I’ve read with interest recent letters from other local outdoor enthusiasts featured in your column and am amazed, not so much by their love problems, but that they have mates at all! I myself am more of a loner — always have been — and prefer communing with nature solo. That is, up until this past November, when I turned 40. It’s maybe the result of getting older, but I find myself yearning to share my outdoor adventures with a member of the female sex. But unlike these other guys, I’m having problems meeting someone I connect with. I’m planning an extensive canoe tour of Florida waterways this summer and would like to take a girl along with me. But, then again, am I betraying my principles? Maybe I’m just going through a phase. Should I just go it alone after all?

“Doug”

Merritt Island

Tony, such a woman is not hard to find. Unless you’re content to stick your tent peg in the dirt, I recommend loosening your rigid principles and exploring Withlacoochee, if you know what I mean…

Romeo,

“Rick” is a great guy, don’t get me wrong. We like each other a lot, but we come from very, very different backgrounds. Like, I’m Palm Beach-rich and he’s miserably poor. But for some reason we seem to connect. We haven’t made love yet — I’m far too busy at my secretive, high-powered job right now — and Rick is starting to pester me. Not only about sleeping with him, but also about what I do for a living. I don’t want to hurt Rick because he’s the nicest guy I’ve ever met, but I guess my maternal instincts are telling me that he just wouldn’t understand and that we’d never work together. But still, I have doubts. What should I do?

Lydia G.

Cocoa Beach

I suggest parting your drapes and letting him into your inner sanctum.    

Dear Romeo,

I’m sure you’ve been asked this many times, but I think readers would like to know your feelings about sex on the beach. Do tell…

Roger D.

Cocoa Beach

This depends on what beach you are talking about. Sex on Daytona Beach at three in the morning isn’t the same as making love on the Playa de la Marbella at the crack of dawn… who also happens to be a very close friend of mine. There are “beaches” and then there are Beaches — broad stretches of sugar and gold sand made by God himself for the purposes of love and romance. Explore these beaches and leave the others behind, or you might get cigarette butts in your gazzaladra, coquina shells up your pizzicato, and kelp and turtle hatchlings between your paparazzis. But because I am a skilled lover and own many plush towels, my many beach lovers and I never have these problems. Except for when I was with my last girlfriend, Sandy Bottoms! 

Dear Romeo,

I recently learned that my new girlfriend is a hermaphrodite. She just told me over the phone, and I could tell that something had been on her mind since we began dating a few days ago. I’m really into her though, despite knowing this. We still haven’t slept together obviously, and I’m worried about how I’ll handle it.

L.J.M.

Merritt Island

Be very careful how you handle it/them! I don’t envy you. Many fish are hermaphroditic as are several species of mollusks. But I’m sure your girl is a little more desirable that these things, am I correct? I hope so. If you can, try to leave a little night light on when you lay down to begin loving. Be delicate and gentle and pay attention to handle the right one at the right time. You must not, for example, reach for the Aphrodite and mistakenly touch the Herm. This will confuse everyone and I don’t want you writing in about this problem again if something bad happens. Tell them hello for me!

My husband and I have an ongoing battle with the television remote. It’s gotten so bad that we had to make a chart and schedule possession of it on alternating days. I think John clicks too quickly through the channels, and he gets irritated with me because he says I linger too long on shows in the middle of commercial breaks. This might seem like the kind of minor spat all young couples have to deal with at some point in their marriage, but I’m of the opinion that it’s affecting our sex life. On days that we don’t watch TV — like Mondays and Tuesdays, for instance, or when we’re out of town together — we seem to have fantastic sex. But I’ve noticed that on days when he has control of the remote, he tries to get frisky with me and I’m totally uninterested. On days when I have it, I admit to feeling a little cuddly, but Doug will push me away and mutter something about women and technology. I don’t want us to suffer anymore over such a stupid issue. Please help.

“Kerry”

Cocoa Beach

Dear woman, I am usually behind women on all matters of love, but in this instance I must take your husband’s side. Women are wonderful creatures, but it is very true that they change channels much too slowly for the average male. I recommend that on days when he has the remote that you turn off the lights, slip into bed, and give your fingers some exercise.

Dear Romeo,

I know I sound like a terrible girlfriend complaining about this, but “Troy,” who I’ve been with for three years now, volunteers way too much for my liking. I know lots of other girls out there gripe about their boyfriends spending too much time out with “the boys” or watching ESPN, and I’m sure that they must think me lucky to have such a caring, socially conscious mate. But after working long hours as a mechanic, Troy somehow finds time to help out with a number of local causes. He says that helping people is an essential part of who he is — and it’s certainly one of the main reasons I fell in love with him — but by the time he gets home, he’s to tired for romance. Am I being too selfish in wanting more of his time? I feel both guilty and lonely. Please help.

Rose F.

Cocoa

I don’t think that you’re being selfish at all, Felicity. Your boyfriend should make more time for you, but perhaps in the meantime you might feel better getting involved in a charitable cause of your own. And, of course, I have the perfect idea for you: I play soccer with a local Italian-American team that plays so aggressively that we go through uniforms rather often. We happen to be in need of someone who can collect and collate our old uniforms before donating them to children throughout Brevard. While your boyfriend is at work we’d be happy to drop our shorts at your house.

Romeo,

I’m a fourth-generation Floridian and am married to a wonderful girl who shares my passion for the outdoors. We get along much better than other couples we know because we do everything together — hunting, fishing, surfing, hiking, biking… you name it. But terrible arguments always flare up whenever we go canoeing, which is one of my latest interests. Karen is only comfortable in the front of the canoe, which is fine, but refuses to use an oar and tries to steer with the end of one of our old cane poles. Each time I try to explain to her the proper way to do it, she gets really bitchy and aggressive. I’m at my wits’ end.

J.T.

Cocoa Beach

Sounds to me like she needs a good paddle in the rear.

Dear Romeo,

“Joe” and I have been engaged for over two years and are set to get married this summer. We love each other madly and have a fantastic sex life — for the most part. It’s not the frequency or the quality of our lovemaking that’s lacking, but Joe’s insistence on referring to his “thing” as “Ball Park Frank.” It’s not enough that he’s chosen a name for it, but that he’s chosen one that couldn’t be more unattractive or unappealing. I guess I play along well enough and accept this eccentricity, and I’ve tried in vain to suggest more enticing names. He’s made this concession, but we can’t agree on a new name for it. Can you give us any suggestions?

“Marla”

Merritt Island

You have made a wise decision in accepting this, as you say, eccentricity of his, and I agree that he has chosen a very terrible name for his organ. May I suggest something more poetic or suggestive of foreign shores? How about “Mortadella” or “Linguiça”? I myself would opt for something more suggestive of lightness and sweetness. How about naming at after that delicate Italian pastry, “Sfogliatelle”? It’s hard to wrap your mouth around at first, but you’ll find that with practice it rolls right off the tongue.

I’ve always loved sorority girls. They’re always gorgeous and always eager to party. I’ve dated quite a few since I started college, but I’ve never met anyone quite like Beth. Beth belongs to one of the most conservative Christian sororities on campus, and though she’s really pretty and has a great body, Beth looks down on people who drink and do drugs and has probably never been to a wild party in her life. Even though I’m one of the hardest-core partiers at school, Beth seems to like me… I think because she thinks she can change me into a straight-laced gentleman. But little does she know that I’m out to change her. Beth really needs to cut loose. I’m not going to do anything sneaky like roofie her milkshake, but I am determined to prove to her the virtues of partying hard and letting go of your inhibitions. Everything so far has failed though. I was hoping maybe you could help.

“Kyle”
Merritt Island

Indeed I can help, Lyle. I am well known in many circles for my ability to convert even the most prudish of sorority coeds to the joys of the libidinous bacchanalia. I remember once dating a similarly puritanical girl who belonged to a sisterhood called Pi Pi Lambda. By the time I was done with her and her sisters, the whole organization had changed its name to Bi-Pi Lambada!

Romeo,

I got a problem. My girl is super hot and really cool, but she can’t stand the beach — which is more than this Florida-born surfer can handle. “Leslie” is from Buffalo, New York. We met when she came down here two years ago on vacation with her family. (I know! Who would have thought that I’d end up falling in love with a snow bird!) Anyways, I’m pretty convinced that she’s the one. It’s just this problem of her hating the beach! She hates the sand getting everywhere, she hates the salty, sticky air, and she says the waves are too big for her to enjoy swimming. She won’t say it, but I’m pretty sure she’s not even happy about me surfing. I love her to bits, but I don’t know what to do about this. I can’t believe it, but I’m starting to consider giving up going to the beach for her sake. She must be quite a girl, right?

“Chip”
Cocoa Beach

This sounds like quite a problem. But there’s no need for you to give up your interests for the sake of love. I can acclimate anyone to the pleasures of the seashore, and this girl is no exception. Let me take her to the beach with my woodie. I’d also be happy to show her my mahogany-paneled Ford.

Dear Romeo,

I’m having a difficult time with my boyfriend. We love each other deeply, but the relationship is beginning to show signs of strain. This is mainly due to my disgust with performing oral sex. Don is going crazy and threatening to leave me if I don’t pleasure him in this way. But I’m just not into it, Romeo. Frankly, the whole idea of it has always disgusted me. I don’t want him to take it personally. Please help.

Mary H.
Cape Canaveral

Not to worry, Lillian. You must try to pleasure him so well in other ways that he will forget about his preoccupation with fellatio. I remember I once had the opposite problem. Back in Italy, I dated a girl who preferred performing oral sex to traditional copulation. Needless to say, this was a huge blow to me. But I managed to forgive her in the end.

Romeo,

A few months ago I started seeing “Denise.” Denise is a good girl at heart, but she’s a little wild. To be honest, Romeo, Denise is a common tramp. I’m not all that proud of our relationship (which is based entirely on rough, impromptu sex), but she has no relatives and I feel a little sorry for her. Seeing as how Thanksgiving is coming up, I feel kind of guilty about leaving her on her own. I’m thinking about inviting her over to my parent’s house this year to feast with my close-knit family. Of course, I’m sure all my pretty straight-laced relatives will give both of us a hard time and I really don’t want her to feel uncomfortable. I’m more worried about my mother though; I’m sure she’ll go ballistic when she meets Denise. Is it worth hurting her feelings or ruining our family holiday? Any thoughts? What should I do?

John B.
Cocoa

Frank, don’t be such a turkey! Invite her! This is a time to give thanks and to be generous. I have been in a similar position many times over — and trust me, my mother is far more judgmental and vengeful than yours. The main question is: Are you a real man? Do you have any cranberries? If you do, then you’ll not hesitate in inviting her over! Do not be so shallow as to leave this poor girl alone on this most generous and loving of holidays. This girl may embarrass you at the table by requesting gravy on her pie. So what? Serve her! Maybe she would like a roll? Give her one! Maybe she desires stuffing? Maybe she yearns for a hot yam? Perhaps she’d like her buns buttered? Whatever the case, do not ruin this girl’s Thanksgiving for the sake of propriety. Pass the breasts and give thanks!

Dear Romeo,

My girlfriend Angie is a great looking girl and attracts stares from guys every time we go out. I admit I get a thrill out of showing her off because it reminds me of how lucky I am. Angie has always been a conservative dresser. She could go out in an ankle-length parka and muddy galoshes and still get attention. But since she turned 35 this past June, she’s taken to wearing more revealing clothing — sometimes too revealing, in my opinion. This summer has been one of the hottest on record, I’ll give her that, but I also think she may be starting to feel self-conscious about her age and is over compensating. Personally, I think she’s too old and classy to be dressing like a 15-year-old tramp, wearing what’s become her new favorite combo, a small, tight tank top and the top of her thong peeking out of her short shorts. She thinks I’m being prudish. What’s your opinion?

“Ron”
Cocoa Beach

In my humble opinion, Desmond, a girl of any age wearing short shorts with the top of her thong sticking out is guilty of some very cheeky behavior. It makes me wonder what young girls will be wearing 10 years from now. Your lady friend would be right in thinking that you’re being prudish, however. If you love her for her looks and her body and want to support her as she goes through this difficult time, I suggest that you let her show her whale tail. Just be sure she covers her blowhole. Ahoy!

Romeo,

I’m a girl who loves the outdoors. I mean really, really loves the outdoors. I’ve been with lots of guys who share my passion for hiking and camping, but all of them eventually get fed up with my constant need to sleep out under the stars. They usually split around this time of year when the temperatures get hotter and the mosquitoes start swarming. Honestly, all that has never bothered me at all. And I always sleep in the buff! Where have all the real men gone?

Kate S.
Merritt Island

Right here! I’m a real man! Even though I routinely shave my legs and chest and spend an inordinate amount of time on my hair, you will not find a man more in love with the outdoors and camping than I. Call me sometime. I am always pitching a tent!

Romeo,

Recently, while cleaning some computer files, I discovered that my husband has been visiting a slew of disgusting porn sites on a daily basis. I feel cheated and betrayed. Plus, all of these sites deal with some very strange and disturbing fetishes. Why are men obsessed with porn? Can you explain this phenomenon?

Martha D.
Cocoa

This is a terrible calamity of which you speak. Sex is a natural function, but it shouldn’t be shown in an ugly way that ignores romance. Porn is just a mechanical thing that has no place in sex. Every man has at least one fetish, but it sounds like your husband has too many to control. I can’t give you much assistance, but you can visit my informational blog on this distressing subject at: www.romeoshotgirlongirlaction.com. Enter!

Romeo,

I’m trying to plan a sexy-themed party for dear friend who’s finally getting married and all my fellow bridesmaids. We’ve decided that we’re totally not into creepy male strippers, but we’re still having a hard time coming up with a racy alternative. Any ideas?

Janice K.
Cocoa Beach

Dear woman, how about letting me help you organize a furniture party? I know it doesn’t sound very sexy, but just wait and see. After a few pink martinis, you’ll all be showing me your chests! I’ll even let you look in my drawers!

Dear Romeo,

I am so fed up with guys who think saying “That’s what she said!” is funny. Every time I go out with my girlfriends we always meet some jerk who think it’s hilarious to add it on after we say something unintentionally suggestive. What’s worse is that some of these idiots are well into their 40s. Please tell your male readers to stop this annoying habit.

Tracy G.
Cape Canaveral

Naomi, you’re not the only girl who has written to me about this. I get loads of letters about this very topic every day. As a matter of fact, I’ve created a special email account devoted solely to such missives. Every time I turn around, my box is full… which, coincidentally, is exactly what she said.

This economy really stinks. Not only can I not find a boyfriend, I also can’t find a job. As you can imagine, it’s pretty hard to meet single guys when you’re feeling terrible about yourself and can’t even afford to buy even one lousy Cosmopolitan. Do you have any advice to help me stick it out until Mr. Right comes along?

“Carmella”
Cocoa Beach

Janice, my heart goes out to you. Right off the bat, I’d say that the best way top stick it out until Mr. Right comes along is to stick it out! Mr. Right will be coming in no time. In the meantime, if you’re hungry for work I am in need of a highly skilled secretary who can take dictation and has difficulty running around desks. Jump on my staff!

Romeo,

I know it sounds stupid, but I’m in love with a guy who will only date girls who surf. “Kenny” says I’m good looking enough and have a nice enough body, but he refuses to date any girl who doesn’t know how to ride waves. He’s such a jerk, I know, and really vain and shallow, but I’ve had a crush on him for a long time. Plus, I want to get back at my ex-boyfriend, Joey. If Joey finds out I’m with Kenny, he’ll go through the roof. It sounds shallow of me too, I know, but Joey really betrayed me and I know dating Kenny is the best way to get back at him. Can you surf? Can you show me the basics one weekend? And can I borrow your board for a few weeks? Thanks!

Nina L.
Cocoa Beach

Unfortunately I had to give up surfing three years ago, Melody. I suffered a crippling accident while practicing some tantric sex techniques with a nubile Tahitian girl and a lewdly carved taro root in a barrel at Teahupo’o. Tantric sex, however, I still practice. Come by sometime and I’ll show you one of surfing’s most basic postures, which involves you putting your toes on your nose repeatedly. And yes, you can ride my board any time. You’ll have to wax it yourself, though.

What up, Ro?

Dude. I got a big problem. Both my buddy and me are in love with the same chick. She’s totally smokin’ hot and me and my buddy have been buddies since way back in the day — old school style. My buddy’s thinking that we should both date her, but that kind of weirds me out, you know? I just don’t do sharesies. What do you think? Will I be better off by myself and keep my buddy, or follow her and start a fight with my buddy, or just let my buddy have her? Buddy, I’m in big trouble.

Your bud,

J.T.

Melbourne Beach

As we say in my hometown of Santo Ignazio della Tagliatelle: “It is better to have one sausage in the hand than two in the frittata.”

Dear Romeo,

For as long as I can remember, I’ve had difficulty reaching climax in intimate situations. I’ve read a number of books on the subject, have had many good lovers, and have invested in several devices and toys, but I still can’t reach the heights of ecstasy I hear so many people describe. They talk about it in books, in movies, in music. I hear close friends describing the pleasure they receive from their boyfriends and husbands. I’ve heard it all, yet I just can’t relate. Since I was a teenager I’ve always been interested in my own body and I know better than anyone its limits and desires. I’ve tried everything on my own in my own bed with the right mood set and I think I’ve come close, but I still feel like I haven’t completely arrived. It’s like I’m eating a sundae without the hot fudge and the cherry. I’m at a complete loss and feel like sex is just a waste of time if I’m not experiencing it fully. Surely Romeo Pomodoro can help. Please?

“Farrah”
Merritt Island

Dear lady, of course I can help. But you think you’re alone in this predicament, don’t you? You would be foolish to think so. Would you believe that until his early twenties, Romeo himself suffered from this very problem? I was very popular due to my legendary stamina, but was never fully satisfied and was a woeful sight and object of pity in my village for many months. Between you and I, I still suffer from episodes of incompleteness from time to time. And I’ve found that the only way to achieve arrival is through vigorous but gentle manipulation from a sympathetic partner. Together we can overcome our problem. Why not drop by my sea-kissed bungalow to help me pull it off? Use the side gate. It’s always open and I am always nude on the verandah!

My husband travels a lot for work. It’s been this way ever since he got the job 10 years ago, but lately it seems like it’s gotten worse. No sooner does he come home and unpack than he has to get back on a plane. I know I shouldn’t complain because we have a beautiful home and plenty in the bank thanks to Carl’s job, but I’m starting to feel left out. The kids are off in college and I’m often stuck at home at loose ends. I’m very active in the community and enjoy several hobbies, but I’m beginning to resent Carl’s jet-setting lifestyle. Whenever he is home, he likes to stay around the house and we rarely vacation. Our relationship is beginning to show signs of strain. I married Carl to spend more time with him, but lately we aren’t enjoying each other’s company at all. Am I just acting like a spoiled ingrate? What I need is a mate, not a roommate!

Nancy G.
Merritt Island

Sounds as if you’re due for a vacation yourself, Eleanor. You may need to clear your head and relax to help you put things in perspective. In fact, as it happens, I’m due for a holiday myself. How about coming to Australia with me for a few weeks? I’d love to see you down under! G’day, mate!

Romeo,

I’ve had a lot of girlfriends, but I’ve never had as much trouble with an ex as I’m having right now with Debbie. One of the main reasons I broke up with her was because she was getting too possessive and needy. Since we split I’ve caught her driving past my apartment and workplace several times a day. I’m thinking about calling the cops on her, but a lawyer friend told me that Debbie wasn’t actually doing anything illegal, just weird. But last week i caught her rifling through some old junk I put outside by the curb. When I yelled at her from out my window, she just took off. I’m no wuss, but I’m starting to get freaked out. You must have been in situations like this before. Any advice?

“Jake”
Cocoa Beach

Sorry to hear about your predicament, Rick. I have indeed been in plenty of similar situations. In fact, I’m so stalked that people often call me “Broccoli.” The difference between you and I, however, is that I have no problem with crazy women handling my junk!

Dear Romeo,

Just when you think you’ve got your finger on current sexual fads, along comes someone to throw you for a loop. I’m an aging baby boomer and grew up in a time when oral sex was a taboo subject of conversation, but in nowadays it’s seen as passe and rather white bread. Now the kids are into all kinds of deviant sexual practices I never even imagined — and this is coming from a guy who’s been to his fair share of bisexual, wife-swapping orgies! I consider myself to be as sexually open-minded as the next guy, but I’m having a hard time keeping up with the latest sexual practices. My question to you is, when should one stop exploring new sexual avenues? What’s a graceful age to give up trying?

“Thorvald”
Cocoa Beach

I certainly understand your frustration, Lyle. As an aging lothario myself, I too have issues with constantly changing sexual mores. But I’ve also always been something of a freak, and as such, have never had a hard time keeping up with anything! And as far as these sexual fads go, it’s never really a bad idea to always be coming up the rear!

Dear Romeo,

Of all the things that get you excited about a woman, what’s the most arousing? Just curious.

Jane T.
Cape Canaveral

Interesting question, Gilda. It’s something I’ll have to think long and hard about.

I have a weakness for men with accents. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve passed over drop-dead gorgeous, red-blooded American guys for the dumpy Greek tourist sitting in the corner. It doesn’t matter where they come from — China, India, Holland, or Chile — so long as I can detect an accent as soon as they open their mouths I’m in all the way. Yet as a successful small business owner with strong ties to the area and whose biological clock is ticking away I’m also dead set on finding a regular American guy with whom to settle down and raise a family. And American guys can have accents, right? What I got last week wasn’t at all what I expected to find. The first time I met “Joe” I knew he was the one, but his Alabama twang isn’t the kind of regional accent I was hoping for. Frankly, it’s starting to turn me off. Am I being too much of a snob?

M.K.
Cocoa Beach

A woman who likes an accent is an idea I can definitely get behind. And usually, behind every woman who likes accents who comes into my bedroom, is a handsome and skilled man from Hoboken pretending he’s from a small Tuscan village. Why not take Joe to a speech therapist or voice coach? He’ll sound a lot more enticing to you with perhaps a Scottish burr or Croatian mumble? Problimisolvid, no?

Dear Romeo,

First off, I’m not gay. Let me make that much clear. But does that stop me from getting hit on by gays every time I go back home to visit my family in Wisconsin? Hell no. I don’t know what it is with that state, but to me it’s way worse than California or New York. Don’t get me wrong; I have a lot of gay friends, but wherever I go in Wisconsin I’m instantly surrounded by lisping, well-groomed men. Any thoughts?

“Kyle”
Cocoa Beach

So you’re not gay, Mike. We’ve got that much straight. Any place where a common newspaper headline during draft season is “Packers Grab Tight End” should set off some gently tinkling alarm bells. But I’d feel flattered if I were you. Still though, if you’re so concerned about being accosted, try wearing decidedly “straight” attire like a NASCAR sweatshirt or football jersey. Clothing items like these should indicate clearly which team you play for, thereby deflecting any unwanted advances. But don’t be too stubborn; I hear the two-point conversion is making a comeback. I’m open!

Romeo,

I’m embarrassed to tell you that I don’t last very long in bed. To be honest, I prefer foreplay to the actual act because I’m usually able to hold out for about an hour. But once it gets to the actual deed it’s all over. Do you have any tips for me?

“T.J.”
Cape Canaveral

Plenty of tips and techniques can be found in my 2002 book, “Ejaculatory physiology and dysfunction,” the name of which was changed by the publisher from “I’ll Be Coming ‘Round the Mountain.” But there’s nothing wrong with what you’re experiencing. In fact, it puts me in mind of when I first moved here and worked as a sailor-for-hire at Port Canaveral. As pleasing as it was to go on the odd long voyage out in the open sea, I much preferred the 10-minute tug jobs.

Romeo,

I just met this great Cuban woman while on a business trip to Miami. We didn’t hook up, but she’s due to come up here to visit me soon, based in large part on my drunken promise to cook her an authentic Cuban meal. The fact is that I know nothing about Cuban food or culture and lied about my ethnic background I guess a little too convincingly. I’m a third-generation Swede from Minnesota and don’t know a frijole from a media noche. You’ve got to help me!

Daniel S.
Indian Harbour Beach

Fear not, Oliver. Romeo will assist you in your time of need. I am very familiar with Cuban cuisine and can prepare you a dinner that will have her at your mercy by the time she takes a nibble of my smothered tostones. And as soon as she puts her lips to my firm malanga, we’ll all be off to BEACH PAWN (6992 N. Atlantic Ave., Cape Canaveral) for an engagement ring!

I have a question about New Year’s Eve 2012. I know it’s way early, but my wife is already trying to ruin the plans it took us so long to make. You see, it’s been on our bucket list for a long time to ring in a new year in NYC and see the ball drop. After two years of planning and saving, we finally bought our tickets and reserved a room in a hotel overlooking Times Square. Well, you know how women are. Cathy is now convinced that the world is going to end in 2012 based on some nonsense she read about the Mayan calendar prophecies and now wants to stay closer to home with her mom, dad, and two sisters. She says if we’re going to die we should all be together. But I say that if we’re all going to die, what does it matter? We may as well enjoy ourselves, right? But Cathy won’t hear of it and is refusing to go. That’s a helluva lot of time and money wasted and all for some predictions that may or may not come true. What should we do?

Steve M.
Cocoa Beach

This is quite a conundrum, Donald. I overheard someone discussing these ancient Mayan predictions the other day while browsing at BEACH PAWN, which is located at 6992 N. Atlantic Ave. in Cape Canaveral, and the details and coincidences are somewhat unsettling. Whether or not the Apocalypse does come to pass isn’t really the issue though, as every New Year’s Eve should be a very special event. And this is why I propose a compromise: you could go to New York with another friend and your wife could stay here with me on my breezy seaside verandah to watch my ball drop. You’re welcome!

Dear Romeo,

I’m so embarrassed! There’s this guy I’ve been into for a long time, and he kinda seemed like he was kind of into me too. I never made the moves on him because he’s had a pretty serious girlfriend he’s been with since college. Well, last week I found out when we were at the bar that he broke up with her and I got so excited that I got pretty drunk and my friends pressured me into doing my famous “sexy dance” on a barstool to catch his attention. I’ve done it a bunch of times at this bar and it’s never failed to catch a guy’s interest and the good thing is that all the stools are bolted to the floor. Well this time I got up on one and it was really wobbly and it came up out of the floor while I was dancing on it and I totally collapsed and fell on my face and knocked a tooth out! Oh. My. God. When I woke up “Rich” was nowhere to be found and I’m scared that now he’s totally turned off by me. What can I do to get a second chance?

“Cindy”
Cape Canaveral

I wouldn’t worry too much, Margo. Be sure in the future to drink more responsibly and try not to come on too strong. He may still be hurting after his breakup. I’d be more concerned about your problem with loose stools. Make sure that all your stools henceforth are firm and solid before you attempt your dance. BEACH PAWN (6992 N. Atlantic Ave., Cape Canaveral; 868-CASH) might have some furniture items in stock.

Mr. Pomodoro,

I will be in your area in a few months’ time on business and would like to know where I might be able to find a decent prawn cocktail. Thank you kindly in advance.

Cheers,
Martin Turpin
(via email)

I highly recommend BEACH PRAWN, located at 6992 N. Atlantic Ave in Cape Canaveral.

Romeo,

I think I’m a pretty good-looking guy, but I have a hard time catching women’s attention. I’ve tried all kinds of techniques  but nothing seems to work. I usually test them before hitting the bars when out when I’m busy running errands — like in the grocery store or at the coffee shop — but still nothing seems to work. Any ideas?

John S.
Merritt Island

I think your testing these techniques out first is a good idea, Derek. I myself have perfected my famous techniques in this very way during my daily activities. As a youth, I started out making eyes at the butcher’s daughter, running my hands through my luxuriant hair at the post office, and unbuttoning my fine linen shirt a few notches in the bank, but nothing worked so well as when I would often drop my pants at the cleaners. I also recommend trying out some of your moves at BEACH PAWN, located at 6992 N. Atlantic Ave. in Cape Canaveral.

I’m part of a group of 10 single girls who are all relatively new to the area and are interested in getting involved in community charities and causes. Once a week, the Sandy Cheeks Women’s Group gets together to share a few bottles of chardonnay, cry on each other’s shoulders about the lack of eligible males here, and brainstorm about ways to better our new hometown. We could have met with a city official for direction and ideas, but as big fans of your advice column and knowing about your history of community involvement and romantic wisdom we thought we’d ask you. “Why not ask Romeo?” we said. We’re thinking about organizing a singles dance at the Country Club to benefit local senior organizations and schools and thought you could get the word out to all your male disciples to attend. What do you think?

Meghan Rodriguez
Founder, The Sandy Cheeks Women’s Group
Cocoa Beach Chapter

I applaud your cause and your choice of advisor, Millicent! I’d be glad to help. But you must first understand that the men of the beaches aren’t ones for dances in general. If you want to draw a crowd of eligible and affluent men, I propose that you and your girlfriends put together a golf tournament benefit. I’d be more than happy to sponsor all your holes! Fore!

Romeo,

For as long as I can remember — even back to, like, 5th grade — I’ve always been a “wing man” for all my better looking friends. They go out, see a hot chick, and always expect me to take care of her ugly friend. I don’t have very high standards and I know that I’m not all that handsome myself (I’m no Romeo Pomodoro, shall we say), but come on! I’m content at least to have pretty regular sex, but I’m tired of always sleeping with dogs! What can I do?

T.J.
Cape Canaveral

First, and most importantly, you must change your attitude! No woman is a “dog.” If you want to be like Romeo Pomodoro, you must see all women — regardless of attractiveness levels — as beautiful goddesses who are in need of respect and gentle love. Secondly, you must always remember that you could be a lot worse off. Consider my good friend “Steve,” a taxidermist who has a shop up at the Port. The poor man works in one of the best locations in the area for meeting a constant stream of new and beautiful and exotic women, but he’s always stuck mounting fish late into the night.

Ro!

What up, dude? I love my little lady “Gigi.” She’s hot and really into me and the same things I am but she’s also way more successful and older. Like way more, but I don’t care! She’s still hot! Anyhow, all this is throwing a lot of bad vibes on our relationship. Gigi loves me and has always been very supportive, but since she started funding my idea of opening a surf school I’m starting to feel really, really guilty and I hate it! Opening this business has always been a big dream of mine but I don’t want to lose Gigi over it because I’m feeling so bad about taking her money. And the way this economy is going, I don’t think I’ll be able to pay her back for like a really, really long time. Help, dude!

Ernesto L.
Melbourne Beach

Mike, there is a long tradition of patronage among younger men and their older female lovers, and you should never be ashamed of this. When I first moved to the beaches, an older widow helped me get on my feet and she still helps me from time to time in exchange for certain “favors.” She is very generous and has helped me fulfill my dreams. I am not ashamed to have one of the largest stipends in the area! Cha-ching!

Dear Romeo,

What’s all this talk about the “G-Spot”? Is it a myth? How do you even find it? Please enlighten me…

“Derrick”
via e-mail

An interesting question, Walter! I love the ocean and watersports of all kinds but have never been much of a surfer, so as far as I can tell — and you hear a lot of talk around here about it — the G-Spot does in fact exist. It is, however, a complicated and expensive endeavor in getting there. Even your local travel agent can tell you that the fabled G-Spot is in Indonesia — hard to reach, but well worth the effort. Now the G-Spot is not to be confused with another popular surf break called “G-Land,” which I think is somewhere near South Central Los Angeles. Don’t get the two mixed up. You’re welcome!

Romeo,

I’ve been living with “Steve” for two years and everything has been going great up till now. Steve has always been very supportive of my hobbies and interests. He even went so far as buying me a kayak when I was into studying local ecology last summer! But when I recently took up the saxophone he started freaking out! I know it must have been difficult for him to listen to my first practice sessions as I learned my way around it, but did he need to throw it out? I’m willing to make some concessions, but playing the saxophone has been a lifelong dream of mine. Now I’m at a crossroads. Do I leave Steve to pursue my dream, or just accept the fact that my sax is probably somewhere in a pile of garbage at the dump by now?

Please help,

“Carrie”
Satellite Beach

Dorothy, dump him! You’re more than welcome to learn your way around my instrument any time. I love sax!

Romeo,

I recently got fired from my job as a successful cosmetics executive and I don’t know what to do. I’ve never considered myself to be a shallow girl, but the social circle I used to be in the middle of was much more exciting than the one I now find myself stuck in. It used to be all about sipping Bombay Sapphire martinis with handsome, rich men in tailored suits, and now it’s sharing Pabst Blue Ribbon with penniless, ratty-looking beach bums whose idea of dressing up is tucking their shirts into their baggies and wearing socks with their flipflops. I know that getting fired is supposed to be liberating for some people, but right now all I can say is that getting laid off sucks! What should I do?

M.K.
Melbourne

Florence, it’s clear that you don’t really know the meaning of the word “suck.” Things could be much worse. It sounds to me like you need some perspective and some cheering up. We all know that getting laid off is no fun. How about joining me to get laid off the coast of Boca Raton on my sleek, shiny vessel, “The Macaroni Daddy”?

R.P.,

I’ve read other letters to you describing my problem, but I’m still concerned about how to turn my life around for the better. I’m a self-pleasure addict and have tried everything under the sun in an effort to stop, but I just can’t. I think I’m just going to give up and accept the fact that touching myself is the only enjoyment I seem to get out of life these days. Is there anything wrong with that?

“Kyle”
Cape Canaveral

No, Lyle, there is nothing wrong with that. Good for you for coming to the right conclusion! I was going to give you the same advice, but it seems you beat me to it!

Romeo,

I’m a single girl and have been so for quite some time. I’ve been told I’m very good looking, in great shape, and smart and fun to be around. But I’ve also been told by some friends that my obsession with Aikido might be off-putting to some men. Apparently, says my friend Sally, men don’t feel like going out with a girl who they know could kick their butt at any given moment. I’m rapidly advancing through the ranks and am up to compete in several state and national contests. You’d think I’d be a catch for some of my male classmates, but no. I’m very happy about my skills and the role martial arts has played in my life, but I still feel somewhat empty. I figure this has to do with my lack of a real love life. Please give me some sound advice as to what I should do.

Sincerely,

“Katie-san”
Merritt Island

Grasshopper, you should be proud of your accomplishments. Though love is an important facet of happiness, one shouldn’t sacrifice one’s other interests in pursuit of it for its own sake. The problem lies not with you, but the men you’ve acquainted yourself with. I think the solution can be found in another environment. Why not take some time to come and check out my dojo? My dojo is one of the largest and most respected in the area. You will also find me to be a formidable opponent and excellent teacher. Do you know the Heaven-and-Earth throw/Chest grab/Reach-around combo? It takes some practice, but you will find me to be a very patient master.

I’ve been working as a mechanic for over 25 years. Over that time I’ve come across a fair share of beautiful women. The problem is that I’m sometimes afraid to ask them out because I’m afraid that they will only see me as sweaty grease monkey who’s not good for anything but turning a wrench. What would you do?

“Jim”
Merritt Island

I think you’re selling yourself too short, Sal. I know of many women who’d like to have a grease monkey as a lover. Well, one at least, and she’s not really worth mentioning… But the point maybe is that you should highlight the other services you offer in sexier terms. Most females, for instance, wouldn’t be very interested in getting turned by a wrench. Highlight the lubrication services you provide, the reconditioning, the fine tuning — the more artistic features of your profession. And be sure to downplay your willingness to do trannys.

Romeo,

I have a strange question. I work as a barista at a local coffee shop part time to help out with my bills and school. Although I love my job, I am constantly being hit on by practically every man that comes in! Of course, I’m flattered, but the problem is they are all old men! What’s the easiest way to let an older man know you’re just not interested?

Cindy L.
Cocoa Beach

Veronica, the first question to ask is whether these men are George Clooney-old or George Burns-old. A surefire way to get rid of them is to tell them, regardless of their actual age, that they’re still far too young. This serves a dual purpose: you’ll let them off easy — and maybe even happier with themselves, and it also gives them hope that with each passing day they get closer to winning your affection. The result is that you’ll see your tips increase exponentially, at which point you’ll be able to take me out for a celebratory drink. And, for the record, I’m Fabio-old.

Pomodoro!

You bastard! I’ve caught you! Unbeknownst to you, I have one of the most advanced security and surveillance systems in the county. I have very many precious possessions, one of which is my beautiful wife. So you will understand my grief and extreme anger when I tell you that while viewing the week’s videos recorded while I was out of town, that I spotted a skinny little Italian climbing out of my bedroom window wearing a cheetah thong and leather slippers. I know it was you. Watch your back, Pomodoro!

“Mr. X”
Melbourne Beach

Sir, you are in error. It is likely that judging from your description you have mistaken me for my nemesis, the evil Lorenzo Alfresco. I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing a cheetah print thong, for one. I’m usually clad in my manatee-hide thong and combat boots. If you paid more attention to your wife, you’d know that she likes combat boots. Plus, she always lets me in through the back door, if you get my meaning. That was how we arranged for my secretive entry when I first installed your advanced security and surveillance system for you disguised as a technician.

Buddy!

Hey Romeo! Remember me? It’s Tim! Wow man, I can’t believe it! I just rolled into town and picked up this rag and saw your column! I haven’t seen you in ages. I think the last time we were together was Spring Break ’07, up in Daytona. Man, you were into some weird stuff! A real freak! I’ve never partied like that! Let’s get together for a reunion soon. Call me!

Tim
561-XXX-XXXX

Unless you’re the Tim I covered in cling wrap and olive oil and threw capicola at while you screamed “Mommy!” then I have no remembrance of this unfortunate episode, which I should hope you’d like kept a secret. It is you, sir, who are a freak.

The most fantastic girl in the world dumped me on Thanksgiving and I still can’t get over it. I don’t know what to do — I’ve never felt this low in all my life. They say there are plenty of fish in the sea, but I don’t know where to start looking. I want to start 2011 off on the right foot.

Pete R.
Satellite Beach

It’s true, Roger, that there are plenty of other fish in the sea, most of them probably even more fantastic. And with my help, you will find them! The perfect place to start is by letting me take you on one of my charters on my large vessel, “The Macaroni Daddy.” As the temperature out there begins to drop, I highly recommend we go inland just after sunset and toss our lines in the hidden pockets where many of the beauties tend to congregate during mating season. I think we’d be best off affixing a few 12-ouncers and some Spanish fly to our equipment, then dangling our poles just in front of their noses. It might take a while to get a nibble, but be patient. Once you feel the slightest tug, jerk back and reel ‘em in. We should expect plenty of rod-bending action! Let’s hook up!

Romeo,

If you’re not using one of your many mistresses, can I borrow one for a few weeks? Ha ha!

“J.T.”
Cape Canaveral

There is one I’m not using at the moment, actually. She’s rather rough, but very willing. Look for her in the Yellow Pages under “Stump Grinding.”

Romeo,

“Shelley,” my girlfriend of six months is very amorous. The problem is that she’ll do everything but straight intercourse. As much as I enjoy all the other playing around, I really want to take our love life to the next level, but she’s vehemently against it. I still get satisfied, and even though I find it a little strange, I’m afraid to jeopardize our relationship because she’s so hot and so skilled. What should I do?

“Jim”
Cocoa Beach

This girl sounds like a curious case, Kyle. In fact, she reminds me of the faulty elevator in my old Milan apartment building. Each time I pushed the “Up” button, it was going down on me. I recommend moving to the basement, so to speak. If she’s as attractive and as skilled as you claim, staying where you are might be better than taking the stairs.


Dear Romeo,

My husband and I are both very busy people, so the few moments we share together are very important to us. The problem is that every time we light the candles and sit down to an intimate dinner an intense hammering starts up in the house next door and won’t stop until the romantic mood’s been completely destroyed. We’ve talked to our neighbor, a retired handyman, but he just won’t let up with the constant banging in his garage. Do you think there’s a way we can re-establish our love life without having to move?

Rebecca S.

Indian Harbour Beach

Rebecca, all I can say is that you should be thankful that you don’t live next to Romeo Pomodoro’s home where there is always hammering and banging going on!

I think I can safely speak for many other Romeo fans when I say that I’m curious to find out more about your childhood in Italy, specifically your own Christmas memories. You’ve shed some light on your formative years in a few of your initial columns, but it seems you seldom do any more. Please give your many readers and female admirers some of your Christmas cheer.

Margery Faraday-Smythe

Queen of The Red Hat Society of Floridana Beach

What a wonderful request, dear woman, and one I’d be happy to fulfill. Though Romeo has never forgotten his roots, he hasn’t returned to the village of his childhood in over five years. I remember fondly that during my youth, as part of a charming and very ancient regional Christmas tradition, all the young, nubile girls from the surrounding area would display the delicately-clipped topiaries they had been working on throughout the autumn. All the young men would gather in the piazza to admire these festive shrubs before voting on the best and most delightful of the group. But, alas, times have changed, and that tradition has long since faded into memory. When I go back this Christmas, as I’m scheduled to do, I’ll probably just be stuck sitting in front of my Grandmother Luisa’s dried-out, untrimmed bush. Buon Natale!

Dear Romeo,

Like you, I’m a very skilled lover. I am also one of your biggest fans. Lots of people tell me that I may even be your female counterpart. Most men just think that I’m a common prostitute, but like you, I give my love for free. I would love to meet you in person some time to give you an extra special Christmas present.

“Dora The Explorer”

If you’re like me, as you claim, then you must be very busy. I’d love to meet you. Do you have an opening for me? I think you do…

Romeo,

This holiday season, I’ve decided to give the gift of women’s empowerment to all the females of the beaches. No longer will me and my sisters stand for the way you sex-obsessed animals treat us. This Christmas, I encourage all beachside women to settle for nothing less than the removal of your offensive advice column from what is an otherwise excellent publication. This Christmas, I give to all local women the gift of freedom from the macho idiots out there like yourself who think we’re good for nothing but sex. Down with Romeo and all male chauvinist pigs!

(Unsigned)

Satellite Beach

Is it chilly in here, or is it just me? My dear unsigned, the point of Christmas is not only to give, but to receive. Therefore, I must give you something in return. What would you like in your stockings? Two warm, firm hands? I’m guessing no. I think I’ll just give you a nutcracker. But be gentle!

Dear Sir,

Spending Christmas alone stinks. I think all men are bums. And you’re be the biggest bum of them all!

Merry Christmas,

“Jenny”

Melbourne Beach

Speaking of big bums, Jessie, I bet I could shine yours up to a nice chrome-like shine with some of my expensive imported oils and lotions! Your insults, while duly noted, are a bit tired. I suggest adding some new ones to your repertoire. Call me and I’ll give you a good Italian one to stick in your arsenal! Look out!

Romeo,

What do you want for Christmas? I’m getting my list together and would like to get you something sexy.

K.L.

Cocoa Beach

I’m glad you ask, because Romeo does happen to have something he’d like for Christmas. I think that above all else, I would like a golden shower. Can you believe that I’ve never had one? …Oh, please get your minds out of the gutter. I mean to say that I would like an actual golden shower, as in a shower encrusted in gold like the ones many popular rappers must have. One of my ex-girlfriends promised to give me a golden shower last Christmas, but it cost me $500 to clean the carpet.

My marriage is being torn apart by my husband’s addiction to Internet pornography. I caught him at it once and reprimanded him, but he won’t stop. Thanks to his last “session,” we’re now in a trial separation. Romeo, I honestly wish it were one, real woman I had to contend with. That would certainly make it easier than going up against millions of the ones he sees on a daily basis. Please help!

K.L.
Merritt Island

I would have no problem going up against millions of women, that I can tell you. Going up against any woman would be a pleasure! But seriously, among the many problems we as a society face today, the ready availability of pornographic imagery poses the most threat. I don’t often recommend seeking counseling — after all, that’s what I’m here for — but I wouldn’t feel comfortable giving any other advice in this instance as I myself was once a porn addict who overcame it through therapy. It really does help. I haven’t looked at pornography for three months now, and I feel great. The only problem is that now I just sit at home in front of the computer and Google myself — often several times a day. And now I’m in need of physical therapy. My wrist is killing me!

Romeo,

My boyfriend and I just opened a restaurant and things seem on the surface to be going great. Thanks to my front-of-the-house expertise and “Bill’s” excellent cooking, we’ve already earned accolades as one of the best new restaurants on the Space Coast, and we’re showing enormous profits despite only having been open for two months. What’s at issue is what is going on at the “back of the house.” Since opening, we’ve gone through three major staff changes, chiefly because Bill can’t stop having affairs with the waitresses. I had to let most of them go because these young girls routinely fall for his charms. I always knew bill was a horndog, and even suggested we open up a diner staffed by strippers to keep him happy. I do love him though, and now the idea doesn’t seem very funny at all.

“Lynn”

It looks as if there’s no way you’ll be able to change him at this stage, Dorothy. The thing to do is to look hard into your own soul and find out what really matters the most to you right now: profits or his love. If you still can’t make up your mind, then I would seriously consider making your idea of a stripper diner a reality. You could even change your focus to barbecue. Think about it: plenty of juicy butts and pulled pork! It just might work!

Romeo,

We all know you’re a legendary sex maniac, but we rarely see the romantic side of you anymore. I seem to remember you mentioning in a previous column that you wrote an essay on the nature of romantic love. Have you published it? I know of at least four of my girlfriends who’d love to read it.

“Kelly”
Satellite Beach

Yes, I do remember mentioning my essay on true love at one point in the past. It was never published, but I think I could whip it out for you some time, Julie. Come around to my place with your friends and I’ll show you my full-length piece on the subject.

Dear Mr. Romeo,

I am a very wealthy man and want for nothing. However, my beloved wife of 30 years has recently left me because I can’t seem to keep my hands off the domestics. How can I get her back?

“Bartholomew”
Melbourne

This does sound serious, sir. I recommend getting involved in Alcoholics Anonymous as soon as possible. But the more glaring question is why, considering your wealth, you wouldn’t want to stock your fridge with imports.

Dear Romeo,

My girlfriend and I have a very active sex life but live in constant fear of an unwanted pregnancy. We’re pretty careful, but we’ve grown tired of all the traditional contraception methods. I figured you could suggest some alternatives.

Tim H.
Cocoa Beach

Well, I do have one I’d like to mention, Jim, but I’m afraid my Editor will censor my suggestion. I’d have to couch it in roundabout terminology, and that might be construed as beating around the bush.

I love my old lady, don’t get me wrong, but the wild behavior that first drew me to her has gotten out of control. No sooner does “Ellen” have a few beers than her top comes off! Like, anywhere; last week it was while we were waiting to be seated at Outback, and the week before that at our friends’ 20th anniversary at a white tablecloth restaurant. It was a turn-on at first, but now it’s earning her a lot of unwelcome attention. Whenever I call her out on it she just tells me to stop being such a square.

“Harley Dave”

Satellite Beach

Hmm. Seems that whenever she’s in her cups, she’s out of them! Barkeep, another round for the little lady! Honk honk!

Romeo,

I’ve always hated those silly magazine quizzes my girlfriend keeps badgering me to take. Last month, against my better judgment, I took one. I passed with flying colors (luckily) and she showed all her friends my results, and I’ve never been so embarrassed in all my life. To get back at her, I forced her to take one from one of my old copies of Maxim. It was: “Which wild animal does your girlfriend most resemble?” She came out “a cougar.” She’s always been very sensitive about our age difference — I’m 29 and she’s 40 — but she just flew off the handle when I gave her the result and hasn’t spoken to me since. It’s not my fault she’s a cougar, and it should have taught her a lesson about taking these questionnaires seriously. I love her and want to apologize, but she won’t answer her phone or let me anywhere near her. Now what?

Phil G.

Cape Canaveral

I can understand why she might be angry, Greg, but it seems that enough time has passed for her to forgive and forget. Tell her to look on the bright side of things; at least she didn’t come out as an old hungry beaver! Timberrrr!

Dear Romeo,

I’m in love with Allison and have been for some time. She loves me too, despite my notorious wandering eye. But the real problem is that it isn’t just my eye that wanders; I’ve had several full-fledged sexual affairs behind Allison’s back, and she recently found out about all of them. Many girls have tried to change my philandering ways, but I suppose that I’m so good looking that every one of them eventually forgives me for my trysts. Allison is different though, because she has a truly kind soul, unlike most of the girls I’ve been with. But as much as I love her, I still can’t help seeking adventure elsewhere. She’s always forgiven me, but this time I can’t seem to forgive myself. The last girl I was with is pregnant, but I don’t have the heart to tell Allison. Can you offer me any words of wisdom?

F.N.

Melbourne

I think you would do well to note the words of the great French philosopher Voltaire: “Il faut cultiver notre jardin”, or “We must cultivate our garden.” But on second thought, another bit of agriculturally inspired advice from a lesser-known Italian philosopher named Guido Piano might be more helpful here: “Prestare attenzione a dove si versa il tuo seme,” which means “Be careful where you spill your seed.”

Dear Romeo,

My wife has been angry for a long time about my frequent visits to gentlemen’s clubs, but I tell her that she has nothing to worry about and that it’s just a guy thing. Just the other day she confronted me and demanded that I take her to one so she could see for herself what it was like. She even says she wants to get a lap dance herself. I suppose it’s no big deal — I know other guys who’ve taken their wives and girlfriends to strip clubs — but still, I’m a little nervous. I’ve thought about it, and have no problem bringing her, but I think letting her get a lap dance might be taking things just a bit too far. What do you think?

“Gentleman Jim”

Cocoa Beach

Why bring her to the club and not allow her the full experience? I say let her get a lap dance. Just pray it doesn’t rub off on her. Look out!

After years of dating and suffering in pointless, immature relationships, I’ve finally met the girl of my dreams. I’ve dreamt about meeting someone like Ashley my entire life. She’s smart, funny, successful and beautiful, and she shares my beliefs about life, love, religion and politics. Though we’ve only been seeing each other for two months, we’ve already made plans to marry and have even discussed having lots of children. Everything about her is perfect, and I’m absolutely over the moon. But there is one problem: Ashley is very possessive and jealous. She’s yelled at me like a crazy, wild animal several times over nothing and each time she’s really scared me. Of course I’m always willing to forgive her and quickly forget about it because she’s so wonderful. But there is still a tiny part of me that has some reservations. I keep trying to tell myself that it will all work out and that it’s still too soon to pass judgment, but something tells me that she might be big trouble down the road. Should I be worried?

Brett C.
Melbourne

I’d be very worried if I were you, Stanley. I’ve often fallen for similarly enticing females, ignored potential dangers, and have lived to regret it. All the conditions seem right for our first major hurricane of the season in Abigail. I’d pay close attention to these gathering clouds and hunker down because it looks as if Abigail is going to blow. Hard. How do I know all of this? I have a very sensitive doppler.

Romeo,

You hear all these things in magazines and on the internet about a woman’s “secret spot,” but darned if I know what they’re talking about. I always thought I was a pretty good lover, but I’ve been told lately by a few exes that I never pleased them to the fullest. Now I’m at the library reading all kinds of books and manuals about this thing I’ve been missing, but I’m getting conflicting information from all these different sources. This is all too complicated for me. Do you have any suggestions?

J.L.
Cocoa Beach

It took me years to find this fabled spot after thousands of hours of fruitless searching and fumbling. It is very confusing and intricate. Like you, I was muddled by conflicting data and dubious urban legends. I knew the answer was out there, but I just couldn’t put my finger on it. But with the help of my cello tutor, Signora Bellacucci, I finally did. Touché!

Dear Romeo,

Why do you bother to live in Florida if you don’t like the sun’s rays on your body? That’s what I keep telling my boyfriend, who’s trying to stop me from enjoying one of my favorite activities. You see, Fred is originally from Minnesota and doesn’t understand that as a fifth generation Florida beach girl, I happen to like going topless in our backyard. Every other day, I do our laundry, take off my top, and put the wet clothes on the drying rack outside. Not only does it save us money, but it’s something I look forward to. I also like to hose myself off to cool down and then lay in the sun. Our backyard is sheltered by a hedge and a high fence, but Fred is convinced that someone is watching me with binoculars from the condo across the road. I think he’s just being paranoid. This has become such an issue with us that we’re considering breaking up. Am I being too stubborn?

Beth K.
Indian Harbour Beach

I don’t think you’re being stubborn at all, Naomi. In fact, I think it’s your boyfriend who’s being stubborn. Tell him to relax and get out there and trim the big bougainvillea on the southern side of the house. It’s obstructing my view. And tell him he needn’t worry. I’ve seen your drying rack, and I’m not all that impressed.

Dear Romeo,

I don’t know why I’m writing to you of all people, the master of innuendo, but frankly I’m tired of hearing lame pickup lines and thinly veiled allusions to sex every time I go out. I’m a modest girl by nature, but I have no qualms about telling you that I am considered to be very attractive and sexy. The problem is that I can’t go out with my friends without getting assailed with sexual references, leering glances, and comments on my physical appearance. No sooner do I get comfortable with a guy than he feels the need to talk his way into my pants with lines about my long legs, ample butt, or breast size. It’s not in the least bit funny or erotic. What gives? Like I said, I can’t believe I’m writing to you about this, but I don’t know which way to turn.

“Peggy”
Satellite Beach

Why not turn over for a start, Roberta! I’m fairly sure I can comfort you as I get to the bottom of you problem with several strokes of my insightful genius. If this doesn’t help, I’ll be willing to delve deeper. You might at first feel like you’re being put in an uncomfortable position, but this will soon be rectified by two plush pillows I have reserved for such occasions. I am very busy, but I will put you on the top of my long list of priorities. Together, we can ride this out. Of this I am certain. It will not be an easy journey, but together I think we can come to a place of beauty. After that, maybe we can even have sex together (no innuendo intended).

In my capacity as a diplomatic intern with the U.S. Embassy to the DPRK (more commonly known as North Korea), I have met and worked with many brave dissidents. One young woman I’ll call “Kim” escaped over the border recently into China, and I’ve been working with her closely, helping her get acclimated to her new life. As you might expect, I’ve fallen in love with her. Kim is a beautiful, highly intelligent girl whose courage in the face of oppression is remarkable and inspiring, but my relationship with her has compromised my job as well as my belief system. Part of me is more than willing to give up my career for true love; the other more sensible part is feeling cautious about making such an imprudent, at least professionally speaking, move. But each time I look into Kim’s eyes, all I see is a lovely, spirited girl from Pyongyang who risked it all and defected for the sake of freedom. What on earth should I do?

“In Love with a Defector”
Beijing

Dear Sir, you seem like a very smart, sensitive young man, yet I find myself very amused by your letter. You know Romeo’s attitude toward romance, so what advice are you expecting me to dispense? By all means, give up your job and devote your life to the enchanting Kimberly. She sounds very intriguing, but I fail to share your admiration for her “courage,” as you say. Being a defecator hardly makes her unique. All women are defecators, whether we like it or not. Defecation is part of what makes us human, regardless of gender. We all do it, often several times a day. I hardly think this simple activity should bestow us with any degree of courage. Please do not revere her unduly for what is a natural human function. I suggest you concentrate on exploring her pyongyang and pay less attention to the state of her bowels. Best of luck!

Romeo,

All I ever hear is women complaining about how they can never figure out what men are thinking. I don’t understand this at all! Our thoughts should be as clear as day. And our needs are very simple. The real puzzle is what goes on in a woman’s mind! Take me girlfriend, Liz. I’m a very understanding boyfriend and try to do everything Liz tells me, but it’s never good enough for her. It’s like she’s playing some kind of weird game with me. It’s like she’s speaking in a secret code that I have to figure out. It’s very exhausting. I know I’ve got it good — Liz is beautiful and smart and down to earth — but I just can’t get into her head. Can you unravel the mystery of what goes on in a woman’s mind?

Rob M.
Satellite Beach

I see no mystery here, Don. As a man who has always felt comfortable embracing his feminine side — a side that exists under layers of varying thickness in all men — I recommend taking a break from Liz for a while until you peel away these stubborn layers of masculinity that cover your mind. They keep you from empathizing and ultimately understanding her. I will be happy to spend time with her while you work things out. While your busy getting in touch with your own feminine side, I will attempt to penetrate her psyche. Psych!

Romeo,

I’ve fallen in love with a German exchange student and I’m having trouble getting a grip on the language. I’m due to go over there in a few weeks to meet her parents and I’m stressing out practicing my grammar and pronunciation. There’s just no way I’ll figure it out in time. You’ve been around. Any tips or shortcuts?

L.H.
Cape Canaveral

Just stick with it, my friend. German is not half as difficult as it first seems. While on vacation in Munich last month I picked up a little German. She was only 4’8″, but she seemed like she knew her way around a sausage. Boy was I wrong. That was the wurst knock I ever had. Auf Wiedersehen!

Romeo,

Please help. My girlfriend of three months recently lost her job, wrecked her car, and got kicked out of her apartment. She never prepared for the future and has no money of her own. Now she’s living with me and borrowing my car constantly. It’s to help her find a new job, but I’m really tired of it. I didn’t mind the first few times, but now it’s really starting to get on my nerves. I take a lot of pride in my vehicle and keep it in tip-top condition, but she’s running the transmission into the ground and recently came back with a dent on the bumper when she backed into someone in the CVS parking lot. Of course, she panicked and fled the scene and now I’ve got that to worry about. What should I do?

Dave G.
Indian Harbour Beach

That’s nothing, Nick. One of my old paramours, a hot-blooded Venezuelan named Marta, wrecked my Maserati in South Beach after one too many Cuban coffees. That ruined our vacation quickly, I can tell you. Luckily it still ran. But on the way back home she blew my head gasket going east on the 706. It’s a wonder I didn’t swerve off the road! Juuupiterrr!

My wife, Mary, has worked from home for the past year or so, and as a result, she’s gotten more and more lazy and, dare I say it, much heavier due to her incurable sweet tooth. She rarely gets out of the house or lifts a finger to do anything; I do all the shopping, errand running, and cooking. I consider myself to be a pretty good cook, and she seems to like the meals I prepare. But the other night, something outrageous happened. I’d just cleared the table and went into the kitchen to prepare dessert and realized I’d forgotten to stock her favorite cookies. Well, that did it. She flew off the handle and threatened divorce. We’ve always argued a lot about minor things — Mary’s very particular — but this is just too much. She still hasn’t calmed down and is dead set on separating. Despite everything, I love Mary dearly and want to fix things between us. You’d think that her anger might have roots in some other, larger issue. But no. We’ve been back and forth over it, and she insists that it’s all about there not being any Nutter Butters in the cupboard. This is ridiculous. What on earth should I do?

Michael G.
Merritt Island

As odd as it sounds, Rusty, I ran into a similar problem quite recently. It’s my habit to stock a variety of post-coital snacks for my many lovers. After strenuous, passionate lovemaking, I always offer my females a selection of imported baked delicacies on a silver serving tray bedded with fresh and fragrant gardenia petals. On the occasion in question, I padded into the kitchen to bring one my conquests some goodies and found that my flunky, Hernan, had failed to replenish the larder with biscuits and sweet treats before he left for vacation. In a panic, I rifled through his basement room and managed to find two lone cookies of very low quality. I considered giving her the Double Stuf Oreo, but decided against it. So I went back upstairs and gave her the Vienna Finger! Nabisco!

Dear Romeo,

My girlfriend has a problem with oral sex. Not with me performing it on her — oh no, she’s all about that — but she never, and I mean never returns the favor. She claims that girls just don’t like doing it, and since she’s the only girl I’ve ever been with, what else can I say? She says she polled her girlfriends (and she has lots) and they all say they do it begrudgingly, that it’s gross, and they do it more out duty than enjoyment. Is this really true? Do all women secretly hate doing it?

“Justin”
Cape Canaveral

Jeremy, the idea that all women hate performing fellatio is completely and utterly fallacious. I hate to ask, but are you keeping on top of your hygiene? The difference between the act being a chore and a pleasure for women rests on personal cleanliness. One must always have a clean fallacy.

Mr. “Pomodoro,”

I’m disgusted and offended by the advice you give out in your monthly column. These people are in desperate need of legitimate help with pressing romantic issues. I have a mind to submit my own advice column to replace your outdated, sexist “insights.” You should be ashamed, making passes at vulnerable women seeking comfort and reassurance. How do you look in the mirror every morning?

“Miss Nefertiti”
Melbourne

I look handsome and desirable every morning, thank you! From the moment I awaken and look up at my reflection on the ceiling, I look toned, smooth, and tanned like George Hamilton. And I am half his age! In the bathroom mirror I look wise, distinguished, and worldly like Larry King. And he is many years older than me! In the mirror on my espresso machine I look rugged and adventurous, much like Ernest Borgnine in his youth. In the mirror in my refrigerator by the crisper drawer I look ready for action and my hair is luxuriant and silky. In the mirror I have on my shoe to look up women’s skirts, you look old, jealous, and bitter. Nice to see you!

Romeo,

I know this isn’t romantic in nature, but it does have some shocking repercussions for sea lovers such as yourself. What do you think of the BP oil spill? Any ideas on how to plug the hole?

F.H.
Satellite Beach

As much as I enjoy hole plugging, I think the first thing we should do is fire all those responsible for the unfortunate disaster. Every last one of them should be given the sack. And they should all be brave and take it on the chin. Sounds like a job for the Teabaggers. Easy now!

Dear Romeo,

I’m dating a Brazilian girl and while we were watching one of the soccer games we began wondering what you thought of Brazil’s chances of winning. Do you think they have what it takes this year to make it to the final round, and possibly, bring home the World Cup?

“Chris”
Cocoa Beach

I do have some thoughts on this, Kevin. I was sad to see the Italians exit so early, yet I have been impressed with several of the lesser-known teams, Ghana for one. But Brazil? They are always favored to make it to the final round, if not win the entire thing. But I have some experience with the Brazilians and am not sure if they have what it takes this year. They’re really not all that great anyway. I symbolically scored with 11 Brazilian girls during a vacation to São Paulo a few years ago and they gave me quite a workout. I won in the end, but no one gave me a cup. I wish someone had, because my essentials still hurt every time I hear the opening notes of “The Girl from Ipanema.” GOOOAAAL!

Oi Romeo!

Yer the kitten’s knickers, Romeo, you bargy dago bastard! Never in all me natural have I had such a turkish as when I first read your larf-aloud palaver. Me and the lads was in Port Canaveral two fluffs back on shore leave on the tiddleydum and split our bloody sides gargling at the pair who fell off the horse’s in the middle of a starry shag. As it happens, this bird back in cherry’s got one of the blokes, Tommy, in a right gherkin. He’s arse over tit for this bit of honeysuckle, but while we were kipped up in Gilbraltar a few moons ago, Tommy had a right fine creakle with one of the local roscoes — and luverly she was too, Carmen, with two beauty pippins on her that’d make a cob tumble his cheshires. Now Tommy’s feeling as coddled as a boffin in a skinful of humberdunce twits, so he is. Well, I says to him, keep your pudding ‘ole shut and no one will know dickie bird; twist yourself up by your wellies and stop piping like a mustard duff with two split brambles in the hams… and so on. After supper, Tommy’s Eliza’s an unholy chav, but Tommy’s as cozy as a gorsebilly in a bloody thimble and doesn’t know a dobbin in a strawrick from old Joe Doyle. So here’s the gush of it, Romeo, right down to the thruppence mojimbo: What should Tommy do, faraday down the malmsey or scupper through the wicket like a natter in a jamsack full of Trinidad peppers? We all wait for your sound advice with tarquin jagoes, as Jack winked to Jennifer. And up the nollytods, Romeo, if you get my meaning!

Cheers,

Midshipman Colin Jenkins
HMS Cadbury

Colon, it’s been said that England and America are two countries separated by a common language, and after your mystifying letter many readers may be inclined to agree. That said, your friend Tommy should definitely scupper through the wicket — double-time. Some readers may be surprised to know that I became well versed in British argot and Cockney rhyming slang while an exchange student in London during the early ’90s. I became very enamored of the city and her people, and count the tube system as one of my favorite London features. Especially the Fallopians! Tally-ho!

Dear Romeo,

I recently went skinny dipping with a male co-worker after a particularly rowdy office party on the beach. We’re both married and never touched each other during the swim but were wondering if you’d count it as cheating. “Rob” thinks so; I strongly disagree. What do you think?

“Heidi”
Cape Canaveral

Glenda, if no touching was involved, then I wouldn’t count that as cheating. But if your friend feels guilty it’s probably for a good reason. Regardless of your opinion, skinny dipping isn’t the kind of behavior two happily married people should engage in. And, um… that goes for people who are married to two different other respective people. As I am unmarried, however, I am always free to swim in the buff with you! I am a highly skilled and well-regarded skinny dipper. Once, while skinny dipping in the waters off Ipanema, I was mistaken for a snorkeler!

Help, Romeo!

I just turned 40 and decided to pursue my childhood dream of becoming a concert pianist. I’ve been taking classes with “Claire,” a ravishing blonde who happens to be married to a locally renowned cellist who practices in the room next door to ours. It only took two classes for me to feel myself falling in love with her. I’m happily single, but am afraid to take the risk of professing my feelings for Claire out of fear of angering both of them (her husband’s a big guy) and turning myself off playing the piano for good. Please help me. What should I do?

Ben F.
Satellite Beach

She sounds like a challenging piece. If anything, Chuck, telling her you love her will only improve your playing, regardless of the outcome. Don’t be afraid! Love waits for no man — and one cannot play passionately unless one knows passion. Go ahead, tickle her ivories! Con molto fuoco! When you’re finished with her, send me her number so I can put her on my Liszt!

Romeo,

I just graduated from college and am now looking for gainful employment. I have some experience as a sex advice columnist for the college paper and was hoping you were accepting interns. I’m a diligent, highly organized worker and very creative. I’d love to work for you. Give me a shot and you won’t be disappointed.

Mary N.
Melbourne

And I’d love to have you working under me, Fiona! I am always accepting applications for interns and am also always in need of assistance. There is all manner of work to be done around the Pomodoro compound, some of which might not directly relate to the writing of this column at first. For instance, I may have you polish my front knob (I have many people touching it when they come over for appointments), fold my linen, or hop down to the Port to retrieve my daily crate of fresh seafood. Just don’t bring me crabs! Ahoy!

I have a big crush on the girl who works at my local café. I stop there every morning on my way to work to get a cup of coffee and a muffin and to see “Daisy’s” sunshiney smile. Last week, she punched the last hole in my frequent friendly customer card, gave me my free mocha, looked up at me, and gave me what I took to be an unusually bright, toothy grin. I noted a certain gleam in her eye and couldn’t help myself from complimenting her on her loveliness at that moment and asked her why she seemed so particularly cheery that morning. Apparently, her boyfriend of two weeks had proposed to her the night before and she was over the moon. I was heartbroken at first, but promised myself that I wouldn’t let it get in the way of my pursuing her. I mean, come on! Two weeks? I’ve known Daisy for like six months! Plus, I’ve met her boyfriend (he’s some beach bum who just started coming in) and he’s an insensitive jerk. And he doesn’t even drink coffee! I know in my heart that Daisy would be much happier with me. But what do you think? Am I just being delusional? Should I give up or move forward? Time is running out.

Dave R.
Indian Harbour Beach

If I were you, Kevin, I’d give up. I’ve met her boyfriend too, and if you continue on this path, you may end up getting more than your hole punched. Zow! Like that!

Dear Romeo,

My husband and I enjoy… let’s say, “athletic” sexual relations. Among some of our amorous achievements are copulating suspended from our bedroom ceiling in a kind of sling “Ron” fashioned (he’s an engineer) and fornicating wildly in a speeding airboat (Ron was steering). But last month, our love of naughty hijinks took a turn for the worse when I tumbled off our roof in the middle of the night while we were engaged in lovemaking. Not only was it highly embarrassing — my neighbors seeing me lying motionless in the grass in my Catwoman suit and my husband up above in a Batman costume yelling for help because he was unable to untether himself from the chimney harness he made (Ron’s not a very good engineer) — but I broke my right arm in the fall. I hate the thought of giving this hobby up — we simply hate traditional bedroom sex — but we are getting older obviously and aren’t sure how much longer we can continue on. Do you have any creative solutions?

“Mary”
Cocoa Beach

Well Adela, I have many creative solutions as it happens, all of which are outlined in my latest lovemaking manual, “The Tantric Tarantula: and 1,001 Other Sexual Positions That Will Help You Rediscover the Pleasures of Intimate Contact, Tap Into Your Youth, Prevent Aging, and Win Successful Friends, and a Few Cooking Recipes My Mother Passed Down to Me Before She Died of Breast Cancer, Including Some Conversations with Angels and Some Reflections on the Decline of the Ottoman Empire (1830-1908) with Extensive Footnotes” sadly shortened by my unimaginative, market-obsessed publishers to simply: “Blow Me on a Bungee.” But you broke your arm, you say? That’s rather humerus. Ouch!

Romeo,

Does size really matter? Please settle this once and for all.

Jake W.
Satellite Beach

This is a question I’ve long been hoping to answer, Tyler, and I’m happy you asked it. But does it really need to be inquired of? Let’s put it this way, I have had many nicknames in my days of sexual activity, far too many to include with completion. But here are a few, just to give you an idea: “Romeo Vesuvio,” “Longfellow,” “The Erector Set,” “Dow Jones” (during the mid-’90s economic boom), “Romeo My Boat,” “Turgid God of Heavenly Love,” and once, during a dark patch following a bicycling injury, “Limpy.” However, I think that my current sobriquet will provide you with the answer you seek: “Too Big To Fail.” You will hear it if you listen closely on the lips of many beachside females. It’s a mouthful (so to speak), but far better than my poor cousin Alfredo Alfresco’s current nickname: “Ponzi.”
Dear Romeo Pomodoro,

My husband and I are having our neighbors over next week because we suspect that they might be closet swingers. “Martha’s” husband “Greg” is a real beefcake I sometimes admire over the fence separating our yards, and my husband also recently admitted that he had an erotic dream about Martha. We’ve been swingers for a long time, but fell out off the lifestyle recently when we relocated here from Michigan. My question is that we’ve been so long out of the loop that we can’t figure out a good game to loosen everyone up and initiate activity. We have a hot tub and several boxes of chilled chardonnay in the outside fridge, but we think that maybe if we suggest playing strip poker we might come across as kind of creepy and outdated. Do you have any ideas about how to get things rolling?

“Dominique”
Melbourne

Fascinating inquiry, Charlene. You’re very right in thinking that strip poker is an antiquated chapeau. No swingers I know of — and I know many — have pulled that one out (ahem) since 1979. The games industry has supplied the swinging community with loads of wonderfully fun facilitators over the years, “Yahtzee In My Partner’s Pants” being one of the more successful and popular. But the overall tactics of swingers have swung (ahem) back to the classics: “Twist Her,” “Parcheese Me,” “Monopoly Polygamy,” “Uncle Wiggly,” “Shoots and Lad ‘Er,” “Duck, Duck, Goose Me,” and “Trivial Hump-a-Thon.” I’ve also heard tell of some swingers playing something called “Lights Out Cribbage.” Just make sure everyone puts their pegs in the right holes. Milton Bradley!

Let me just say that I can’t believe I’m writing to you with this problem. I don’t usually do this kind of thing, and I don’t really care for the publication that employs you. But I’m going out on a limb because I really have nowhere else to turn. Let’s cut to the chase: I’m a very conservative professional male who’s in love with a liberal woman I work with. At first, I think we both kind of got off on the political tension between us, but as the months have gone on her wacky views are getting in the way of our courtship. I love Angela dearly, but I also happen to love Rush Limbaugh. Please try to put aside your foreign, liberal bias to give me some honest direction. Can Angela and I put aside our political differences for the sake of marital bliss?

“Dittohead in Love with a Feminazi”
Satellite Beach

Well, first of all, you ignorant conservative half-wit, it’s important that you take a cold hard look in your costly gold Republican mirror and face the facts. As I often tire of repeating, love knows no political boundaries. The first thing you must do is to come around to Angela’s way of thinking, which will lead you down rose petal-strewn lanes of marital bliss and contentment. The problem, it appears, is that there are three people in this relationship, not two. You say you are in love, but with whom? With Angela or Rush Limbaugh? Your love of Limbaugh is duly noted, but please don’t mistake agreement with his views for sexual compatibility. Limbaugh seems to fill a hole for you and you appear to enjoy it. Who would you rather spend time with, Limbaugh or the lovely Angela? Yes, there is an obvious hole in your life. Don’t allow Rush Limbaugh to fill it.

Dear Romeo,

Just after the pressure I felt after Valentine’s Day, I’m beginning to feel even more pressure for my upcoming 10th anniversary. I pulled out all the stops for February 14th and now I’m faced with trying to outdo it all this April 20th. Should I go more subdued, or should I shoot even higher this time?

Andy F.
Melbourne

Always, always shoot higher, Steve. I’m sure you can do it. Feeling the pressure is always a good thing, especially when you feel it your nether regions! Heyho!

Romeo,

I made a big mistake. I mean a BIG mistake. In desperation one drunken night, I hooked up with a “plus size” girl, and unfortunately got her pregnant. I have nothing against large girls — and I’ve always wanted to have kids, but not this way. Hers aren’t the genes I want. What do I do?

“Russell”
Cocoa Beach

Well, Phillip, you should have thought about all those genes before you pulled them off her, you rascal. If you don’t like larger girls, you should in future give them a wide berth, or you may find yourself once again witnessing an even wider birth. Hold on!

Dear Romeo,

As a fellow Italian you might be able to understand my problem. I love to “talk” with my hands, and when I get excited I go crazy, gesticulating wildly no matter where I am. Last week I was out on a date with a guy I was sure I’d marry by the end of the year, and in the heat of the conversation we were having in this posh restaurant, I knocked a bottle of expensive cabernet all over his even more expensive white linen suit. He hasn’t spoken to me since. Help!

“Maria”
Merritt Island

Cara Sophia, I am sorry for your heartbreak. Please remember that gesticulating should always be done in private behind closed doors.

Dear Romeo,

Here we are not even halfway into 2010 and we’re seeing yet another celebrity sex scandal. I have no idea who this Jesse James is, but it’s obvious that he’s just another of your typical male chauvinist pigs and serial cheaters who can’t keep it in his pants. But what about all these tramps he hooked up with? First we had Tiger Woods consorting with the lowest common denominator of the female gender and now this guy James with a predilection for hooker-types. What do men see in these bimbos? We all know what James’s problem is, but what in the heck is the problem with these women?

Fiona H.
Indian Harbour Beach

Well, Brittany, I’m not a doctor, but it would seem that their common problem might stem from their chronically swollen glands! Safety goggles, please — stat!

Like many of your correspondents in the past, I’d like to use your column as a forum for a problem I feel has gone unaddressed for far too long in this area: mixed race relationships. My girlfriend, who I’ll call “Julie,” is a fantastically attractive and highly successful African- American woman and I’m a young, professional white male. I’ll admit that Julie is something exceptional — I do love her after all — but all that doesn’t seem to make much of a difference, because it doesn’t protect us from getting the evil eye every time we go out in public together. Unlike much of the rest of the country, where seeing a white man and a black woman (or vice versa) together is generally accepted and even praised, here in Brevard the story is quite different. In many ways, the Space Coast seems to be 40 years or more behind the times. Each time Julie and I go out around town, we either get bad vibes or strange stares. We’re often made to wait longer for tables at restaurants; sometimes we’re completely ignored. There have been more vocal examples of the public’s disapproval, too — shouts from passing vehicles and snide, barely whispered comments from fellow diners for instance. Can you please tell your readers to grow up and get with the 21st century program? We never have the same problems when we travel to other more “traditional” Southern outposts like Atlanta or Tallahassee. It seems that Jim Crow is alive and well right here in Brevard County.

“Color Blind”
Cape Canaveral

Thank you for addressing a very important issue, sir. I think all of our readers would do well to recognize the idiocy of criticizing loving, biracial relationships, regardless of the color or race of the persons involved in them. It’s important to remember that Love — in all its glory — makes no such petty distinction between color, ethnicity, race, religious beliefs, or political associations. It is not biracial relationships that are aberrant, but the attitude with which they’re often met. Love is Love, no matter what, and I for one support anyone who has the courage and strength to weather these unfortunate, ignorant storms. If it’s one thing Romeo hates, it is ignorance of all varieties. In light of that, I do take exception to your statement that Jim Crow is alive and well in Brevard County, and furthermore, I fail to see what would possess you to make such an outrageous claim in the context of your missive. I can understand disputing the deaths of icons like Elvis and Jim Morrison, but it is a well known, proven fact that Jim Crow perished in a crash in 1973. However, hits like “Bad, Bad Leroy Brown,” “Operator,” and “I Got A Name” will always live on in our memories.

Dear Mr. Pomodoro,

I have a big problem with my husband of 30 years, Ralph. Now when Ralph and I married we had an understanding that as devout, decent, practicing Catholics, all sexual activity would be for procreative purposes only and not for temporal, sinful pleasure. That understanding never seemed to bother Ralph before; we do have 11 children after all, so he should be reasonably happy. But now that the last of our chickens has flown the coop, Ralph has started getting more and more randy and perverted with me once the lights go out. Why, last week he even threw out the nightstand that separated our beds for these many years and has pushed our beds together for the sole purpose of tickling and touching me inappropriately it seems. I’ve almost never been angry with Ralph throughout our long and happy marriage, but lately I’ve been getting really down on him — and it’s getting us both down. What should I do?

“Maggie”
Indian Harbour Beach

Molly, with all due respect to your faith (I am a Catholic too, but not a CATHOLIC Catholic), I’m not surprised at your husband’s behavior. Sex is a part of human nature because it is pleasurable, not merely because it fulfills some abstract desire to further the species. Does everything God created have to have some practical purpose? Now that your children have left home, what better time to rediscover why the two of you fell in love in the first place. Was it only to have children? Surely you found each other attractive at some point. God will not smite you for having sex more than the 11 times you have or engaging in the practice merely for erogenous giggles. Especially at your time of life, I suggest throwing caution and your religious beliefs to the wind and getting busy. You may even find that it will enhance your religious experience and overall quality of life. You chide yourself for being down on your husband of late. I’d argue that you should be down on him more often! Boing!

Dear Romeo,

I’m a single, professional woman, 30-years-old, with a great, sexy body and a take-no-prisoners attitude. My high-profile job brings me into contact with hundreds of handsome, eligible men (some single, some married). I’m happy to use them for weekend getaways or month-long flings, but other than that, they really don’t interest me. Also, I suppose I have something about me that makes them want to marry me. I know I’m great in bed and have all kinds of great things going for me, but I still think that I’m too young to be getting married any time soon. Anyhow, this has been happening to me more and more lately. Am I giving off some kind of crazy pheromones or something? Here I am having an okay time with some guy and then all of a sudden he gets down on one knee and starts proposing to me! I know! Like, what? It’s really embarrassing to have to turn them down and I guess I kind of feel bad, but I have my whole life ahead of me. I mean, isn’t it the woman who’s supposed to be hungry for marriage all the time? What’s going on? Problem: right now I have two guys — Gregg and Brick — vying for my attention. And you know what? I kind of like it this time. They are both successful and hot and I’m getting kind of a thrill stringing them along to see how far they’ll go. They both want to marry me and know I’m not interested, but they’ve both said they won’t give up until I say yes. I know what I’m doing is wrong, but I can’t help it. Any advice?

“Ginger”
Orlando

Amber, I have actually run into this problem many times before with similar female readers. Your situation is not as unique as it seems. I have come up with a handy metaphor for dealing with it too, and I have used it with great success. Imagine you are on a highway in your expensive Audi speeding along and yapping on the phone with the wind blowing through your luxuriant, highlighted tresses. There are two other cars ahead of you in the slow lane — let’s say they are Gregg and Brick — and as you pass them they notice a problem with your car that you are unable to see. They signal to you and even try to catch up with you, but you are going much too fast for them to reach you. They try mightily for several miles, but eventually give up. You see that you must slow down a little to enjoy life? Don’t be so afraid of commitment. You may find that Gregg or Brick are good catches. However, I can guess that your type will never slow down until it is too late. You will keep speeding along oblivious to love. But what is that in your rear view mirror? It is I, Romeo Pomodoro driving a sleek Lamborghini and gaining the advantage. Be careful I don’t overtake you from behind! Honk honk!

I am an inveterate self-pleasurer — an onanist, in more technical terms. I don’t walk out the door in the morning without going at it at least three times, and I’m not ashamed to admit that I engage in the practice in the car on the way to the office. I then spill my seed again in the restroom before sitting down at my computer, and sneak away from my desk throughout the day for about 10 sessions of self-gratification before clocking out. I’m not even counting what happens between the time when I get home and when I head off to bed.  Now the surprise might be that I actually do have a girlfriend and have for some time now — so that’s not a factor — it’s just that I’m simply addicted to the habit. So what’s the problem, you say? Well, nothing really. I just thought you might like to know.

“Onan The Barbarian”

Melbourne

Well thanks very much for letting me know. So it would seem that on a typical day you… erm… twist the knob something like 20 times a day, a number which, if it didn’t seem arbitrarily invented, might be downright impossible to reach, especially if you are, as you say, in a relationship with a young woman. It sounds like you may have achieved some kind of perverse record, but I’m here to tell you that I beat it daily. The record, I mean. And I guess the other thing too… but the point is that there is no shame in… uhm… punching the clock. Keep it up! I’m off like a prom dress!

Dear Romeo,

I know it’s old news by now, but I’m wondering if you or any other readers are as amazed as I am at the amount of women Tiger Woods has slept with. How is this even possible? I mean, they keep coming out of the woodwork, don’t they? Whatever the case, I’m very impressed with the number of his amorous conquests. He may even be giving you a run for your money on the sexual front — eh, Romeo?

(Anonymous; via email)

It is indeed an impressive accomplishment, kind reader. But no need to worry. Mr. Woods has nothing on the number of females Romeo Pomodoro has bedded. What’s more to the point, Romeo has far better taste in persons of the female variety. Have you seen some of these women? Looks like he picked them up at the Trenton Putt-Putt World. Fore!

Dear Romeo Pomodoro,

Frankly, I find this whole Tiger Woods situation appalling. Not only did he cheat on a loving, beautiful wife, he also betrayed his status as a father to his children and his position as a role model for millions of young fans. I demand that you denounce his reprehensible behavior in your capacity as a well-regarded local love advice columnist.

Martha N .

Satellite Beach

Still though, Molly, you have to admire the man’s balls. Well… you understand what I mean.

Ro-Ro,

I’m the last guy in the world to fall for all this Valentine’s Day hoopla, but I’m not so much of a jerk to realize that it’s an important day for women throughout the country, my dear wife of three years included. Thing is though that what with having lost my job last month and my funds running low, all I can afford for  “Deb” is one red rose. Surely, one lone rose is romantic enough to please her, right? There is no earthly way I can afford to take her out for dinner. Your views?

“Russell”

Melbourne Beach

Well Kyle, according Romeo’s several volume love playbook, roses are one of the most clichéd Valentine’s gifts out there. We all know — thanks to a band called (I think) Venom — that every rose has its thorn. What we should more rightly remember is that every rose comes with a potential prick. If you truly loved your wife, you’d scrimp and save till the big day and make some kind of dinner for her, however paltry. On this day, of all days, it’s important for you to not be a cheapskate. However, if you do happen to find yourself in a bind, I’d be happy to take care of your young bride for you. Thanks to my early investments in edible undergarment technology in the early ’90s, I am doing very well, financially speaking. I will treat your wife to a lovely meal at my cousin’s romantic trattoria, a magnum of Dom Perignon, another magnum of my own design (…if you catch my drift), and an exclusive screening of a new art film inspired by Tiger Woods’ recent escapades entitled “Bag ‘Er, Vance.” You are more than welcome to watch. I have popcorn!

I’m in big trouble. My girlfriend caught me cheating (for the third time) and this time, she’s really angry. I mean really, really angry. The thing about her though is that she’s one of these altruistic, hippy types, which means that she’s pretty forgiving. But forgiveness with her comes at a really lame cost. The first two times, she made me do community service — like volunteering and stuff like that. Now, this time, she wants me to give to some lame charity. I told her I’m already listed as an organ donor on my driver’s license, but she says that doesn’t count. Do you have any tips for me — like ones that would be pretty easy to get out of?

“Jim”

Cape Canaveral

It appears that you are in something of a pickle, Ken. But please remember that charitable work never comes easy. If you want to earn her forgiveness, you must first curb your licentious habits and then get wholeheartedly involved in some local cause. You must honor her wishes and give thanks that she is as forgiving as she is. Have you considered Meals On Wheels? Or maybe becoming a Big Brother? There are many charitable institutions out there. Look on the web or check the phone book. I have to agree with your girlfriend that you’ve donated your organ enough already. Whoops!

Romeo,

I’m madly in love with this guy I’ll call Ray. Ray is everything I ever wanted in a man: he’s honest, good-looking, smart, funny, and devoted. The only problem is that he’s not the slightest bit handy. He can’t even fix the smallest thing without messing it up even more. He tries to make repairs around my apartment too come across as more manly, but I’m starting to lose respect for him. What should I do?

Kim H.

Satellite Beach

Gilda, I have the tool you need. And I have the hands to use with the tool. I can do it for you because I am very skilled with many handy techniques and in many fields. I can drill, screw, twist, tighten, loosen, lubricate, re-wire, clean pipes, hose down, vacuum, erect things, stucco, turn knobs, change fluids, buff, clean your carpet, and do your both your windows. Do you need to borrow my tool? You can use it! But please don’t let Ray use my tool. He might break it.

Romeo!

Here it is, the year 2010, and we still haven’t come any closer to finding Osama bin Laden. C’mon! What’s the hold up? What are we doing wrong?

Anonymous

Merritt Island

A good question, Ann. Personally, I think we should stop looking, sit down with a nice cup of coffee, and try to think of where we saw him last. This tactic always seems to work whenever I’ve misplaced my wallet.

Dear Romeo,

I came across your column last month while on vacation in Cocoa Beach. Now that I’m back in Tintwistle, a picturesque village in the High Peak district of Derbyshire, England, I’ve decided to write you with an problem I’ve had for quite some time. We have love advice columnists here (we call them “agony aunts” or “uncles,” depending on their gender), but they’re not nearly as insightful and helpful as I found you to be. Here’s the problem: I’m a 55-year-old bachelor who hasn’t been with a female for over 30 years. At the pub I own, The Lamb & Spade, I run into loads of eligible females, as you can imagine, but while they’re generally courteous and laugh at my little jokes, none seem interested in taking things further. It can’t be my mother, as I moved her into a home two years ago, or my looks, which, while average, are in no way off-putting. Here at the Lamb, I man the beer pumps and cook all the food, and money is always rolling in, so you’d think women might find me a catch. What’s more, I think I’m an excellent cook (specializing in traditional English and Scottish food), and you don’t meet many men around here who aren’t afraid of spending time in the kitchen. So, Mr. Pomodoro, do you have any of your sound advice for me?

Lonely in Tintwistle

Traditional English and Scottish food, eh? That might be the root of your problem. Women like more delicate flavors than what these lowly cuisines have to offer. I recommend taking a French or Italian cooking class and removing Spotted Dick from your menu. Or at least some of the spots. And while you’re at it, dump the Clapshot, Hunter’s Buns, Fitless Cock, Aberdeen Nips, Beef Cecils, Faggots, Cullen Sink, Bubble and Squeak, Slot, Wet Nelly, and Dean’s Cream. Do this, and you may have droves of women asking for your Toad-in-the-Hole. Tally ho!

You don’t know me, but I see you every Monday, Wednesday and Friday stocking up on pasta at the local Publix. The first two times I saw you were pure coincidence, but by the third time I realized that this was a pattern of yours. Ever since then, I’ve gone religiously to the supermarket and straight to the aisle where I know you’ll be — about 9 a.m., right? — in hopes of striking up a conversation with you. But I always lose my nerve. I’m not some crazy stalker, just a smitten admirer who’d really love to get to know you better. I’m really shy and always talk myself out of approaching you because I’m afraid of being rejected. May I have your permission to speak to you, and yes, maybe even win a date with you? It would make a great Christmas present!

“Molly”
Cape Canaveral

So you’re the girl with the luscious rump I always see bending down for the cannellini beans! Maggie, you are more than welcome to approach me. Fear not; Romeo rejects no one. I’ll be hosting many upscale dinner parties as Christmas draws nearer and will need much more pasta, so you’re certain to see me. Just be careful, because I can be very stealthy. Before you’ve even noticed me, I can sneak up behind you and give you a Christmas goose! If you are offended by this, I can only advise you to turn the other cheek! Shopping is a pleasure!

Yooo, Roomeoo!

Whaaasuuup? And whaaat is uuup with women? Whyyyy won’t they give me the time of daaay? I’m frustraaated! Aaaarggh! Uuuuurg! Heeeelp!

Bill S.

(Sent from his iPhone)

Women are indeed very curious and alluring creatures, Chip, and can often seem rather cold and callous. But there is always a good reason for their aloofness, for women are also highly intelligent beings. My guess is that you’re being given the cold shoulder because of your loose vowels.

Dear Romeo Pomodoro,

I’m very worried about my son-in-law, Jack. My eldest daughter, Katie, had been dating Jack since high school before they decided to get married last summer. Up until recently, I never saw anything really wrong with Jack. He’s always been very good to Katie, is always courteous, works hard, is clean-cut, and has always been very respectful during all our family gatherings. Over the past few months, however, I’ve overheard Jack making some very homophobic comments — so violently homophobic, in fact, that I’m beginning to question his rationality and the safety of Katie too. Katie, for her part, laughs it all off as healthy machismo, but I detect something deeper and darker in Jack’s disapproval of homosexuals. My husband and I raised our children (we have five) to be open-minded and accepting of other ideas, cultures, and lifestyles, and I worry that Katie is setting herself up for disaster by shrugging off Jack’s comments. I know that she has some close homosexual friends from college, but I haven’t heard her say anything about them for some time. I worry that she may have ditched them for Jack’s sake. Am I being paranoid? This Christmas, I’ll be inviting “Rudy,” a gay friend from the hospital where I work over for dinner with the family, as he has nowhere to go this year. Katie and Jack are supposed to come too. Should I tell them beforehand? They may not show up. Should I just let things take their natural course? I wouldn’t dare tell Rudy; he’s a very dear friend. I’m afraid Jack will explode and ruin our Christmas and hurt Rudy’s feelings — if not more. Can you help?

Desperate In Indialantic

Dear woman, I suggest you do neither. I have a feeling that what Jack will respond the least to right now is the feminine approach. If you so desire, I, who am very manly, will offer to meet Jack at a local bar where he can feel safe in expressing himself. We will drink beer together and watch men in tight pants tackle each other on the television. We may even hug when the team we prefer makes a scoredown. Later, we can knock our balls together on the pool table, at which point I will sidle over to the jukebox and play some Abba. This will cue the arrival of my hairdressers (yes, it takes two…), Wulf and Rolf. They will remind him that a pair of queens will always beat a jack. That should put a spring in his step!

Romeo,

I flew to Indiana last week to get my copy of “Going Rogue” signed by Sarah Palin and got one of those bracelets that guaranteed me a chance to meet her and waited in the freezing cold for hours before she hightailed it out of the parking lot without so much as an apology. Who does she think she is? I am fit to be tied.

“Joan”
Melbourne Beach

I’m glad you are so inclined, Janice, because I’m very fit to tie you up and recite some passages from her book to you to get you in the mood. Drill, baby, drill!

I know that love advice is your area of expertise, but I also happen to know that you are also a pretty worldly fellow — a connoisseur of good music, art and food. I’ve also come across columns where you namedrop fine wines and rare, foreign liqueurs. Wine happens to be a new passion of mine and I am looking for some advice on the subject. I think I have a pretty good palate and have tasted some great vintages in my day, but I’m not so conceited as to think that I can just jump right into the hobby. I’ve thought about joining a few wine tasting clubs and have already bought a few books on the subject, but I’m feeling a little put off by the flowery terminology and snobby attitudes of people who know more than I do. Do you have any suggestions or advice for me on the enjoyment of wine? Where should I start? What are some of the better vintages? Which wine is better, Californian or French? I trust your opinion and look forward to your response.

Winewench77
(via email)

My dear Winewretch, I would be more than happy to instruct you in this highly delightful field of luxurious pleasure. Clubs, are for the most part, made up of stuffy stiffshirts who allow their blue-blooded prejudices to infect their pupils, and little is learned from simply copying their frequently aristocratic tastes. And do I really need to tell you that Italian wines are the best? One of the tastiest I’ve ever had the good fortune to drink was pressed not one year before by the large, hairy feet of my three aunts in their courtyard. Filled into recycled two-liter soda bottles and stored in the broom closet, this nectar was undeniably savage, but I was rather taken by its impudent charm. Don’t let flowery language get in the way of your enjoyment of wine. Let me guide you in its pleasure. Call me! If you are full-bodied, then I invite you to pull my cork! I think you will detect hints of late-summer berries, fresh-squeezed lemon, and salami and cream with a strong note of nuts during the protracted and very pleasurable finish. Buy a case and get a discount!

Mr. Romeo,

I think I should just come right out and say that I have a problem. I am absolutely crazy for women’s buttocks. Doesn’t matter what shape, color or size — I’m crazy for keisters. Now the problem is not my passion for posteriors — I’m not ashamed of that — but more the techniques I use to get a better look or to prolong my enjoyment of the luscious view. The thing is, I’m starting to feel pretty silly about the lengths I’ll go to to admire them. Friends have complained about the juvenile “You dropped something” ruse, and I admit that what’s funny when you’re 10 isn’t very appropriate behavior when you’re a 32-year-old engineer. In response to this opposition, I have now resorted to pretending that I’ve dropped something myself (usually while waiting in lines) so I can linger during the retrieval of, say, my keys or some change. I’m starting to feel really creepy doing it and wonder if I should seek professional help. I also find myself trying to come up with newer, more creative ways to get an eyeful — things I can’t really go into here. Can you help?

“Jim”
Melbourne Beach

Roland, I admire your devotion to one of the loveliest parts of the female anatomy, but I worry about your adoption of potentially illegal and indeed very creepy techniques. It would appear that for you, the end always justifies the means. I recommend that you seek professional counseling to help you get to the bottom of this problem. Whoops!

Romeo,

A few months ago I started seeing “Denise.” Denise is a good girl at heart, but she’s a little wild. To be honest, Romeo, Denise is a common tramp. I’m not all that proud of our relationship (which is based entirely on rough, impromptu sex), but she has no relatives and I feel a little sorry for her. Seeing as how Thanksgiving is coming up, I feel kind of guilty about leaving her on her own. I’m thinking about inviting her over to my parent’s house this year to feast with my close-knit family. Of course, I’m sure all my pretty straight-laced relatives will give both of us a hard time and I really don’t want her to feel uncomfortable. I’m more worried about my mother though; I’m sure she’ll go ballistic when she meets Denise. Is it worth hurting her feelings or ruining our family holiday? Any thoughts? What should I do?

John B.
Indialantic

Frank, don’t be such a turkey! Invite her! This is a time to give thanks and to be generous and American of spirit. I have been in a similar position many times over — and trust me, my mother is far more judgmental and vengeful than yours. The main question is: Are you a real man? Do you have any cranberries? If you do, then you’ll not hesitate in inviting her over! Do not be so shallow as to leave his poor girl alone on this most generous and loving of holidays. This girl may embarrass you at the table by requesting gravy on her pie. So what? Serve her! Maybe she would like a roll? Give her one! Maybe she desires stuffing? Maybe she yearns for a hot yam? Perhaps she’d like her buns buttered? Whatever the case, do not ruin this girl’s Thanksgiving for the sake of propriety. Pass the breasts and give thanks!

Dear Sir,

I have a bone to pick with you. A few months ago, you offered some advice to a young man who wrote to you about his philandering habits and his concern that they were damaging his relationship with his fiancée. In your response, you dismissed his wandering eye as part of healthy male behavior and suggested he allow his dalliances to continue unabated. After making a few terribly rude jokes about the abandoned fiancée’s subsequent re-entry into the realm of singlehood, you added insult to injury by suggesting that she spend her new-found free time with you “feasting” on “peeled grapes” and imbibing “rare wines,” if I recall correctly. Mr. Pommodorro, I will not drag any of my own personal opinions about you into this missive — suffice it to say that they are in no way favorable — but will take you to task for ruining a young girl’s hopes for true love. “Mark” was, no doubt, a cad, but this does not excuse you from promoting his errant behavior and destroying my own daughter’s plans for a happy union. It is you, sir, who are the cad, and if duels were still permitted I’d demand that you name your second and meet me at Ramp Road at dawn instanter. Do you have anything to say for yourself? No doubt you will with aught but another of your tasteless jibes.

The devil with you, Pommodorro!

T. Queensberry, Esq.

Melbourne Beach

Signore! I too have a rather large bone to pick with you! But let us not resort to airing our bones in public or bashing them together in a duel. This is not a time for us to be picking one another’s bones! Let us instead turn our bones of contention into ones of contentment. Calm yourself, dear man. My advice was not meant to be unkind. My clever ruse saved your dear daughter from the slathering clutches of my arch nemesis, whom loyal readers will recall as none other than Lorenzo Alfresco, a cad and blackguard of the kind you imagine me to be! You owe me profuse thanks for having rescued dear Stacy from the clutches of one of the most malevolent seducers in our beaches. I have not heard from Alfresco for some time, and can only hope that this printed exchange does not draw him back to our female-abundant shores. So please put away your bone, Sir… Or may I call you “Dad”?

Romeo,

You have to help me with something! I’m an attractive single woman, 30s-ish and in great shape, and I’ve just been royally dissed by the hottest guy at my local gym. In all my years of dating and mixing with hot young men, I’ve never been faced with rejection like this. “Ken” exercises near the free-weight section of my gym and we give each other little nods of recognition every morning. I’d say he’s been coming there for at least a good two months. Last week, I gave him one of my foxy, “come-hither” looks and he seemed to smile slightly, but that was it. He left without so much as a word! Usually, I reserve that sexy look for the guy I want to bed and it’s never failed to work! I gave him the look a few more times during the week, but by Friday I was feeling so rejected and offended that I followed him out to the lobby as he was leaving to confront him. Was I too old for him? Was I not good-looking enough? He never wears a wedding band and I doubt he has a girlfriend (girlfriends never seem to deter other men from wanting to get it on with me). Is he gay? I felt I really needed some kind of explanation and was beginning to feel really hurt and sensitive. So as I’m following him into the lobby, he’s got his back to me — which is really muscular and ripped — and I yell “Hey, Ken!” — I admit I kind of lost it — and what does he do but totally ignore me! I shouted out to him again and he just keeps walking and gets in his car and splits. WTF? I walked back inside to collect my bag and just felt mortified. Plus, I noticed a couple of the girls sniggering under their breath at the spectacle I’d made. I haven’t even gone back there and am in the market for another gym over on Merritt Island because I feel so embarrassed. Do you have any clues as to what might have happened? I figured you of all people might know. Tell it like it is, Romeo. I can handle it.

“Cindy”

Cocoa Beach

If I were you, Felicity, I’d relax and take a deep breath. I think you may find that the explanation for Ken’s rejection of you might be more innocent than you suspect. Have you considered that Ken might need a more direct face-to-face approach? Perhaps Ken is hearing impaired. I’m reminded of a very similar situation that unfolded some years ago when I was much more innocent and living in Milano. Though I was never given any of the salacious looks you describe by Lucrezia, the most desirable girl in the district, she did once follow me out into the lobby of my local gym. Lucrezia was the delicious object of every man’s affection, especially when she donned her skin-tight lycra biking shorts. Apparently she’d been calling after me as I was exiting, imploring me to extinguish the fires of her ardor lest she should perish, but I was none the wiser, because, you see, I had just attended a very loud Barry Manilow concert the night before and couldn’t hear a thing. Now Italian women, unlike yourself, are much more forceful, and do not like to be ignored, which unbeknownst to me, I was doing. After throwing her sweaty towel at the back of my retreating head to get my attention (lovely, by the way), I saw before me the ravishing lycra-clad Lucrezia gesticulating wildly (as Italians are wont to do) and uttering words I unfortunately could not hear. Happily, I was able to read her lips and all turned out well. Ciao-abunga!

Dear Romeo,

As a longtime fan of yours, I’ve become very distressed to read all the criticism of your advice in recent issues. I know you’re a divisive character, but I’m concerned for your safety. Sometimes it seems as if you were proposing sweeping changes in the health care system the way these cranky loonies react! I just want to let you know that I and many other readers are behind you 100%!

Love,

Annie H.

Indialantic

And I’m behind you 100%, Nancy! Thank you ever so kindly for your words of support. But please do not fear; Romeo is no stranger to controversy. I’ve been all over the world, my dear, and dissent always seems to follow me in one way or another. I am used to it. Instances of my being attacked are too numerous to mention in their entirety, but I can tell you that I have been kicked in the Dardanelles, punched in the Bosporus, poked in the Hague, elbowed in the Zambezi, and bitten on the Ganges. Needless to say, I’m seriously reconsidering canceling next week’s trip to Jackson Hole.

Romeo!

You seem like a very busy guy. What do you do in your spare time when you’re not giving out advice or making whoopee?

“Gareth”
(via email)

A very good question, Greg. I am indeed a very busy advice columnist and whoopee manufacturer and usually spend my infrequent downtime on my patio overlooking the resplendent Atlantic Ocean or working on my dock, which is exceptionally large and always seems to require gentle yet rigorous attention. However, a few poor investment choices over the past year have forced me to relinquish some of that spare time in favor of augmenting my meager income by writing subject lines for male enhancement supplement email spam. You may be familiar with some of my work. Here are just a few of the lines I’ve written which have earned numerous plaudits: “Your bodypart will be ready” (one of my first, before I got the hang of the job); “Boost your rocket;” “Virilize your life!”; “Give her the drilling she deserves!” (penned during Sarah Palin’s rise to political prominence, which led to –) “Give your political prominence a rise!” Also, “Don’t let flaccidity spoil your fun;” “Be seductive for broads” (straight and to the point); “Be her macho amorousness” (I used some poetic license on that one); “Achieve Clinton’s ardor!”; “Super solution for night revolution;” “Make her your mattress mistress;” “Your male power will return to you like a boomerang” (which sounds rather painful) and one of my favorites, “Your Bank of America account number has expired.” Keep an eye out for me in your junk folder!

Dear Romeo,

I’m not from the area and so am not very familiar with your column but I must write to tell you that after reading last issue’s advice during my vacation you’re exactly the kind of guy who give me the willies!

Margaret N.
Woodbury, MN

Madam, I only wish I had more than one willy to give you. Consider yourself lucky that I didn’t give you several strokes!

Romeo,

My wife and I have a very active fantasy life and have found that as ridiculous as many of these fantasies might sound to some people, they have enriched our sex life one hundred percent! Luckily, we’re surrounded by friends who aren’t creeped out when we tell them about one of our favorites that involves our natural surroundings in a very creative way, if I do say so myself. I goes a little something like this: I go out surfing for a few hours and after the session I pretend that I’m a castaway on a deserted island (not very difficult when you live where we do). I get out of the water, roll myself in the sand and crawl “exhausted” onto our back porch whereupon I rap weakly on the sliding glass door begging for help. Though there are some titillating variations on this theme, usually “Claire” then comes to the door in her bathrobe at first in shock, but then in pity helps me inside. She gives me a glass of water and feeds me some cool slices of papaya (which we always have on hand for these occasions) and nurses me back to health. Throughout the course of the evening, we grow closer as I recount my terrible journey across the sea to her and then we fall into a loving embrace on our silk-sheeted bed. You can guess the rest. Not only did I want to share this delight with a kindred spirit, but also wanted to express to all your readers the importance of fantasy in a couple’s life and to also find out what fantasies you might have yourself. Sharing them with the world may help numerous couples.

“Frank”
Floridana Beach

Thank you for writing in, Jerry. You make a very important point and I thank you for it — as all beachside couples do! Fantasies are indeed a very important part of the art of loving. As you can imagine, I have thousands of fantastic fantasies that I’ve been fortunate to enact with thousands of willing lovers. But since you ask, I do have one that has, as of yet, gone sadly unfulfilled. It too uses our area to very creative ends, involving as it does one of the many female members of the military who we are so blessed to have residing on our shores. Without going into too much detail for fear of ruining the untapped magic of the eventual moment, I become “Private R. Pomodoro,” a very willful and unruly cadet who is in great need of discipline. My military lady in question (she is of higher rank, of course) approaches me sternly in her crisp uniform and shouts at me very loudly, enumerating all of my faults in humiliating detail. I’m insubordinate, filthy, unpatriotic, lazy, unkempt, unmanageable and unloved. But I am also the only one fit for a top secret mission that will save the country from certain destruction. She then takes me roughly into the bedroom where I am debriefed and given a good tongue lashing. To get me in shape for the mission, she then asks me to perform about 375 very pleasurable and forceful push-ups for her. Please, ma’am, may I have some more? Mission accomplished!

Dear Romeo,

We all no you love sex, but do you have any other vices? Just wondering. It helps me and my girlfriends get a better idea of our love idol!

Beth J.
Indialantic

Thank you for asking, Jessica. Romeo’s life is wonderfully free of too many vices. I am not a gambler and I don’t use drugs, but I am an obsessive self pleasurer and love Swisher Sweets. I’m a forty-a-day man and smoke like a chimney.

Dear Mr. Pomodoro,

As an 93-year old woman, I’ve seen a lot in my day — the first automobile, the miracle of flight, a man on the moon — but nothing could prepare me for the way TV shows are going these days. Every time I turn it on, I hear foul language and see men and women in various states  of undress. Why, just the other night within the span of just 30 minutes I saw three flashes of breast, a pair of nude buttocks, and a very steamy lovemaking scene that left little to the imagination. And all this before 11 o’clock at night! I consider myself to be pretty open-minded for a woman of my age, but I really think this is too much. I enjoy reading your advice every month and your take on life and love, so I wanted to ask you: what do you think of sex on television?

Myrtle L.
Satellite Beach

My dear, what you describe is indeed shocking, but nothing compares to all the rough intercourse you get from FOX News on a nightly basis, not to mention all their conservative pundits’ heated and usually uninformed ejaculations. But to answer your question, sex on the television is indeed a problem. These new, thin plasma screens make maintaining one’s balance particularly difficult.

Romeo,

“Al” and I have been living together for close to a year now. After three years of dating, we decided it was finally time to move in together and get serious about our relationship. I love Al. He’s a great lover, very romantic, and very good-looking and we have so much in common, from movies and food to politics and ideals. We’re considering marriage, but I’m having a hard time making up my mind about what to do. You see, Al doesn’t do a lick of work around the house, and it’s slowly tearing our relationship apart. I feel that a couple should share household chores and split duties right down the middle. Al is having none of it, though. I routinely find myself cleaning up after him and even vacuumed under his upraised legs last week while he was plopped on the couch watching CSI. It’s getting to be too much. Am I being shallow for thinking twice about marrying Al? In light of all the things that are going well, should I let this problem put such a strain on our couple? Be honest. Should I just ignore his laziness and accept his flaws? Please give me some advice. I’m at my wit’s end. Our sex life has even gone downhill since I started complaining to him. To be frank, I think we made a terrible mistake.

“Flo”
Melbourne

Frank, this situation simply won’t do at all. I do not think you are being shallow at all. I agree that cooperation is an essential ingredient in any recipe for a successful relationship. Let me give you an example. Last week, I hired two young lads to mulch several large islands surrounding my very spacious and luxurious condo on the beach. Because I was paying these lads by the hour, I was somewhat concerned to find that throughout the day they were making long work of a job that could have been done in half the time. Both would spend hours spreading mulch in each area, take inordinately long breaks at the top of each hour, and then waste the rest of the day using their very loud and noxious air blowers in tandem to clean up the other areas they’d besmirched with bits of bark. Needless to say, they hadn’t finished mulching the large back area of the condo by 4 o’clock and informed me that they’d have to return the following day to complete the project. The next morning, I suggested — in fact demanded — that each split duties to accelerate the process. One, I argued, should spread the mulch while his co-worker followed behind him with the blower to clean up the ensuing mess. That way, I reckoned, through cooperation and efficient sharing of duties, they’d be able to finish the job well before noon. And indeed they did. I think a similar approach might help you and Al repair your relationship and get you back to the most important task at hand: passionate lovemaking. To take the example of teamwork I’ve given you a bit further, I really think Al should spread and you should blow.

Dear Romeo,

I know you get loads of letters from smitten girls professing their love for you, but please be aware that I am the real deal. I’m a fiery (and very busty) Italian brunette with long legs and a firm, supple bottom formed by years of intense workouts. More than anything though, I’m sure you will find much to love in my psyche. I’m willing to bet that you have a long list of prospective concubines, but please consider moving me up in priority. I don’t think I can wait much longer…

“Gina”
Indian Harbour Beach

This sounds very enticing, Ginger, but I’ll need more information. Perhaps we can arrange an interview in my spacious and very luxurious condo so I can probe your psyche a bit deeper. Ciao!

Romeo Pomodoro,

I’ve been in the newspaper business for close to 20 years, and I have yet to come across a more pathetic excuse for a column. Your persona is clearly invented, your “advice” obviously ghost-written, and the “humor,” such as it is, is as puerile as that found on late-night reruns of “The Benny Hill Show.” I’m well aware that “Inquire of Romeo” is meant to be mindless entertainment for what must be some incredibly mindless readers, but it doesn’t excuse that fact that your jokes belong to the pantomime stage of yore, with their emphasis on anatomical subjects and tortuous double entendres. Because I’m an enlightened and intelligent woman, I can sign off with pride knowing that I’ve left you with nothing from which to draw some sexual misunderstanding.

M. V.
Cape Canaveral

It’s clear that you find Romeo’s column rather hard to swallow, dear woman, and for that I am sorry.

Dear Romeo,

Everyone has a physical attribute they’re proud of. I myself have turned my most glaring flaw into my biggest asset. Ever since I first entered puberty, I was cursed with abnormally large hips and an enormous posterior out of keeping with my relatively thin legs, thighs and torso. I didn’t have much to brag about in the chest department at all — still don’t — but “baby’s got back,” as they say. From grade school on, I’ve been called every name in the book — “Bubble Butt,” “Suzy Caboosey,” “Suzanney Fanny,” “Cheeks Magillicutty,” and most times just: “Hey you with the big ass!” Well, this caused me great discomfort, as you can imagine, all throughout my sensitive and self-counscious adolescence and long after college had finished. But thanks to a chance meeting with that up-and-coming rapper from Orlando — well, he actually pulled his Bentley over to shout at me when he saw me walking down the road and gushed about my rear end — I got to star in the video for his first single, “Pushin’ the Cushion,” and I’ve learned to love my buttocks for what they are and myself for who I am. I’m writing so that hopefully you will print this letter so that other women with the same problem will find inspiration. Love your column!

Suzanne N.
“The Biggest Butt in Brevard”
Merritt Island

Dear Lucy,

Thank you so much for your, em, uplifting letter about your admirable asset and for loving my column as so many do. I too am an up-and-coming artist of sorts (if you get my drift) and would be happy to help you in your career. “Biggest Butt in Brevard,” hmm? Are you quite positive about that? Perhaps you’d like to back that claim up…straight into my willing lap! Beep…beep…beep…

Romeo,

My girlfriend and me were out together a few nights ago for a few drinks and started fantasizing about male celebrities. After running through the standard list of hotties — Brad Pitt, George Clooney, Leonardo Di Caprio and Carrot Top — the discussion turned to you, and after a few more drinks and a quick vote, we decided you were the one we’d most like to fool around with. At the same time! What do you think? Actually, we’d both like to request your presence at a very special private party we’ve arranged for you. We will fulfill all your deepest desires! Please respond — you won’t regret it!

“Jill and Jenny”
The Jiggle Sisters
Indian Harbour Beach

Well, well, well. What can I say? Thank you very much for your very tantalizing invitation. But most of all, thank you for your vote of approval. I’m always happy to come out on top! Especially since the competition included the great Carrot Top. But in a way, considering how many of these invitations I get, I wonder if the two of you are indeed in earnest. Are you pulling my leg? Could you be yanking my chain? If so, please yank harder and more rhythmically to the left just a bit. In answer to your invitation after considerable rumination — I’m coming!

Romeo,

I have kind of a strange problem. I met this really great guy — “Derek” — and I’m really, really, REALLY into him. We’d been out on a a few dates (all very exciting), but since I’m kind of a traditional, old-fashioned girl, I waited until our fifth date to invite him over to my house for dinner. Up until then, we’d always met one bar or another as I’m a little nervous about showing strange men where I live. You can never be too sure — especially these days. So I had this great seafood dinner ready at a candlelit table I set out on my dock overlooking the canal. When I answered the door and brought him out to the dock, he started acting really strange. He made up some lame excuse about his mom and the hospital and then said he didn’t think it was a good idea for us ever to see each other again. I was crushed! Well, a few days later I was talking with an old friend and she heard from someone that the reason behind his rejection of me was that all along when I said that I lived on the water, he thought I meant on the beach! Turns out he’s a really big surfer and has a reputation for always looking to hook-up with some rich chick who lives on the beach so he can shack up with her, quit working and live on the ocean. I just can’t get over how shallow men can be. Do you have any thoughts on this? Isn’t that the weirdest story you’ve ever heard?

Verna K.
Satellite Beach

That is indeed a very strange story, Lisa. With time, you will forget this shallow man. Men are surely pigs very often. If you need to get away to forget it all, you are always welcome to come to my place. I have a huge dock! If you’d rather, I’d be happy to spend time with you at your place. I would love to explore your canal!

Dear Romeo,

My husband and I are both very busy people, so the few moments we share together are very important to us. The problem is that every time we light the candles and sit down to an intimate dinner, an intense hammering starts up in the house next door and won’t stop until the romantic mood’s been completely destroyed. We’ve talked to our neighbor, a retired handyman, but he just won’t let up with the constant banging in his garage. Do you think there’s a way we can re-establish our love life without having to move?

C.L.
Melbourne

All I can say is that you should be thankful that you don’t live next to Romeo Pomodoro’s home where there is always hammering and banging going on!