Plugging the empty soul of America's Venice with the wisdom of the ages

She said "No, I have not" and added: "I don't think I need the Kama Sutra. I'm sorry, dude. I am, like, totally experimental all the time." A guy walked over to her from the line and said to her, "Hey, booty-call connoisseur, it's time to go inside."

"Aww, man. I'm having so much fun," she replied.

I brought up the Kama Sutra, and she cut me short again, "I'm not familiar. You have to be with the person that you're with to figure out what position is going to be better for the both of you. Every experience that I have with a guy is so fundamentally different in so many ways."

I tried to tell Beatrice about size compatibility and the elephant vaginas and the bull penises and the wisdom of the ancients, but she wasn't having any of it: "I'm always having good sex. I don't need a guy to be that big."

Her date came over and pulled her toward the club.

"One more thing," I said, forsaking all those dog-eared pages of hard-learned categories and postures and seducing techniques. "Do you teach a seminar?"

Beatrice looked back and said: "I should. I should. I swear to God."

Then she was swallowed up by the maws of Voodoo.

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