the end represented a belief in the necessity of unrelenting political engagement. He never gave up. Bush was probably the kind of frat boy who would have been trying to buy acid from the hippies, while earnest Bill Clinton, though growing his hair moderately long, was trying to get into Yale, cop the Fullbright and take the reins of the system. And now Bush, in his neo-recovery reborn Christianity, seems to have confused accepting the things he cannot change with having the courage to change the things he can. He’s a politician. It’s his job to change things. Acting as though the Israelis and Palestinians were simply having a therapeutic moment in a long and immutable history of enmity belies the redress of real-world grievances that must form the foundation of any lasting peace.

So it was that over this most recent Easter weekend Israelis and Palestinians continued their battles with renewed savagery, and I did not take acid. I turned on the television to the shock and horror, and then turned away from it, dwarfed by its complexity and its ageless ire, and I played a little tennis with a renewed savagery of my own, and enjoyed yet another sunny day in a miraculous succession of brilliant blue Easters, lucky to be alive.

Though my passing acquaintance with prayer has served mainly as a program of personal impulse management, and may in fact be nothing more than a form of psychological self-programming, if ever there was a time it seemed appropriate for us onlookers to pray for a miracle in a far-off land, this seems like it.

While we resort to things like prayer, President Bush must wake up from his acid trip and salvage what he can of the machinery of negotiation.

There’s still room for a miracle. After all, didn’t miracles used to happen there all the time?

Dear Cary,

I have been married three years and am facing a serious dilemma. The physical characteristics my husband finds attractive in women are none that I possess. I am a blond, he likes brunets. I have small proportions, he is attracted to women with curves. I have a fair complexion, he loves olive. Everything he finds physically appealing I am not.

I know he married me because I am intelligent and talented, we are best friends, and we share many important values and goals. I have asked him about it, but I don’t seem to get very many answers — I think he doesn’t want to hurt my feelings. My self-esteem is taking a nose dive at this point, and I can’t help but wonder about the men out there who would be attracted to my physical type.

Judging by the sex (seldom) and his subtle glances at other women with these attributes, I am wondering — is a marriage without physical attraction just a friendship? And is a friendship enough to sustain a marriage?

Not His Type

Dear Not His Type,

I once had a girl who had a great ass, or should I say, she once had me. She had money, brains and status, too. So congruent were her attributes with my fantasies of the perfect woman and so good was the sex at first, in fact, that I felt sure we would soon be married. Our tryst was sudden; within days we were living together. One evening as I was hanging by my fingertips from the window sill of our apartment and she was trying to slam the window on my hands, I had a minor epiphany concerning the odds against a long and happy marriage between us, but still it seemed that anyone so bright and well educated, and from such a good home, would be capable of reason and emotional growth once she had time to reflect on her actions.

Her next boyfriend she threw a television at. She didn’t hit him, and he may have thrown something, too, but my experiences left little doubt that a great ass is not a foundation on which to build a sound relationship.

Nor, in fact, are the other attributes that, taken singly, are most pleasing to the mind and the senses, such as wealth, beauty, talent and intelligence.

It is unfortunate but true.

So what is a woman to do when she encounters a man whose libido seems to have been pre-wired to respond only to large boobs, or blond hair, or narrow hips, or black leather, or a shaved pussy, or a pierced vulva, or whips and chains and stiletto heels? And how does a man’s mind get that way?

I don’t know, frankly. Why would our lizard brains be programmed to believe that if we mate with a woman who has had the lack of foresight to get tattooed head to foot, our lives will become happier and safer, and our kind will increase in number? What sort of evolutionary advantage does that give the species, unless the species is, unbeknownst to us, sponsored by Lyle Tuttle’s tattoo parlor?

My best guess is that such preferences form on a wholly separate track from the formation of the personality, like freckles or baldness. Not that they’re genetic, necessarily; they may be imprinted experientially at a young age. But a man is not responsible for his freckles or his shoe fetishes, only what he does about them. Love really is the key. Without it, we’re likely to move on from partner to partner forever, seeking the ideal combination of intellectual, emotional, spiritual, social, professional, aesthetic, gustatory, olfactory, musical, comical, literary and familial compatibility combined with the perfect ass, penis, chest, abdomen, knees, feet, tongue, eyes, hair, boobs, clitoris and hands. You could keep looking forever because each of us is unique; and if you ever did find your twin, the sex would be creepy. So it’s love’s power of endurance that provides humans the confidence, the time and feeling of safety within which they can undertake the long process of adaptation. If it’s a marriage without love, then it’s just a friendship. But if it’s a marriage without sizzling sex, well, then, it’s just a marriage.

But are you really in love? That’s the question. I do believe amor omnia vincit, but without any amor there’s not much vincit. So if you’ve got a good friendship that isn’t sexual, you don’t really have much of a marriage, and you are right to be concerned.

There are experts on sex who can tell you all about gadgets and positions, if you think that would help. Some people are game for that; others find it a little wiggy, the power tools and the costumes. But if you love this guy but you don’t have the body type that turns him on, look at it this way: If he ever met his perfect body type and moved in with her, she’d probably cut his clothes into one-inch strips and bake them in risotto. And if that didn’t kill the sex, just living together would kill it for sure. [Just kidding, dear.] So while I empathize, I think you’re doing very well if you have a guy who loves you for who you are. It might be far more disturbing to look into his eyes one day and realize he’s fucking the Veronica of his comic-book libido.

Dear Cary,

How does a middle-aged woman come to feel she is a person of substance and where does that substance come from?

I have lived the gypsy lifestyle since I was a child. (I moved 20 times before I was 5 years old.) This has been a continuing pattern through my whole life when my only desire has been to settle down in one place and live in the same abode for more than two or three years.

I used this “lifestyle” to further my career for almost seven years (I was able to go into retail markets and turn around underperforming regions within six months), until the stress of it and the loneliness finally took its toll on me. Once I realized I had no more left, I quit and took an almost two-year hiatus from working.

I am back in the full-time working scene, though at a reduced position, with a new company that I really see as having potential. I have achieved my goal of moving back to my childhood home, Southern California, yet I feel the same sense of loneliness that I always do. All of my immediate family live in Arizona (including my daughter and two beautiful granddaughters), but I won’t move back there for the extreme heat, and the ex-husband factor (there are at least three out of four there).

So what’s a young-minded, middle-aged, not wanting a permanent-man-relationship woman to do? And most of all, how can I come to terms with and make the lonely feelings go away, or should I just accept this as a normal and recurring part of my life? Please say there are many others out there like me, or am I really a unique gypsy-spirit or actually more like an abandoned kid who just never got over it?

45 looking like 35 feeling like 25 and confused

Dear 25 on the Inside,

I sense that you are a hard-driving, no-nonsense person; I sense that you are tough and smart, and you probably had to be from a young age to cope with all that moving around. You’re so tough and smart that you put me on the defensive right away, letting me know my shortcomings, like I was some under-performing territory out in the desert. I wonder if that isn’t a habit of toughness — put the other person on the defensive before he hurts you — that could be causing you trouble and contributing to your loneliness.

I can’t help wondering why in spite of your loneliness you move around all the time. You say your only desire has been to settle down, but you’ve made a career of going from town to town. Your stated desires seem at odds with your actions. Why is that? Is it because moving around means making a living, and staying in one place means, what? What happened when you stayed in one place as a child? Did things always go bad? Is that why you were always packing up and moving? Are you afraid, as an adult, that if you stay in one place, things will go bad? What sadness you must have felt as a child every time you made friends and left them, over and over. Perhaps you want to avoid the sadness of leaving, so you’re careful not to make friends. So you’re lonely.

If you want to be not lonely anymore, you’ll have to make some friends, and be with your family, and live with the fear of losing them. The fear of losing a friend isn’t as bad as the loneliness of not having any. Think of it as a business transaction: You’re taking a mortgage out on one set of problems to finance better ones. I think you can handle the risk.

What’s in Southern California for you, anyway? Childhood memories? Of what? Moving all around? Was it perhaps the one place you stayed for more than a few months? Is that why you think you might reclaim a sense of permanence there? I think this quest for a sense of permanence is going to give you nothing but more heartache.

Arizona might be full of ex-husbands, but it’s also full of your grandchildren. You’ve chosen personal comfort over proximity to your family. You can’t go home again. So go back to Arizona and get some air-conditioning.

Dear Cary,

Ah, the age-old question: Why does a breakup come from out of the blue when things seem to be going so well? I’m 26, a success in my academic community, with pinch-me-I’m-dreaming prospects for future employment and achievement in my chosen profession, and finally happy in graduate school after four miserable years of college and four even more miserable years of floundering before coming back into the academic fold. Then, a few months ago, it seemed like the final piece of the puzzle was falling into place.

We met, were instantly attracted, started dating seriously, and were hot ‘n’ heavy within a couple of weeks. I’ve heard all the advice about moving too fast, but I’ve always believed that things happen at their own pace for a reason, and I shouldn’t go fucking up my good karma by laying off when the getting’s good. Well anyway, after six weeks things were wonderful — great sex, great conversation, a healthy amount of “me” time for each of us, lots and lots of laughs. And then, after finals — KABOOM! An ending with no explanation, shocking me and everyone who knew us.

And thus we come to another cliché: dumping the good guy for the bad ex-guy. Having been raised by strong women and a mensch of a father, I have real problems with men who mistreat women, and the mental abuse, I have seen, can often leave worse scars than any physical mistreatment. This is what happened to her with the ex (now current) boyfriend.

I have a little bit of a history of taking a long while to get over heartbreak, but this one has left me stymied. I’ve had some conversations with her about “why,” but these only seem to leave things more muddled than before. She tells me that she wants to give it another shot with the ex, but in the midst of the conversation confides that things between them are not going well and the same issues from before are rearing themselves again. I’m not sure if she’s equivocating to keep me on the back burner, but that’s basically the effect it’s having, regardless of her intent. Plus, I have to see them both every day at school, which tears me apart, but I also find myself looking out for a sighting of her at every opportunity.

This woman knows I am still in love with her, and I know she may be taking advantage of that, but I have a hard time losing “hope.” I guess this is the problem of the eternal optimist, which I confess to being, but I feel my reluctance to let go also hinges on the fact that I’m still hopelessly confused as to why we broke up in the first place. How does one move past this? And here’s one I’m sure you’ve never heard: Why do some women have difficulty being treated with respect?

Hopelessly in Love with Hope

Dear Hopelessly in Hope,

Hope may be an escape from reality, but reality is a far more refreshing escape from hope. Abandon all hope! Stop hoping! Seek what is real and true! What is real and true is that she is gone. Why? That’s not for you to say. Should she be with this guy who doesn’t treat her well? That’s not for you to say, either, unless he’s beating her up or threatening to kill her. If he’s just a lout and an asshole, that’s not your problem. I mean, yes, emotional wounds are real, but you can’t call the ambulance for them. Will she come back? Why hope for that? She’s gone. As to your question about women having trouble being treated with respect, what you call respect some women might call undue ideological deference, being treated with kid gloves, timidity, lack of guts. The backhanded slap of feminism as practiced by men is that it can be used to place women on a whole new pedestal of ideological daintiness that’s just as bad as the feminine daintiness of yore. Sure, it’s good to treat women well, but are you acting out some drama of social heroism co-written by your mensch dad and your family of “strong women” rather than seeing the situation as it really is?

At any rate, as I say with increasing frequency as my correspondents seem to grow younger (what happened to all the older folks who wrote in to Mr. Blue? Do I lack his gravitas?): You’re young, and you’ve got a lot to learn yet! It was a short fling, that’s all. She left the man of letters and went back to the gardener — probably for the sex  and the clarity.

Dear Cary,

Nine months ago, I met a wonderful man and felt some of the greatest emotional sparks of my life. We met and couldn’t stop talking, went on a first date that was absolutely magical (and ended in sex) and quickly began a pattern of talking almost daily and seeing each other every few days. However, we both are extremely dedicated to our jobs, and work 70-plus hours a week. As work peaked (for both of us at the same time), the relationship slowed down.

Eventually, I broke off the physical relationship — it seemed to be slowing, and I wanted to end it while it was still good. It was a successful move, in that we are still close friends. However, in my mind, one thing never stopped — we still have absolute fireworks when spending time together.

Because I was so “self-protective” about the relationship, getting out when I suspected I might feel more than was reciprocated, we ended the relationship with things going essentially well. And I am just profoundly sad.

Now, four months later, I still can’t figure out why I wanted to break up, except that he now seems to feel totally comfortable being just friends. We see each other at virtually the same frequency. But we’re not “together.” He’s my best friend, and I think I love him, but it’s obvious to me that he prefers the casual.

(Note: We have had one one-night stand since the “breakup,” very recently.)

On the inside, I want to prostrate myself on his doorstep and ask him to marry me. But I’m also smart enough to have figured out the context clues — which indicate that he’s not interested in anything serious. I feel like if the same thing had happened when I was a naive 20-year-old, I would have known what to do — I would have gone all out to make my love known. But several years later, as a rational “grown-up,” I am no longer willing to do such a thing.

I feel like there are two kinds of people in the world: those who fall in love young and hard, and are very expressive about the whole thing. The other kind are those of us who miss that boat, and end up as grown-ups who are too mature to do things like serenade our true love under their balcony with a Bon Jovi song. The bottom line is that I feel like the older and more jaded I get, the more unsure I am about how to express myself. Am I doomed to this adult world where I don’t know how to be emotional? And what, if anything, should I do to let this person (who is, from all context clues, less interested in me than I am in him) know that I love him? Is it worth it? Or is the path of “self-protection’” the better route?

I Knew What to Do When I Was 20

Dear I Was So Much Older Then,

What are context clues? That’s an interesting term. Context clues. Is that from a social science discipline? Anyway, the context clues in your letter are telling me you should rely more on your instincts. Being an “adult” is no reason to pretend you don’t have passion. If you want this guy, go get him. Stop trying to do his thinking for him. Get him to say no out loud, if no is his answer. And then either do the romance or break up for good and move on. The way it is, you’re got the worst of both worlds: A friendship without solace, and an affair without lovemaking.

Dear Cary,

Please pass this note along to the high school student who wrote to you, if only for encouragement. Yes, you can really be in love. Yes, it can really last. Hopefully forever.

Same story, but three years ago — a semi-long-distance relationship that started around junior year of high school but seemed fantabulous and sexy and satisfying enough to last forever. We came up against the same type of problem. Jeff was going to study in Boston; the best school for me was in Texas, but I thought I could survive four years at B.U.

I decided to attend the Houston dream school, not because I didn’t value the relationship but because I did. If I’d chosen B.U., these four years would have been unpleasant, and I could have come to blame it on Jeff. This way I’m having a blast, and enjoying my total independence — there’s no substitute for four years of living 100 percent on your own schedule. I’ve developed my own interests and friendships, and I feel way more ready to move in for good in 2003. The distance definitely sucked at times — but you’ve got your whole lives to spend together, and only these four to have your college experience.

L.