The title of your book implies that you'd rather eat chocolate than have sex. Don't you like sex? Of course I like sex. There's a misconception floating around on the Web that because I prefer eating chocolate to having sex, then I must loathe sex. But the truth is I don't loathe or hate sex at all. Actually, I say in the book on page 83 that I have sexual fantasies, on page 61 that I sometimes masturbate, on page 188 that I enjoy intercourse on occasion, and on page 20 that I can orgasm.. And another thing I don't mind is giving oral sex—well as long as it doesn't take forever. So, just because I'd rather eat chocolate, that doesn't mean at all that I don't like sex. You seem to imply that preferring to eat chocolate over having sex is like preferring to eat ice cream over going for a swim or preferring to watch TV over playing a game. But don't you ever get aroused to the point that you want sex over anything else? I don't mean to make a misleading comparison, but yes, my sexual desire does spike a few times a month, and at those times I do want sex for its own sake. On some of those occasions I want sex with my husband. But on most of those occasions I'd still rather just have a sexual fantasy and release the tension by bowing my own violin rather than take the time and effort to involve an actual partner. Unlike men, the mere thought of anticipating sex doesn't fill me with desire. In contrast, if I walk by a display case of earrings in the mall, I'm attracted to it like a magnet. The mere suggestion of sex doesn't work on me like that. For me, sex is just a lot lower preference or priority, even when I've had really good sex with Kip. You mentioned having sexual fantasies. Would you still prefer to read a book or eat chocolate over having sex with the man of your dreams? Careful, my husband will be reading this. But; don't you want to act out your fantasies with a dream man? Do I have sexual fantasies? Yes. Do I want to act them out in real life? Actually, I mention an attempt to do just that in my book. It just doesn't pan out. I guess that's why they're fantasies. As for having sex with a dream man, I would flee any hotel room containing a naked Patrick Dempsey (even if he wrote a poem for me and ordered room service). Yet, I can still have sexual fantasies about him. And I know I'm not alone in this. One night when I was in Blockbuster Video, I heard two young women talking about Brad Pitt. One said to the other, "tighty-whities or boxers?" The second one said, "Brad's cute, but I don't want to see him in his underwear." It's a paradox I discuss in the book; most women fantasize about sex more abstractly and less graphically than men do. Women don't want to actually see a naked man after them. Naked or not, maybe you'd like to have sex more if you married your dream man. Do you think you've got the right guy? I know I do. As I say in the book, I love Kip. I wouldn't want to live without him. I also say that I find him handsome. Physical attraction isn't the problem. And on page 20 I say Kip's willing to do anything I want, and I do have orgasms with him. It just doesn't lead to more desire. So, no, I don't think even a fantasy man would make me long for more sex. Do you believe that your lower preference, and less frequent desire, for sex is atypical for women, or do you think women in general feel the same way about sex that you do? You're asking, am I normal? I'm happy to report that, yes, from the research I've done and everything I've heard and witnessed, I think my level of sexual desire, low as it may seem to some, is actually in the normal curve for women in general. Of course, I didn't believe that at first. I used to think my level of desire was abnormally low, given how sex-saturated our media is. But, several years ago, I caught an episode of The Oprah Winfrey Show that changed my mind on that. Oprah referred to a study by the Journal of the American Medical Association, which stated that an estimated 40 million American women were suffering from low sexual desire. In the back of my mind I thought, how could nearly half of women in America be dysfunctional? What is the norm and who's deciding it? After doing some more digging, I found that while the JAMA study may have correctly reported how many women find a low desire for sex to be a "problem" in their relationships because their men want sex more than they do, that hardly means all those women are dysfunctional. I came to the conclusion that the women complaining of "low" sexual desire by and large have a normal level of sexual desire for women. Is that how your book differs from most of the others on the subject of women's libido? Right, that's one of the most important ways. I think "low libido" is over-diagnosed in women. Most women's libido is "low" only in comparison to men's libido. This is a biological difference, not a preferential one. Most women do not have a sex drive as high as typical men do. Men in general desire sex more often, with more partners, are interested in a greater variety of sex acts, and have a harder time controlling lust. Because this holds true for the vast majority of the adult population, a woman should only be considered as having a "low libido" if her libido is not up to par with most women. What we should not do is say a woman has a "low libido" simply because she doesn't like sex as much as men do. A normal woman's libido is only "low" if you compare her libido to that of men. And since most women naturally have a lower libido than men do, women should not be considered dysfunctional if they don't desire sex as much as men do. If you're one of those rare women that love sex as much as the guys, I'd Rather Eat Chocolate may not be the book for you. But just because you, as a woman, don't want sex as much as a typical man does, that doesn't mean you have a normal level of desire for a woman—so how do you know your libido isn't lower than normal for a woman? How do you know you're not dysfunctional? As I said, I do get aroused, I do have sexual fantasies, I do like intercourse on occasion, and I can orgasm. So, I do have a libido. As to the normality of my own level of desire, I just compare myself to typical women and watch how women in general behave when it comes to sex. In addition to my own experiences, I sometimes take the perspective of an anthropologist living among the natives—I make observations of our culture and report what I see. I'd Rather Eat Chocolate is hardly a scientific study written for peer review, but I do make valid commentary in my memoir regarding human sexual nature. And in doing research over the years before writing the book, I was relieved to find just how normal, how common, my level of desire is. Was there a major incident that drove you to write this book? Well, in the sexual department, my marriage had been going south for quite some time. And the seed for writing this book came from that episode of Oprah that mentioned the JAMA study I talked about earlier. As for a motive to write, I guess you could say it was a matter of being outraged by all the bullshit in the media. I believe that much of the media, especially fictional shows like Sex and the City, give us a distorted picture of female sexual desire. We're taught that women lust as much as men and are up for all sorts of kinky sex. When I found out that most women aren't like that, I thought about writing a book that debunks the common myths about libido from an intimate perspective. Hence, my memoir. Some critics say that your observations that many women have substantially weaker drives than most men is just another way to restrict women's sexuality once again; to push it back to the '50's or even the Victorian days when it was thought that "normal" women shouldn't have a robust desire for sex. How do you answer that? It isn't the case that I think women ought not to have as much sex as they want, in or out of a committed relationship, and with as many people as they want. It is our right to do so without being morally penalized. And it's a right that's been hard won. But it should not be viewed as an imperative. And following that, women needn't have to show a libido equal to men in order to prove we've achieved sexual freedom. In the chapter "Maude About the Media," you address feminism and our new "raunch culture." When it comes to the discussion of sex, how large a role does the media play in the battle of the sexes? Yeah, the term "raunch culture" was coined by Ariel Levy. I don't see a battle anymore. We've surrendered. The usual suspects are Girls Gone Wild and music video vixens. It's easy to see who's really benefiting there. What's really confusing is the way sex plays out when the media aims at a more sophisticated theme. It used to be that men seduced women into sex, or were the aggressors. Now it's portrayed as the opposite in most sit-coms, drama series, and movies. The women are attacking the hapless guys. That's supposed to show a shift in the social power base. To me it is a way to capitulate to male fantasy under the guise of female sexual empowerment. We achieved a lot but I don't think sex is the barometer of that. Obviously, the real litmus test of social equality is the number of women in government or CEO's of companies (not just ones who play them on TV). Once you discovered its normal for women not to like sex as much as their husbands, where did that leave you? So you say to yourself, I don't want sex as much as my partner does, so what're we going to do about it? I went on a search for a Holy Grail that would increase my sexual desire. All the while I kept tabs on what I was doing, what didn't work, and why. I write about some of my attempts at being more sensual by becoming more aware of the physical aspects of life, like eating a peach, or feeling the caress of the breeze on my skin, or enjoying oils, tastes, etc., or trying to think of sex as a spiritual experience. That's where most of the funny moments in the book come in. But despite what many sexperts say, I don't think you can psyche yourself into a desire for sex—anymore than a man can significantly reduce his natural sexual desire by rational thought. My book debunks the usual sexpert solutions for raising libido. You and Kip managed to work out your libido differences and come to a solution you can both live with. So how are you and Kip doing these days in terms of your sexual relationship? Actually, we're doing really well. The solution we found works for us. As the book explains, Kip now gets sex in the form of genital stimulation with me at least once a week (that could mean intercourse, oral sex, a hand job, etc.) and a more visual show (like a striptease/lap dance) twice a week. Kip's now probably getting more sex on a regular basis than many guys who've been married for over a year, or even a lot of straight, single guys for that matter. So, he's doing well. As for myself, even if I'd still rather eat chocolate, sex is no longer a burden. Date night is actually fun for me again as well. Is your solution for everyone? Yes and no. The book gives some advice any couple could benefit from, like being honest about expectations, setting up a regular date night, and so on. But I'd Rather Eat Chocolate is mainly a memoir. The details are really idiosyncratic to Kip and I, and the book never says that our exact solution will work for everyone. The basic idea is that, if a couple wants to stay married and have their needs satisfied, then wives will have to find some common ground with their husbands, and husbands will have to find a way to compromise with their wives. Finding "common ground" for the wives means they'll need to find some sex acts they're at least neutral about performing for their husbands. And "compromise" for husbands means that the husband may not get ALL the sex he wants (either by frequency or by the kind of sex acts), but he can get at least some of the sex he wants on a regular basis if he's willing to tone down his expectations. How each couple works out the details will vary from one couple to another. I don't expect everyone to follow tit-for-tat what Kip and I worked out in my memoir. Is it fair to have more compromising on your husband's part than on yours? Compromise is supposed to be the necessary condition for a happy marriage. Yes, couples can compromise on almost anything, but it's a mistake to assume that compromising your body is in the same category of "things". Letting someone have sex with you when you don't want to have sex is both literally and figuratively invasive in the most personal way possible. And it's being submissive in the most personal way possible. Unless you have no self-esteem whatsoever, that's going to build a powerful resentment. So the question is, are my husband's sexual needs going to take a backseat to my bodily autonomy? You bet. I don't compromise my body, but I do my time and energy. There are times I'm tired and am not into doing absolutely anything, but I do it anyway. There are times I'm sure Kip wants more, but sorry, not tonight, baby. What does he get? When I feel I'm the one who decides what happens with my body during sex, Kip benefits; he gets a more enthusiastic partner. And remember, because a lot of critics have missed this, while I determine the pacing of the sex acts themselves, Kip does determine the days we have sex. And because he determines what days are scheduled for sex, he gets to be assertive with his own needs as well. In that sense, the compromise goes both ways. You say in your book that you're in control of the pacing of sex; you can leave or enter the room at will—what's that about? I do sex in stages. There is a certain menu of elements that I can choose from for any particular night. And just like a menu, I can choose what sex acts I'm willing to have. Some nights, it's a lot of striptease and hot outfits, but not much sexual contact. Other nights, I might give him oral sex, but not much in the way of dancing and outfits. But one thing I hate is to feel cornered during sex; that's what I mean about pacing. Instead of exhausting myself trying to get him or me to orgasm in one, long, continuous sex session, I literally break it up. I leave the room to take a breather, put my stilettoed feet up for a rest—and boom—I'm relaxed again. Meanwhile, Kip's free to fantasize, look at porn, whatever. Then I go back in, give him something around twenty minutes, and then leave again if I want. That actually extends the sex sessions we have. When I can give him fifteen or twenty minute sessions, then take five or ten minutes to myself, we can extend the sex session to an hour-and-a-half. That's for weekend sex. It's shorter during the weekdays—I don't have that much stamina. But believe me, he gets his money's worth, so to speak. Given your antipathy to the raunch culture, how do you defend pornography having a place in your household? As a woman, I can't really. I don't watch it, but yes, it does supplement Kip's sex life. Despite having stepped-up my sexual game, I can't be all things to Kip. Some might say it's hypocritical for me to allow for porn in my relationship while challenging our raunch culture. Well, to tell the truth, I haven't decided if I'm being hypocritical or not, either. Can you be a little hypocritical? I'll take that choice. I never liked pornography. Before we were married, I found out that Kip had some. I went ballistic. Being a hard-liner, I wasn't satisfied that anything justified owning porn. I vacillated quite a bit on that, and so did Kip—he too had moral struggles with it. What reconciled me to Kip's use of pornography is the kind of porn he has. I wouldn't have been able to cope with misogynistic porn. But I found there are levels: some porn is worse than others. And there should be parameters. A big plus is that Kip sticks to videos and magazines. Internet porn has been likened to crack cocaine. It can instantly take men places they don't need to go. What about strip clubs? Some see those as a healthy supplement to a marriage. For me, that's a deal-breaker. People may take that as being unreasonable. But I like to put the shoe on the other foot. I don't like to use the example of women going to male strip clubs; for the most part let's admit they're really a kind of joke, or even a bit of revenge—turning of the tables on guys. A better role reversal would be to imagine going out on romantic dates with a handsome male escort. Dinner, dancing, good conversation, a walk on the beach, and then some cuddling and kissing. What man would tolerate his wife doing that? Now you must know that some men balk at any compromise on the husband's part. They even say Kip should just find someone more compatible. How do you respond? As I said in my book, Kip is free to leave the marriage if he wants to. But my husband is willing to compromise on sex with me because he loves me. He doesn't want to leave me over our sexual differences. I have to stick to my guns on this: a woman can't have unwanted sex over the long haul of a marriage without building up resentment. And when she does, the husband will find himself in a celibate marriage soon enough. To overcome that, he'll have to be willing to compromise with his wife. Fortunately, Kip loves me enough to do that. And I love him enough to try to find a way, based on honesty, that I could serve his needs as well, without any of the passive-aggressive resentment that comes with usual mind-games. What was your husband's reaction to the writing of this book? At first he hated it, though he was the first one to encourage me. He wanted me to write about the sexes, but he really didn't need it in the form of a memoir. What could be more personal than our sex lives? It's been embarrassing at times for both of us—you know, he was like, god, are you actually putting that down on paper for the whole world to read? Yup. But even though it was at times emotionally tough for him, he was still helpful in adding some details to conversations we had about sex when my own memory wasn't crystal clear. (It helped in reconstructing our conversations, which I wanted to do as faithfully as possible.) My biggest worry was holiday gatherings with the in-laws. It was already hard when they kept asking me what my book was about. I kept hemming and hawing. But they couldn't wait for a copy of the book. I told my mother-in-law not to read it because it was about our sex lives. And that, if she did read it, please don't tell me about it. I'm not in the whole Meet the Fockers thing. Really, I'd be embarrassed. The whole world knowing about our sex lives, no problem. Our friends and family? Rather not. Now that the book's published and on the bookstore shelves, what does your husband think of the book's publicity? He loves the good reviews of the book, of course. But it does disappoint him when certain critics who haven't even read the book, but just have heard about it secondhand from other reviews, spread misinformation about I'd Rather Eat Chocolate, about me, or about himself—and there is plenty of that out there. At the start of I'd Rather Eat Chocolate, you said you'd even take a good book over sex. What is your favorite "good" book? Well, I've read some pretty high-falutin' books. But I don't want to look conceited, so those books by Tolstoy, Dostoyevsky, Kant, Einstein, and that dude who wrote about String Theory, shall remain nameless. Frankly, the most entertaining book I've read is The Devil Wears Prada. I wasn't much for the romantic interest, but her ability to relate every nuance of attending to her maddening, incomprehensible, vicious boss was pitch perfect. I was going through a bad time myself then, and this book was like sharing the turmoil of life with a good friend.

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