No doubt some people out there reading this are outraged that HOTTY would even consider sleeping with a minor. So let me come to HOTTY's preemptive defense: An older person can, in good conscience, sleep with a younger person provided the older person obeys the Four Big Nos of Sleeping with a Young, Inexperienced Person: 1. Tell no lies. 2. Transmit no diseases. 3. Make no babies. 4. Break no hearts.

By making sure they understand each other before anything happens, HOTTY is obeying the first No. She isn't letting the boy believe a meaningful, long-term relationship is possible. If HOTTY obeys the other three Nos, however, she and the boy can have a meaningful short-term relationship. Meaningful short-term relationships don't get much press, and a lot of people aren't even aware they exist. But exist they do--and when pressed, most people can recall having at least one in their youth. I know I had one. (Yes, Tommy, I'm thinking of you.) While I'll admit that the fourth No is tricky--despite the older person's best efforts, the younger one can still wind up with a broken heart (and yes, Tommy, I'm thinking of you)--if the older person observes the first three Nos, then the older person can't be condemned if the fourth doesn't work out.

Finally, my lawyer wanted me to add a fifth No to the list: Break no laws. So in conclusion, and at the insistence of my lawyer, let me emphasize again to you, HOTTY, that you shouldn't initiate a meaningful short-term relationship with this boy until he's 18. I hope I'm making myself clear: You must wait until this boy turns 18 before you GO AHEAD AND FUCK HIM. Do we understand each other?

I have a weird fetish. I find childbirth sexually arousing. I watch TV programs that show childbirth (they're on The Learning Channel) while masturbating. I don't think I have a problem, since I am not attracted to the babies. Are there any other people out there like me?

Wanting Others Masturbating (to) Birth

Sorry, WOMB, but as compelling and revolting as your problem is, I just can't concentrate on it. You see, I'm simply too giddy about the big score I made yesterday. No, I didn't go ahead and fuck some hard-bodied 17-year-old. What's put me on cloud nine is something I bought yesterday: I got... I got... a desk! A used desk! A really old, beat-up desk! It's covered with ink stains and pieces of Scotch tape, the veneer is peeling, and it's even missing a drawer. It's not so much the used desk itself that I'm giddy about, but the person who used it: Ann Landers. Items from the estate of Eppie Lederer, AKA Ann Landers, were auctioned off last week, and when I learned that Ann Landers' desk was going on the block--the very desk where she sat and wrote her advice column!--I got my ass on an airplane. And I got the desk.

While it's highly ironic that the world's smuttiest advice column will now be written at the same desk where the world's most mainstream (and most popular) advice column was once written, I intended no disrespect in purchasing Ann Landers' desk. I'm not mocking Ann Landers, her column, or her memory--far from it! This is going to make me sound like a huge softy, but the truth is, I bought Landers' desk for sentimental reasons. I started reading Landers' column shortly after I learned to read, and I continued to read her column until the ones she filed before her death ran out. A lifelong fan, I bought Ann Landers' desk because I wanted to keep it in the advice business. While the advice I'll be giving from Landers' desk isn't the same advice she would've given (see my response to HOTTY, above), that just demonstrates the beautiful thing about advice. According to The American Heritage Dictionary, advice is just one person's "opinion about what could or should be done." People who wanted Ann Landers' opinion wrote to her; people who want my opinion write to me. Everybody has opinions, and the only qualification you need in order to give someone advice is being asked for it. (An opinion for WOMB, who did ask for it: You say you're not attracted to the babies, but how do you propose to have sex with a woman as she's giving birth and avoid the baby?)

In conclusion, I want to emphasize that I am delighted to be the proud, nonironic, no-disrespect-intended owner of Ann Landers' desk. When Savage Love is pried from my cold, dead hands, I hope that Ann Landers' desk will be passed on to a fourth- or fifth-generation advice columnist. In the meantime, I hope the ol' gal will peer over my shoulder every once in a while as I work on Savage Love at her desk.

Confidential to George W. Bush: Ann Landers advised presidents, and now that I own her desk, I'm gonna start: So Saudi money may have financed the 9/11 attacks. Can we go ahead and invade Saudi Arabia now and get it over with, please? If we're serious about halting the spread of Islamo-fascism, I think we should fight the problem at its source--or sources, plural, I should say. America's dependence on oil enriches the Saudis, who turn around and spend the money--our money!--promoting fanatical hatred of the United States all over the world. Here's a thought, Mr. President: Let's shitcan the tax cuts for the superwealthy and invest the money in alternative fuels, wind and solar power, and the development of affordable electric cars. This won't stop Islamo-fascism, of course. We're still going to have to fight these bastards; unlike some of my lefty pals, I'm all for fighting the bastards. But I don't think it makes much sense to fight Islamo-fascism and finance it at the same time.

Dan Savage's new book, Skipping Towards Gomorrah (Dutton), is on sale now--and it makes a great holiday gift for all the Republicans on your list. Send your Savage Love questions to mail@savagelove.net.