Except for the nuisance of phone sex, I am an enthusiastic proponent of long distance relationships. Especially now that I don't have one. Both parties are on their best behavior when visiting, the sex is insatiably wild, and, best of all, the girlfriend or boyfriend eventually goes home. Your space is still your space, and if you want to park yourself at the computer all night in your happy face shorts eating Cocoa Puffs, no one is there to stop you.

Living in separate houses in the same city is not far enough apart. Territory encroachment is inevitable and closely followed by a full-on occupation. He leaves a toothbrush one day, which soon becomes a change of clothes, which somehow metamorphoses into a great pile of clothing smelling of moose in rut. You notice she has stashed a few toiletries in your bathroom, then before you can say "DMZ," little lacey mysteries are hanging across your shower curtain rod, she has taken your copies of Big Butt Magazine, and even worse, she's still reading them.

One must live far enough away from one's significant other to have a legitimate excuse for not moving in. Like a great job, family ties or tethered house arrest. One's significant other must also have place anchors, of course. Moving in is a promised future on which you never have to make good. If you can hold the girlfriend or boyfriend off long enough, inevitably, the two of you will break up.

Before you break up, you will experience interminable sexual longing that you will attempt to alleviate via email, IMs, or laggy webcam transmissions bathed in sallow lighting. Or there's good old-fashioned phone sex, which is also inevitable. One of you, at some horny moment, will mistakenly think phone sex is a good idea. And maybe, unlike anyone I know, this will work for you. But probably not.

The physical distance is likely what causes most of us phone sex novices to stumble over the absurdity of the situation. I'm alone in a paint-stained Black Flag T-shirt picking dog hair off the bedspread and I'm supposed to feel sexy? Or maybe it's because neither party is getting paid to perform. Or it's because, as I have been peevishly advised, we're hopeless literalists with no imagination who won't initiate because we're closet pillow queens. Oh, wait, that latter part was just about me.

My last attempt at phone sex went something like this:

SO: I kiss you ravenously and then make you spread out on the bed while I gather my ropes. With a Prussic knot, I tie your wrist to the--

Me: Um...

SO: What?

Me: I can slip out of a Prussic.

SO: No, you can't.

Me: Yes, I can and I have.

SO: What do you mean you have? Never mind, how about a tight French bowline?

Me: That's a little better.

SO: Okay, I tie these very tightly around your wrists and around your ankles. Then I unbutton your jeans and peel--

Me: Um...

SO: What?!

Me: If you tie my ankles first, you won't be able to remove said jeans.

SO: Oh yeah? How 'bout I get a big, sharp knife and cut the damned things off?

Me: Ah. Yes, I suppose that would work.

SO: And I shove a gag in your mouth while I'm at it.

Me: Um...

SO: No "um." You can't talk. And I'm going out for a nice, quiet walk. Bye.

Me: Um, are you going to untie me? Hello? Hm.

Your awkward phone sex experiments with someone you actually know may not fail as miserably; however, I recommend not trying. Contrary to popular belief, not trying prevents all manner of embarrassing failures. Not trying is the very foundation of protracted long distance relationships. At least, this is what I've been told.