Get Naked: July 7-13, 2005



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Jamie Bufalino

Q I don't usually send questions to magazine columns, but I really need your advice. My financée recently said she doesn't want me going to strip clubs under any circumstances. The only time I go is for a bachelor party, which only occurs maybe once or twice a year. I never go for any other reason, period. At a bachelor party, I'm part of the celebration, and I would feel bad leaving once the guys head off to a nudie bar. My financée says that it makes us look trashy as a couple and that it's disrespectful when I go to these places. I've assured her that when I go, I (honestly) don't get lap dances, don't even touch the women. I'm just there to help my buddy celebrate his rapidly fading bachelorhood. I've also told my financée how much I respect her and am loyal to her (which she knows already), yet she won't budge. I think she's being a bit inflexible and unreasonable. What do you think?


I think two things: (1) Strip clubs are seedy little places where emotionally stunted guys go to delude themselves into thinking they're masters of the sexual universe. And (2) It's hard being a sexpert, because people expect you to be all mature and stuff, and even though you don't want to talk smack about strip clubs, you kind of have to because otherwise feminists will get all mad at you, or your mother might read the column, or people might get the idea that you're just some creepy fuck who spends all of his non-advice-dispensing time sticking C-notes into thongs and shit. But my troubles are nothing compared with those of any poor dude who's got a dictatorial financée. If you were making weekly excursions to strip clubs by yourself, that would be a different story—then I would agree with her about it being trashy and disrespectful. But to arbitrarily put a ban on setting foot into such a place is just plain overkill. Is she also going to forbid you from going to a topless beach, or watching a Russ Meyer movie, or drilling a peephole into the women's bathroom at work? Okay, maybe I overreached a bit on that last one, but you get my point. Next time she gives you grief, remind her that relationships are supposed to be built on trust and that caring about what other people are saying about your relationship is a surefire way to make yourself crazier than Tom Cruise on a morning show. And you need to start hanging out with guys who are smart enough to realize it's corny and cliched to have a bachelor party at Scores.

Q I'm a 19-year-old girl who has been reading your column since its inception, and I've always wanted to write in. Well, I finally have a question. (What a rite of passage! I feel like I'm in a Judy Blume novel: Are You There Jamie? It's Me, Margaret.) Okay, so here it is: I have a reasonable amount of sexual experience, but somehow I have managed to stay a virgin (as have a few of my friends). Once you're 19, people seem to expect that you've done it six ways to Sunday. So it can come as quite a shock when a girl my age admits that she's still on the v-team. In fact, I speak for all my virgin friends when I say that confessing we are virgins has stopped more than one sexual experience from progressing further. It seems to freak guys out, like they think that you're going to get too attached to them if they devirginize you. Either that, or they find it really sexy in a somewhat pervy way. I don't need to be in love when I finally have sex (Lord knows I don't love most of the guys I've hooked up with, and I've still enjoyed it), but I do want a comfortable and respectful situation, so I feel the guys should know I'm a virgin. But if I tell, I risk seeming like a huge dork and having him stop the whole thing in its tracks. (It has occurred to me that guys might think it isn't worth their time to sleep with an inexperienced girl.) What do you think is the proper etiquette? I'd like to get rid of the v-card before I turn 20.


Who knew that kids today were using antiquated phrases like six ways to Sunday? As for you, young lady, hang on to that v-card until I tell you it's time to relinquish it. There will be no deadline-setting or peer-pressuring. You will simply live your Intermix-clad, iPod-accessorized, O.C.-obsessed life until you meet a young man who doesn't give a whit about your sexual status, but just wants to express his love for you through three timid thrusts and premature ejaculation. Putting yourself on a schedule to lose your virginity within the next year will only increase the potential for bad decision making (how do you think Paris Hilton got herself into the fix she's in?). Since any postpubescent schmo with a penis, a functioning circulatory system and the most minimal grasp of anatomy has the ability to deflower you, you need to be extremely discriminating and remain on the lookout for someone who actually deserves the honor of ushering you into the next sexual stage of life. The last thing you need is some sly strategy for dropping the v-bomb on someone. All you have to do is proudly announce your status, and gauge a guy's screw-worthiness by how he reacts to the news. If he's standoffish or pervy, then ditch the loser. Remember, you want the first time you have sex to be memorable (and not in a bad way), so trust your instincts and cool your jets. Besides, you'll have plenty of time in your twenties and thirties to sleep with total bozos.

Send letters to Jamie Bufalino c/o Time Out New York, 475 Tenth Avenue, 12th floor, New York, NY 10018, or send e-mail to

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