Women my age are the first to be able to live life without sex, without having to go straight to a nunnery.

To say that you have “turned tricks” is to set yourself apart, make yourself the subject to all manner of fantasies. It’s not nothing. To say you’ve visited whores is different. It doesn’t set a man apart, it doesn’t tarnish his sexuality, doesn’t define him in any way.

I write from the realms of the ugly, for the ugly, the old, the bull dykes, the frigid, the unfucked, the unfuckable, the hysterics, the freaks, all those excluded from the great meat market of female flesh.

Men vehemently denounce social or racial injustices, but are tolerant and understanding when it comes to macho bigotry.

It’s extraordinary to think a young girl screaming her passion as John Lennon plays his guitar is despised while an old codger wolf-whistling at a teenager in a miniskirt is considered a game old boy.

Even the most batshit-crazy guy in hip-hop isn’t treated as badly as a woman. And it’s not like we don’t know what white people think of Blacks.

Instinctively, I figured that going to a police station and admitting you were a rape victim was simply putting yourself in further danger. The law meted out by cops is the law created by men.

Even so, if I had to give a girl a piece of advice, I’d tell her that if she wants to make the most of her looks, better to be clear and up front and hang on to her independence rather than getting hooked up, shacked up, knocked up and stuck with a guy she wouldn’t give the time of day to if he didn’t take her on holiday.

Even now that women publish lots of novels, it’s rare to come across female characters who are physically unattractive or plain, incapable of loving men or of being loved by them.