DEAR ANDREA: I like the new tone of your column. I could be wrong, but it seems like you've loosened up a bit, what with the disappearance of dictionary-fueled debates (e.g., "felching") and the sharing of some of your own experiences. I was particularly intrigued by the latter, as one always wonders about the sex lives of sexperts.

My question: I'm a barely better than average-looking bi guy who turned 30 just in time for his midlife crisis. Along with the sports car, heartburn, and proctologic exams, I'd like – surprise! – lots of hot sex with beautiful young people. Here's the catch: I want healthy sex, wherein the hotties actually desire me for the sheer pleasure of fucking me. No prostitutes, mail-order brides, or ambitious interns need apply. Too much to ask, I'm sure, but I'm actually willing to make some substantial sacrifices, even change my career. Since it's highly unlikely I'll be selected as the next Backstreet Boy, which of the following jobs will get me laid the most: M.D., high-powered exec, sex therapist, San Francisco Sex Information volunteer, or dance instructor?

Love, Hard Worker

Dear Hard: Nah, I'm still the same old pedant. The only reason I haven't answered any etymology questions lately is that nobody's asked me any. As for personal sharing, I try to save it for those moments when it will be highly educational or goddamned hilarious, and those are rare. For example, I wanted to write a column called "What I Did on My Summer Vacation," but any story that includes the phrases "hit-and-run driver," "elevate and apply pressure," and "my boyfriend was still in the hospital" is not likely to be funny. (He'll be OK, by the way.)

Don't quit your day job. Some M.D.s get laid a lot, but it'd take years to get there – first you'd have to take chemistry and go to med school, and there's no guarantee of sexual success on the other side. You're not a high-powered exec; sex therapists are usually fairly geeky, and San Francisco Sex Information doesn't pay (I should know). The thought of sending you out to be a dance instructor, while probably your best bet, merely makes me shudder. No. This is not your path.

You didn't say what you actually do do for a living, but perhaps it requires a little fine-tuning rather than a complete swap-out. Ask to be transferred to the division closer to the Big City? Stop working nights and weekends so you have a chance to socialize while others are awake? You call it; I don't have enough data.

If none of that is applicable, there's always the hobby route. Take up some activity that tends to attract the young and attractive: rock climbing, say, or white-water rafting. Swing dancing is played, but samba has possibilities. (I said don't become a dance instructor; I didn't say you weren't allowed to dance.)

Rock climbers and booty shakers not doing it for you? How about perverts? I may have pooh-poohed your becoming a sex therapist (and San Francisco Sex Information actively discourages trollers from volunteering), but what about all the other organized sex fiends? San Francisco is pervert central, of course, but if you're not here, you may still be able to find sex parties, S-M fashion shows, dirty poetry readings, or workshops at your local toy store. Find one and you'll find them all. As with the more mainstream options, any of these may put you in contact with likely prospects, but none of them will serve you up those prospects on a plate. You will have to talk to people, and the less great-looking you are, the more charming you will have to be. Being bi is a lucky break – if the cute guy doesn't think you're charming, maybe the cute girl will.

Oh! You didn't expect me to actually tell you where to go and what to do to get swarms of gorgeous young things to mob you on sight, did you? Oh dear. I am sorry.

Look, I know (and you probably do too) why you aren't getting anything like what you're craving: it's that "beautiful young people" thing. You're an average-looking guy. You get to dream about anything you like, but when it comes to making plans, it would behoove you to be realistic.

Love, Andrea