The following is a transcript of a taped interview I had with a young woman, Judy, who consented to the interview when she learned, from a friend of a friend of a friend, that I wrote and edited erotic literature. The words are Judy's; I have only edited out those details necessary to preserve her privacy and I have reordered some of the paragraphs to avoid non-sequiturs and to improve readability. The details that have been edited are noted by [brackets].
The primary interview lasted nearly 2 hours and took place in a local restaurant on September 3, 1999, and a brief follow-up interview, to answer questions I had after reviewing the initial transcript, took place over the telephone on October 4, 1999.
Judy is 38, attractive, nicely-dressed but comfortably so, and exudes a great deal of poise and intelligence. She looks like she'd fit in on Wall Street, at a charity event or at a PTA meeting. This is the first time that we have met. Before the interview began we spent an hour or so having lunch and making small talk so that Judy could make sure that she felt comfortable with me and my conducting the interview.
* * * * *
Paul: First, Judy, I want to thank you for granting me this interview.
Judy: It's my pleasure.
Paul: The ground rules are that I will hold your identity, or anything that might enable someone to determine your identity, in strict confidence, and we'll stop at any time if you feel uncomfortable or just want to stop for any reason. Okay?
Judy: Okay.
Paul: And you understand that I'm taping our conversation, but that I will only release a transcript of our conversation. I won't let anyone hear you voice.
Judy: I understand.
Paul: Good. Then let's begin. Would you start by telling me why you wanted to do this interview?
Judy: Well, first, I'm only doing the interview because you promised it would be published and I want to help other women out there from needlessly sacrificing their happiness like I almost did. I want women to know that if they keep strong and are patient, Prince Charming will come along, even if they have deep doubts that he ever will.
Paul: How did you almost sacrifice your happiness?
Judy: By getting married to a man who wasn't suited to me or my needs.
Paul: But you're married now, right?
Judy: To the most wonderful guy. His name is Ken.
Paul: Okay, so tell me, why is Ken so special.
Judy: Well, he's cute and he's kind and he's got a wonderful sense of humor. I also like that he's intelligent and a good provider and, of course, he loves me and I love him.
Paul: I'm happy for you. How long have you been married?
Judy: Six years. Seven next June 14th.
Paul: So how did you almost sacrifice your happiness?
Judy: By allowing society to dictate my standards for a husband, and for suggesting that what I wanted in a husband couldn't exist without my marrying some disgusting, coke-snorting, Times Square pimp.
For example, my college sorority was full of some of the most beautiful, but most compromising, girls I ever met.
In general, their primary qualification for a husband was that he was kind and that he made a good living. And when they found a suitable candidate, especially if it was their senior year, they'd play 'the game' to snag him.
For example, my junior-year roommate's standard for an acceptable man was simple, even if was a little more shallow than average. One, he had to be older than she was, two, he had to be taller than she was, and three, he had to be a doctor. By the way she preferred a doctor who had normal hours, like uh . . uhm, what do you call it, a skin doctor . .
Paul: A dermatologist.
Judy: Ya, a dermatologist, I couldn't think of the word. What was I saying? Oh ya. She preferred a doctor like a dermatologist who had normal hours rather than like a surgeon or an ER doctor with crazy hours.
She reasoned that tall, dark and handsome millionaires, who were tender lovers and faithful to their dying day were in short supply, and, therefore, that she was only being reasonable. If she loved him that was gravy. In return, she would be the perfect little wife, mother and homemaker.
Paul: Do you know what happened to her?
Judy: Ya, I was a bridesmaid in her wedding. She married one of the nicest guys I know: he's older than she is, taller than she is, and he's in med school. If only I were so easily satisfied.
Paul: He sound's like a catch. So why wouldn't you be satisfied with someone like him?
Judy: Unfortunately, I wanted a man who was handsome and kind and who I loved and who understood that although I would always love him and that I would always maintain an image of respectability, that there were times when I need to be a real slut. . . . I don't mean some mouth-breathing, trailer-park trashette with too many tattoos and the IQ of lint. I mean a fucking slut. A cum-sucking, ball-licking, dick-riding, orgasmic slut.
Paul: I'm not offended, and I want you to feel comfortable to speak freely, but do you normally use that kind of language?
Judy: Absolutely not. In public I won't even say "Darn."
Paul: I assume you realize that many readers will be surprised to learn that a well-educated, well-mannered, respectable woman would say such things, let alone think them.
Judy: Then they have something to learn.
Paul: I'm sure you're right. Getting back to your earlier comment about men, I think that every man wants his wife to be a "slut." You know the saying, the perfect wife is a lady in public, a woman at home, and a whore in the bedroom.
Judy: Yes, but only in his bedroom. I wanted to be a whore in other guy's bedrooms too and I wanted a husband who'd accept me, . . . no, that's not it, ... a husband who'd help me be a whore in a lot of bedrooms and who'd love me for it.
Paul: I can see why you thought you might have to settle for the pimp.
Judy: It wasn't a question of whether I would love him or not. I wasn't asking to love other men. I wasn't asking to live with them or care for them. I was just asking for sex.
Paul: Love, sex, marriage, lust and intimacy are all different. I think most people know that.
Judy: Well, the fact that some don't is one of the reasons I didn't get married until I was 31, and let me tell you there were times, many times, when I was so lonely that I was sure that my Prince Charming couldn't exist and that I actually envied my ex-roommate "Mrs. Doctor." It was then that I almost got married — what a mistake that would have been.
Paul: Tell me about it.
Judy: I had a boyfriend, Phil, who I thought might be Prince Charming. We'd gone out for several months, he was really cute, he was kind, he had a good job, and the sex was great. We even talked about getting married.
We'd already discussed all of the important issues you should discuss before you get married, you know, one bathroom or two, who sleeps on which side of the bed, and are anchovies an appropriate pizza topping.
I really liked Phil, and I was sure I could grow to love him, but I was really nervous about his reaction to my licentious need. I wasn't so naïve to think that every guy's image of his wife included: mom, homemaker, village whore. In fact, I liked Phil so much, and I was so lonely at the time and so sure that I wouldn't . . . that I couldn't find Prince Charming that I considered marrying him anyway and suppressing my lust.
