Your salutation implies that I am in distress? I wasn't, until I read the comparison of cunnilingus to the ear slicing scene in Reservoir Dogs. That is such a disturbing analogy it makes me want to poke out my mind's eye to terminate the resulting image.

Speaking of fucked-up images, there are rampant urban legends of horny school girls (or housewives or teenage boys) spreading peanut butter on their lickable parts and calling the family pooch. (GIS this at your own risk. Note the absence of hyperlinks in this paragraph.)

A much more refined suggestion was bequeathed to the world by comic genius Sam Kinison. (I used the word "refined" and "Sam Kinison" in the same sentence. There oughta be a prize for that.) With his credentials as an overweight, balding, alcoholic, drug-addicted, misogynistic, preacher-turned-comedian, it was inevitable that his counsel was sought on how to please women in bed. His now-classic advice: lick the alphabet. "Oh, more letter T! More T!. . . Ooooooow, oooooooow!" R.I.P. What a fuckin' loss, man.

Of course, you could always ask your spread-eagled paramour what she likes, but that would be a really radical suggestion. About 99% of questions to sexperts could be answered with that one word: ask. "How do I get my girlfriend to let me fuck her in the ass?" "How do I get my boyfriend to stop cumming on my face." "Why doesn't my wife blow me for long enough?" "I want my lover to spank me - how do I get myself some paddlin'?" "What's the best way to get my husband in the mood for strap-on penetration?" Fucking ask them, already! Of course, if people started actually communicating with their partners, we'd all be out of business.

P.S. You could ask Tristan Trout if I put the handcuffs to good use, except he can't reach the keyboard at present. . .

Oh dear sweet Mistress,

Attuned to the proper manner for pleasing a woman sexually, I stumbled across your column by accident. The final Matrix movie had left me in a rage of Strom-Thurmond-proportions, and a friend pointed me towards the fine write ups on Reloaded and Revolutions that Ken Mondschein wrote on Corporate Mofo. The quality of his writing intrigued me, so I decided to give the other sections a perusal.

It wasn't long before I noticed that there was a link to a column written by the site's staff dominatrix. The concept was original enough: Relationship advice from someone who wouldn't legally be described as a qualified source, but who could teach you a new respect for PVC clothing and the business end of a whip. You already had a leg up, so to speak, over Adam Carolla and Dr Drew.

Having read each of your columns, I'm definitely impressed. You deliver sound advice without the Betty Crocker attitude, yet you don't come across as being harsh just to add that EXTREME!!!!! Mountain Dew edge to it. Your writing displays a level of intelligence that is sorely lacking from...well, pretty much everyone. I dunno. I've never really talked to my neighbors or the guy who delivers the mail around here, so maybe they're smart. But that's neither here nor there. The relevant point is that you are an entertaining writer who also happens to be give good advice, and I look forward to future entries.

Praise aside, I don't really have a question for you. Oh, sure. I'm probably fucking things up in a million different ways when it comes to relationships, sex, commitment, and a dedication to personal fitness. But it's all rather pedestrian next to your average fare. I know I have a small dick. I don't need to write some random person on the internet for reassurance on that. Rather, I'll continue to enjoy the letters that are written to you, along with your responses.

If I ever have a problem with twin female bisexuals fighting over which one gets to ream me next with the strap-on, though, you'll be the first to know.

Good luck with the site, and thanks for what you've written so far.

—JK

Flattery will get you everywhere, JK.

Believe it or not, Dr. Drew and Mistress Rowena have something in common: we're both closet opera singers.