“Since you asked,” wrote one such reader, “I have a suggestion. Maybe the column could use more Sex. Sex as in the exchange of bodily fluids, receiving and giving pleasure, attending to particular parts of the body, consummating love and desire. You get the idea.”

Yeah, I get the idea.  Although I’m not sure the University administration does.  Are we even allowed to have sex here?

I suppose we could just stick to exchanging bodily fluids then — without condoms on the doors, that should be easy!

Another reader questioned the relevancy of my articles to the male student population. “When I read your column,” he wrote, “I feel like I am attending Lilith Fair, well, maybe an all girls sleepover, complete with crank calls and all. Where's the toilet papering?”

For the record, I haven’t toilet papered at an all girls sleepover for years. Okay, months. And back then we didn’t make prank calls, we practiced blowjobs on fruit.

That reader continued with specific suggestions, “You should really try to solicit the male population at Georgetown in order to get a more well rounded opinion as opposed to publishing your weekly autobiography.”

Write what you know! Isn’t that what English professors always say? Fine, fine. No one wants to read my autobiography, I get it. (Unless it includes dating congressmen, right? Not that I would know anything about that.) But my stories are meant to be illustrative of the dating trends that many people deal with on a regular basis here at our lovely university.

Or maybe not. One reader opined that my writing isn’t age appropriate. “I would like to see your column advance from its middle school advice of when I should call a girl (of which I learned years ago) and evolve into a mature column with issues that are more prevailing to our college aged community.  People at Georgetown, myself included, need to know the truth behind sex. This isn’t MIT; although we are not the most aggressive and good looking of our peers, we definitely deserve more than we are getting (pun intended).”

He may be right — I suppose I haven’t shed much light on the “truth behind sex.” Alright. I’ll get around to that as soon as he teaches the slower of his male Georgetown peers when to call a girl. Then we’ll both go help the poor fellows at MIT, because although we may be having less sex, we’re definitely better looking than they are.

Speaking of sex — or the lack thereof — one reader speculated on the Hilltop dearth of that most basic of acts. “My theory,” he wrote, “is that people on the East coast are afraid of sex. Either that, or they don’t know what it is. In California, it was a reasonable expectation to go out at night and bring a girl home and have sex with her. Here, that is nonexistent. Maybe its the hot weather out there that makes people horny, but there is something here that does the opposite.”

Afraid of sex! Yes, yes we are. There are many reasons for this fear … God, Juan Gonzalez, the Washington Post, to name a few. This is why we here at Georgetown like to drink so much. It dulls the pain of sexual repression.

But enough about sex.

There were other (non-sex-related) missives that stood out in my mailbox.

Reader #1: The Misguided Poet (if ee.cummings wrote responses to dating columns)
“in the haze of an monday afternoon, when i desire to not do work, googling resulting in dating advice columns, breaks the rainy tone. dating with a little d, i did that. everyone thought i was dating everyone, and flirting lost all meaning.”

Notice the use of lower case, the new verb “to google” and randomly interspersed punctuation. Clear case of Seasonal Affect Disorder/ attendance at too many Barnes & Noble Poetry for Bureaucrats seminars.

Reader #2: The Witty Skeptic
“It appears to me your solicitation for reader feedback in you latest column is simply a veiled attempt to assemble a large e-mail database for sale to a telemarketing firm for a six figure return. Thank you, but I already know how to lose 200 lbs. in 2 weeks, add 3 inches to my manhood all while enjoying the benefits of a 4.5% home equity loan. … I have printed all of your posted columns and will attempt to read at least one each morning prior deleting all of the amazing offers for eternal youth pills from my in-box.”

Shoot! This guy figured me out. I’ve been selling the names and email addresses of everyone who writes me to a company called Help for Repressed Catholic College Students, Inc. They don’t offer eternal youth pills, but for a small fee, they will send you condoms and a bible.

Reader #3: The Proposing Suitor
“I find it outrageous and impossible that you receive no fan mail.  Whoever is responsible for such a lapse in protocol ought to be found, beaten with a switch and deported to Guantanamo Bay.  How can we expect a sex columnist to do her job without the raw material she needs to keep up on the action? I, for one, refuse to let this situation stand a moment longer. We should do lunch. I have big plans, you could help.
By the way, will you marry me?”

In case I should hesitate, he attached his photo, in a pose which he lovingly referred to as “Le Tigre.” What girl could possibly resist!?!

Reader #4: Short and Sweet
“I'm officially in love.”

Now that’s the type of fan mail I like to receive.