Sexually, I'm More of a Switzerland Part 3

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0110011101100101 and must have keen knowledge of binary systems.94 Box no. 2318.

Easily-distracted cytogeneticist (F, 53) seeks anyone capable of enacting quinacrine banding during their turn at charades. Is it a book? A film? A song? No-it's a mitotic inhibitor being added to a cell culture.95 Please hold me. Box no. 6838.

Subscribed for the crossword. And the funnies. Sorely disappointed LRB reader (F, 36), yet to get one laugh out of Perry Anderson, or a workable anagram out of Slavoj iek.96 WLTM dumbed-down man to 45 who starts at the personals and then gives up. Box no. 1010.

My Weltanschauung97 informs me there are plenty of losers in this column but very few winners. It also tells me there is possibly one dentist and a smithy, neither of whom are me. I'm a lecturer in media studies. But if you are the dentist or smithy, or if you're friends with either of them, why not write? M, 47. Mancs. Box no. 0221.

Latka Gravas of the Humanities concourse (male, 31): real-time bathos, basic knowledge of spanners, and a finely-tuned slapstick instinct. A.J.P. Taylor will never read the same again.98 Box no. 0531.

Sorry is not the hardest word-auscultatory is. And bouzouki. Lexicographical gymnast (retired, M, 40), WLTM woman willing to easily concede defeat at Scrabble.99 Berks. Box no. 0917.

English lecturer, 44. Modelling himself on The Fonz in an entirely non-ironic way since 1979.100 Box no. 5222.

"The Skomorokh of Gender Confusion"

If you don't believe an evening in my company will be entertaining enough, just come and spend fifteen minutes with me and my personal wizard. Gaze in amazement as the archimage alters your perception of reality and awakens you to a world of many colours and sensations. Gurgle in delight as his top hat becomes a haven for the creatures of the Secret Forest. Bark in disgust as his linking rings become entangled in his hidden trouser compartment. M, 54, Tamworth. No time wasters. Box no. 7388.

Stop with all the small talk. I've a full tub of margarine and a set of Yahtzee dice with your name on them. The Jenga's at my place, but first, Newsnight. Man, 47. Box no. 1119.

I am the only piece of eye-candy appearing in this column. You are the only comely dentist. Are we fools to think it could ever work? Maths-obsessed cross-dressing M in Manolo Blahniks and Prada A-lines seeks health-food fascist and mismatched Oxfam disaster to 50 for long division, bursts of real fruit flavour and evenings worrying about the sugar-content of M&S101 slightly soileds. No barristers. Box no. 8631.

If I wear a mask, will you call me Batman? Just asking. Box no. 0558.

Former Miss World102 sought by trainee old perv (76). Box no. 6440.

Leave me alone with your father for an evening and by the end of the night we'll have gotten drunk together, have nicknames for each other and be scheduling in a football game. Give me the weekend and we'll be lovers. Man in denial, 35, determined to bring everyone you know out of the closet before crawling into it himself and nailing the door shut from the inside. Box no. 7509.

The eyes said 'take me, I'm yours': the thighs said 'pre-operative; and it's a long waiting list'. Why doth thou mock me, oh ye G.o.ds? M, 42. Box no. 0216.

A night with me is like a night at the Playboy Mansion.103 Tony (48), Bridgend. Box no. 3339.

The Harlequin of Doubt has visited me more than once. Often he is accompanied by the Jester of Shame. Either of these, however, is preferable to the Skomorokh of Gender Confusion, who comes whenever mother leaves me alone in the house. Divorced chemist, M, 53. Box no. 7789.

Some men can only be loved by their own mother. Not me, I've got Mr Snugly Panda. Male, 36, and Mr Snugly Panda, also 36. Box no. 9912.

I'm still Jenny from the block.104 Which is odd because yesterday I was Keith from the allotment. Keith from the allotment, 49. You can call me Jenny. Box no. 6411.

Three years ago I'd have doubted that I'd ever have the guts to place a lonely-heart advertising for an attractive, intelligent man to 54. But then three years ago I was wearing work-site boots and doubted that I'd ever go through with the breast enhancement surgery and oestrogen injections. My confidence as a woman grows daily, but my taste in footwear is still determinedly health and safety conscious at box no. 8911.

I have 39 years of magical experiences behind me. Gay epicurean land registrar and flamenco dancer (M). Box no. 6825.

I'd like to thank all the women of the LRB who have taken the time to read this advert by making love to you all. Honestly, it's the least I could do. Extremely grateful gentleman (76, but my tiny Elvis still works). Box no. 4311.

38 years of non-stop sitting and snacking may have taken their toll on my waistline, arteries and kidney functions, but this libido is as active as it ever was (think John Holmes in a mu'umu'u).105 Man. Leicester. A bit clammy but all smiles and busy, busy hands at box no. 8121.

A s.e.xual renaissance compels me (tupinaire enthusiast, M, 56) to write this advert. Box no. 1710.

If there really was a G.o.d, Adam Phillips106 would arrive and tell me these fantasies are healthy reactions to years spent in a cold, unforgiving and cruel marriage. Though I'm not sure mother would see it quite the same way. Is it too much, too soon? h.e.l.lo? Box no. 2221.

Apparently BBW is not a type of post-doctoral qualification.107 Eight-stone male dufus (42) seeks urgent help with redefining most of his life's a.s.sumptions. Box no. 5311.

Women to 35-you're all invited to the party in my pants. It's bring your own bottle and, please, remember to remove your shoes before you step on the carpet-mum's just had it cleaned. Stupid man, 33. Box no. 7010.

9.30 Night of a Thousand Shows; 10.15 BBC News; 10.30 Have I Got 2001 News for You; 11.15 It's Your New Year's Eve Party; 12.20am Are You Being Served?; 12.21 Insane Tantric s.e.x Bent Backwards Over a Decade's Worth of National Geographic. Finally, a New Year's Eve worth staying up for. Bolton night-school teacher (M, 38, likes cocoa before, after, and-if you're lucky-during). Athletic women, please, write to box no. 9118.

You're so vain. I bet you think this ad is about you. Don't you? Don't you? You couldn't be more wrong. Unless you're a Carly Simonloving nutcase with a collection of wide-brimmed floppy hats, espadrilles and every flavour of herbal tea stocked by Holland and Barrett. Simple man, 43, with simple tastes.108 Box no. 7651.

Don't listen to your inner voice in matters of the heart! Especially if your inner voice tells you to check his outgoing message box for evidence of a wife or ask why he always needs to be on the last train to Stafford instead of just staying the night. It's a simple rule, but it's a rule that will give us many happy-if somewhat opprobrious-experiences together. Man, 38. Not in the slightest bit married. Remember that. Box no. 4329.

There's something about austere cleanliness that makes my s.e.x engine purr like a kitten. Man, 37, could possibly attract a woman if only I could think of better openers. Box no. 2213.

"Blast into a future of love"

Capricorn Fifteens. Born 2244. Enter the Carousel. This is the time of renewal. Re-enacting Logan's Run in the corridors of UCL-history lecturer WLTM woman to 45 for whom the phrase 'be strong and you will be renewed' is often a prelude to intercourse.109 Box no. 6936.

The genre-crossing personal ad. It begins as Romance with this mention of Jane Austen, before turning into Contemporary Fiction with this reference to the latest Thomas Pynchon novel. But once we meet it's all Sci-Fi as I persuade you (and I will-my argument is perfectly sound and very coherently structured) about the existence of extra-terrestrials who walk amongst us disguised as doctors, academics, lawyers, my ex-wife and, latterly, following an absurd 3-month 'cooling-off' restraining order, my probation officer. Man, 48. Warwick. Box no. 3222. The truth is out there.

Puny Earthlings! I am come to bring a reign of terror upon your intellectually inferior world for a period not less than a thousand years of dark, impenetrable night! Women-folk-I'm going to have to ask you to remove your s.h.i.+rts and send photos to would-be Mekon, 43, sleeping on his sister's sofa the last three months running.110 Box no. 9733.

This advert is my best attempt at adequately expressing the true nature of the 46-year old man who placed it. It may look unremarkable but, given the scant dimensions humans are aware of, it's nothing short of miraculous. Reply now and I will show you how it reads among the peaceful Drivulian dream swimmers that populate our minds at night. Box no. 4740.

Man ahead of his time (aged 328 of your earth years). Join me in my Chiswick time machine and together we can blast into a future of love, l.u.s.t and microwaveable trousers. Box no. 1007.