[Savage Love] Is Virtual-Reality Sex With Brad Pitt Cheating?

What proof do you have that these two were piss freaks, ILL? Pissing all over carpets and walls is a time-honored way for disgruntled tenants to fuck over perceived-to-be-evil landlords; it is not, generally speaking, a piss freak's modus operandi. It's been my experience—ahem—that piss freaks are neat freaks (outside of the tub), the turn-on being the violation of their own taboos and hang-ups around cleanliness.

I've been reading your column pretty much since you started writing it in the early-to-mid-1990s. When I moved to New Orleans, pre-interwebs, and discovered you weren't represented in any local papers, I had a friend clip and mail your column every week so I wouldn't miss out.

The reasons for the longevity of my interest are not only because you write good 'n' stuff, but also because your advice always nails it. But while I feel that you're correct 100 percent of the time, I'm curious if you feel that you've ever made a mistake.

Are you infallible? Any regrets?

Curious In Louisiana

P'shaw, CIL, I've made my fair share of mistakes. I remember one in particular: After giving out some erroneous information about the location of the clitoris (it's not on the tailbone, as it turns out) and being called out for it, I explained that, on the few occasions that I slept with women, I didn't make a close study of their vaginas, as that would have made it harder to pretend that their vaginas were, in actual fact, Keanu Reeves' distressed ass crack. Then I added, for no good reason, that to me a vagina would always look like "a canned ham dropped from a great height."

I regret writing that, as people screamed and yelled, and I was even refused service in a lesbian bar over it. But luckily for me, the column in which I made that gynophobic but eerily apt crack—I mean, picture it: A canned ham falls from a great height, hits the ground hard, the weakest seam of the can splits, the meat product inside is pressed out through the long, narrow opening as the impact compresses the can, and pink meat unfolds like a delicate, if non-kosher, flower—is so old that it doesn't exist on a Web archive anywhere and I can plausibly deny ever having written any such thing.

Download the Savage Lovecast (my weekly podcast) every Tuesday at www.thestranger.com/savage. E-mail your letters to mail@savagelove.net.