A man contacted me yesterday. He knew how to spell, which is alway a surprise on the internet, and was eloquent and amusing, cultured and clear. We wrote of our families, our careers, our travels, in a literate way. I was interested. I spent too much of my morning writing to him. I had so many other things to do…but he interested me.
He kept referring to sex, saying what fun we could have in his king sized bed. He was in a sexual bind. “Let’s continue this conversation some other day. I don’t even know your last name or what you look like, and I’m not confortable with the way this is going.” He was gracious in acknowledging that he was being overbearing, and asked me to forgive him.
An hour later I got an email from his personal email, which gave me his full name. He had attached two pictures, one of his face, and the other of his erect organ — a shocking intrusion in to my morning. I answered, “I don’t want a picture of your body parts, and I don’t want to continue this conversation.” As I pressed the “Send” button, I was still confused. He was gentlemanly, cultured, articulate, very intelligent, engaging. How could he do such a thing?
From a Google search, I learned that he is the head of a major department at one of the most famous hospitals in the world, and a professor at one of the most famous medical schools in the world. Given his specialty, he has probably kept my friend Benjamin’s friend alive for the 6 years she didn’t expect to live after her cancer diagnosis.
Celibacy can corrupt even the most brilliant mind. Brilliant doesn’t equal sexy, of course, but such brilliance ought to be able to solve this problem. If some woman would take him under her wing and give him some sex, his life would be transformed. His heart would turn from dross to gold, and he would look back on what he did yesterday with amazement at his despair.