I HAVE been reading your column for over a year and found it a revelation. To me, you two are the voice of reason. You are free to laugh, but when I feel like things have been bad in the love department, I go through your archives and read your articles. If it weren’t for your column, I don’t think I would still believe in love, and sometimes I am unsure I do. I want to tell you something I can’t tell anyone, simply because the answers I got from others were exceedingly cruel.
I am 26, and I have longed for a connection to a man all my life. Heartbreak is the only thing I got instead. I am pretty and smart, so it’s not that. The problem is men. Don’t get mad.
I asked every male friend I have, and every male acquaintance the same question: Can a man be faithful? No matter how much we liked each other, or how well I thought I knew them, or how reasonable, honest and dependable I thought these men to be, they all said the same thing.
They all squirmed, and finally, independently from each other, said that they thought monogamy was difficult, and that sex and love existed independently from each other in male sexuality. I thought, “Okay!” Then came the “men need to spread their seed” lecture.
Those guys, none exactly players or real lookers even, said that a man would always cheat on the woman he loved. That was quite a few months back. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. I get this sense of dread, this feeling inside of me that feels worse than anything I have ever felt before.
I am faring well in my grad programme; I study something that requires reasoning above all. I am not a person to obsess, and I am not mentally ill. But I have never felt so sad in my entire life. I feel like something has died; something innocent and necessary to my life, because—and that’s the thing—the feeling of dread signals that what these men have said might be true.
There’s a horrid parsimony of truth in what they said. It explains every behaviour I have ever encountered in anybody’s dating life. But the man I have yet to meet, who I would love with all my soul, and who would love me back the same way, has vanished.
I look at men now, and it’s not the same. There’s a disconnect that’s killing me, because, above all, I wanted to find true love. If I cannot hope for love to happen, there’s nothing to hope for, really.
The answer I get from you might be just as ugly, but I don’t think you two are the kind to play games, so I trust what you will tell me. Please write back, so I can put this issue to rest one way or the other.

Piper,
Ask people what they think about anything, and what you get is superficial stuff; things right on the surface of their mind: Political ads, jingles, something clever they overheard.
What you don’t get is the product of deep consideration. It’s like looking at a big city pond. You see the floating Pepsi cans and McDonald’s wrappers, and not much of the biology underneath.
The puerile “men need to spread their seed” is thoughtless stuff; generally meaningless, unless said by hardcore cheaters as their justification. A group of guys, “none exactly players or real lookers even” in an actual spread-your-seed world would find a few of the strongest males with all the women, and they would be sitting on the sidelines.
But that’s not the world we live in. Your letter was too well-written, and too heartfelt to edit. Let us give you our full answer next week.