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Miss Slitta Jones & Her Stiff Advisory

Eve in Hand proudly introduces its new advice columnist. She's a stern but loving lady living on the Westside Grace Street with a home, a walk-up, and a lay-about in the Hamptons Roads. She was born Soleil Jewell Osterberg in Dearborn, Michigan but in her adolescence, the Osterberg family relocated to the rainforest just outside Las Vegas, Nevada. She describes her coming of age as "an arching joy of deforestation." It was during her marriage to Brian Jones that her interest in sex and sex education grew. She found their conjugal relationship lacking. "He often lay there like a fish, floating, as it were, between trepidation and repressed longing," she remembers. In a dramatic vision one afternoon, William Blake appeared in her jerked seitan sandwich, and revealed her future as a bean-eating Anarchist sex zine advisor. Miss Slitta identifies as a thriving heteroblast, an avid visitor to Biscarrosse, and a giddily enthusiastic polyglot. She will answer your serious questions about sex and dating, and gently, ever-so-gently guide the lovelorn and forlorn through the really serious quandaries like the one below.


Dear Miss Slitta,

My girlfriend has a rare disease called Vagina Dentata, not known in the west, but translated from 18th century Chinese medical texts as, literally, "teeth in the vagina."

Cosette is of the most delicate temperament, possessed of a saintly patience; but when we're abed, and I do something the wrong way, her delta (or, rather, her "condition") starts snapping at me.

One night about three months ago, as I was inspecting Cosette between the legs as she slept (I am a student at the dental academy, and the subject of my dissertation is Cosette's ailment) the vagina began speaking to me. Suffice it to say that I got on famously with it.

In the coming weeks, my relationship with the vagina deepened; and I began (albeit guiltily) to recognize the intellectual limitations of my union with Cosette. "V" as I've affectionately dubbed her (we both love Tommy Pynchon) is well versed in every subject from physics to literature, and we share a special interest in William S. Burroughs...a writer Cosette has always dismissed as "willfully archaic." I have a strong moral code in respect to infidelity, and I care deeply for my girlfriend; but I think I'm falling in love with V. No one else knows about this, as the vagina only addresses me when Cosette is in an REM state.

In short, and regretfully, I wish to terminate my relationship with Cosette, but doing so would simultaneously guarantee my estrangement from an intellectual partnership that has become as essential to me as breathing.

You are a fine and worldly woman. I hope you can help me.

Yours,

L.M. "Lunchmeat" Guiseppe
Portsmouth, England
United Kingdom



Dear Lunchmeat,

Philosophers, artists, and writers have long held a fascination for vagina dentata. Ancient marriage laws that marked women as the property of men are believed to have roots in this myth. Plato's allegory of the cave is widely interpreted as a metaphor for the vagina, and many feminist theorists suggest that the existence and persistence of this myth suggest cultural fear and despisal of female sexuality. Some scholars claim that the myth of vagina dentata is why the collective mind of medieval Europe envisioned Hell as an opening mouth.

But have any so tenderly and poignantly conveyed the condition you have herein described? In my deep and abiding dip into the Western canon, Dear Lunchmeat, I think not. Upon receipt of your touching letter, I hurried to consult with Dr. S.P. Matoza, whom I met through my dear friend Sonette Ehlers, whilst enjoying a spelunking expedition at the mouth of the Lubochna.

His letter follows.

Fondly,

Miss Slitta



Dear Mr. Guiseppe,

Believe it or not, I am familiar with Vagina Dentata. Though it is indeed very rare, with only six cases reported in the 19th century, and a mere two in the 20th, it is a documented condition with a very specific set of symptoms; a host of them of them highly non-linear, a handful of them arguably paranormal, and the bulk of them officially non-existent.

Several of the aforementioned cases have their roots in fetishism. In the early years of our former century, it became fashionable, particularly among men of letters, like T.S. Eliot, to covet highly neurotic women as sexual partners. One of them, mistaking Vagina Dentata's insidious nature for mere "exalted hypochondria," lost his member outright. Another suffered severe puncture wounds which, according to his posthumously published diaries, inhibited coital relations for the rest of his life. He died penniless in a garret, after having bequeathed the only thing he owned, an oily sixpence, to the local eunuch's choir.

First, it should be remembered that Vagina Dentata, like Herpes, or alcoholism, is a disease that is always technically present, but not always necessarily active. For obvious reasons, it is recommended that couples abstain from intercourse when a flare up is even suspected.

That, sir, should answer your medical question. As to your dilemma with your "paramour," I have conferred with your psychiatrist in Portsmouth (I don't know if you realize it, but your name is well-known in case-study circles), and he has confirmed for me that you are a diagnosed schizophrenic. My advice to you is to discontinue your medication immediately, and replace "V" with a heady dose of Gravity's Rainbow. There's a lot of suggestive material in there, which you may find Useful To Your Needs.

SP Matoza, M.D.
Oxford, UK



Dear Miss Slitta,

Recently, after several dates with this girl I like, I tried to kiss her at dinner. She got really uncomfortable, so I stopped. I thought maybe it was because we were out; you know, that maybe she doesn't like public displays. After dinner we went to one of our favorite bars to meet up with friends. At the end of the night, I tried to kiss her in the car. This time she practically flew out the door.

The next day, she called to talk like she always does. But she said there was something "really important" she needed to let me know. I sat there embarrassed as she told me that kissing her had been "totally inappropriate."

In the past month, we've gone to parties, shows, bars, and we even went out of town to a museum. Many of these outings have been at her invitation. She has thrown her arms around me on several occasions to hug me. Was I wrong to try to kiss her? We're still friends and she continues to invite me to places, but I'm really confused.

Loose Lips on the Cold Shoulder


Dear LL on the CS,

Not only is it appropriate for someone after several dates to respectfully initiate a kiss, it sounds like you had every reason to believe this girl was into it. You admit that for at least some of your dates, she pursued you and sought your company. So her interest seemed to be in place. I can understand your confusion about the dashing damsel.

You say she's still inviting you places and that you've remained friends, so I wouldn't dismiss her as an opportunist or shrew. She's been a friend this long so you must enjoy some level of rapport. I encourage you to talk to her in person, and ask her candidly. Miss Slitta tries to remain open. There could be reasons and rational explanations for the dashing damsel's admittedly perplexing behavior.

After all, sex is dangerous. That's one thing that makes it exciting. I don't mean it's dangerous if you tend toward kink. I mean that no matter where you are in your dating and sex life, it's a process fraught with decisions. Their consequences to our emotions, egos, and health are real and can be scary. Of course, they can be tremendously rewarding, too. In this flux of risk and want, communication and education are imperative.

Having said that, your dashing damsel sounds like someone who isn't accustomed to introspection, so I wish you luck. It's not that she's malevolent, it's worse: she's completely inscrutable. I can drench her in whatever motives or projections I want, and she's so indifferent she's catatonic.

LL, since your would-be paramour has an invisible set of directions hidden somewhere in the nether regions of her high horse, I would recommend that with Miss Slitta's assistance, you R.S.V.P. to her next invitation bearing yours in writing. Print out the following note and hand deliver it to her, preferably from a winged chariot, if you can manage, in the manner to which the lady must be accustomed.

Dear Miss Persnickety Panties,

If you don't want a friend to lean in respectfully for a kiss after several dates, then at some time in the span of weeks, speak up truthfully. Tell him you were just looking for a platonic playmate, free dinner, someone else, the passive aggressive satisfaction of refusing him after leading him on, whatever.

But don't insult people everywhere by suggesting that his behavior was out of place in the context of adults seeking sexual companionship: a dynamic you have every right and responsibility to comment on and determine. By pretending that a kiss is unseemly, you seem to believe that your sex is exalted; feathered by a fig leaf in fog-draped heights; gated from both delight and peril.

Since you know your booty is special, why don't you do something other than/in addition to submit to weekly hot waxes to take care of it? You could start by seeing that it's part of every equation.

According to Miss Slitta's observations, it seems that you believe a vague and indistinguishable code of "appropriateness" absolves you of learning and then doing what you need to pleasure and protect it.

And that, Miss PP, just isn't so.

Kisses,

Miss Slitta

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