I too was struck by Dr. Slater's essay in the New York Times about her overall pretty sad sexual history. My first reaction, like Professor Rappaport's, was one of outrage. However, upon reflection, my reaction is more, well, geometrical. Imagine the entire human universe is like the surface of a sphere. So all its dimensions, social, economic, cultural, sexual and so on, are represented as points on the surface of this sphere. Yes, it's a simplification. On this sphere somewhere, perhaps where we might put Uzbekistan, is the land of the crazygirls. It is fairly populous. Here live the ladies who fall in love with someone else the moment they get engaged to you and have mad everything-but-actual-sex with him (because that would be wrong) and then write all about it years later in the New York Times. Here live the young women who canoodle with you all summer long but don't have sex because they say (falsely) they were raped, but when they finally do sort of have sex with you, they hate you because you made them feel such a strong emotion. And this, I assure you, is just the beginning. Down the road lie the hours, the years of ultimately fruitless therapy, the crazykids fluttering like frightened bats against the windows, the absolutely, no kidding, forget about due process and just get her out of her, certifiable lunatic mother in law. The father in law who packs the wooden sailboat his uncle left him with 20 pounds of TNT, sails out into the sound and is never heard of again, save once. The person with whom sex is good or bad, but always deeply, deeply confusing. Anyway, that's where they dwell. What you want to do is draw a line from the land of the crazygirls through the center of the earth and then out to the other side of the world. That is maximum distance from the land of the crazygirls and that's where you want to dwell. This is nothing to fool around with, not even as a tourist.