After reading a preliminary manuscript of this book, one of my friends commented that he could not believe I'd discuss such personal topics. To tell you the truth, I can't believe it either. But if I was not willing to spill my guts, this book wouldn't be as interesting—or as honest—as it otherwise could have been. With that in mind, I'll tell you a story that I have never told anyone else.

Karla, the nurse, asked me to see the patient in the clinic instead of the ER. Karla had been talking with Ingrid for 45 minutes, which is an eternity in ER time. Karla thought that Ingrid would have an easier time opening up if she were in a private area (the clinic was closed at the time and the ER had only curtains to divide the rooms).

The patient had been beset by a string of unlucky events: she totaled her uninsured car, lost her cat to some sort of leukemia that furballs are prone to, and—most surprising of all—her lover dumped her. Couldn't have been for her looks, I thought as I admired the beautiful woman with blonde hair and blue eyes sobbing in front of me.

After Karla and I spoke with her for 20 minutes or so, Ingrid looked at me and said, in a way that still makes my heart stop when I think about it, “Can I have a hug?”

I did not say a word, but I opened my arms and she dove in. Her crying intensified for a couple of minutes, as it usually does in such cases, and then the tears stopped. A few minutes after that, we were just hugging. Humans are programmed to enjoy hugging, and that was one of my few instincts which survived medical school relatively unscathed.

As she showed no signs of wanting to stop, the hugging went on, and on, and on. I was happy that the ER was uncharacteristically slow, which allowed me this luxury. ER hugs are usually 10 seconds long, truncated by the need to indulge in that egregious waste of time otherwise known as defensive medicine.

She unwrapped her left arm from my side, sliding her hand up to my chest for a few seconds, and then behind my neck. She pulled my head down as she looked up toward me, pursing her lips and closing her eyes. I was at once both happy and sad that the nurse was still in the room. Happy, because it was good to be chaperoned in such a circumstance. Sad, because every man dreams of kissing a goddess like Ingrid.

There is a certain reflexive reciprocity that lets a person quickly know if the kiss they are initiating is wanted or not. I wanted to accede to her advance, but I did not think it would be appropriate. My hesitancy was telegraphed to her, and she locked her arms around me once more as her face caressed the side of my neck.

A man can control his lips, but his corpora cavernosa have a mind of their own. Innately wired to respond to such stimuli, I was afraid that the bulge would be noticeable. I wished that it would go away, but she was rubbing against a body that had not been this close to a woman in years. I looked over at the nurse, giving her a “help me, what do I do now?” sort of look.

About Karla. She is a compassionate nurse, aged 50 or so, who invariably puts patients first. She probably would have decked me had she thought that I was doing anything that was not in Ingrid's best interests. From the approving and pleased look on her face, Karla seemed quite content that I had buoyed the spirits of the patient. Karla apparently wanted the hugging to go on, and Ingrid obviously hadn't received her fill of TLC.

I felt the sudden desire to distance my erection from the patient, so this hug was in need of termination PDQ. I tried using facial expressions to telegraph this need to Karla, who just smiled in return. With no help from Karla forthcoming, I made an “end of hug” gesture but Ingrid did not seem receptive to it. Instead, she made an “uh-uh” sound and held me tighter. I would have loved to see what my wise professors in medical school would have done in this case. Of course, their icy personalities virtually guaranteed that no one would ever want to hug them.

“Did you hear that?” I asked.

Karla said, “Hear what?”

“I think I heard an overhead page for me. I think we should get back to the ER.” I honestly did not know if I'd heard the page, or if wishful thinking had made me imagine that I did.

It certainly isn't easy to walk while you're hugging, I realized as Ingrid and I stumbled toward the ER. When we reached it, the ER was, alas, devoid of patients. “Was I paged?” I asked the clerk hopefully.

“Page you? For what? There's no one here, Dr. Pezzi,” she answered.

Under her breath, Ingrid said, “Good,” tugging me in the direction of the clinic.

“We can't go back there, Ingrid,” I said. “The clinic will be opening up any minute. Let's talk in here.”

As we resumed our conversation, Ingrid held my hands as we sat knee-to-knee. I knew she wasn't even close to meeting any admission criteria, and that the best thing for her was simply to unbottle her emotions.

As we spoke, Ingrid focused upon my ring finger as if it were a pleasant new discovery. “You're not married?” she asked.

“No,” I answered.

Years later, after sleeping alone a few thousand more times, I would sometimes muse about what might have been had I cast off my self-imposed physician propriety as Ingrid continued on. She seemed to be interested in me, so why didn't I ask her out? As a man, I would have loved to do that, but as a doctor, I thought that wasn't an option. Doctors are sometimes mere technicians, such as when we stitch wounds or flush grit from a patient's eye. In such cases, I (and the American Medical Association, apparently) don't think there are ethical barriers to future romance. However, in this case, the patient was opening up to me in a way that transcended the technical aspects of medical practice, so I felt the need to keep a certain professional distance.

However, during those “what if” musings, I questioned whether I had been overly rigid. Had I truly done the right thing? Ingrid's sorrow stemmed from three basic losses: one financial (her car), and two emotional (her cat and boyfriend). I lent an ear to her catharsis, but really had done nothing to help her. I realize that doctors do not have an ethical obligation to help all such patients, because doing that is frankly impossible. We're not rich enough to buy cars for every patient who needs one, nor are most of us romantically available. However, if we could do more—and I certainly could have, in this case—is that an ethical transgression? I could have done more, but chose not to, apparently worried more about the luster of my professionalism than what might have been best for Ingrid in the long run. How professional is that? I had enough money to make her forget about the car she lost, and I love cats. Why not get one, together? A loving relationship, not a pill or years of counseling, was the best antidote for her romantic void.

My encounter with Ingrid occurred before the age of Internet dating, so it took more than a mouse click to find someone at that time. For homebodies who shun bars, meeting people could be a challenge. If fate put two people together, should one of them peremptorily say no for the sake of his professional appearance instead of permitting what might have been the optimal solution? I don't know, but I'd love to hear your opinion. (To do that, please see the Contact Me page.)

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You are probably thinking, "I don't need to buy his book. I can read about sex for free on thousands of web sites."

Yes, you can, but even if you spent the rest of your life doing that, you still wouldn't know many of the things in my book. No doctor in the world knows more about sexual pleasure than I do. Don't believe me? Then read some books by various experts on sex, check out a thousand sexual web sites, and then read my book. You will be stunned by how much more I know. Here's what one reader said:

Read more about this book

Incidentally, The Science of Sex isn't just about sex. For example, it also discusses topics such as:

• Non-surgical ways to increase your breast size.
• How to maintain your breast shape.
• Ways to ward off wrinkles that you won't learn from your doctor or favorite beauty magazine.
• Secrets for feeling great.

And many other topics that aren't discussed in other books. However, you're probably thinking, "Blah, blah, blah, that's what everyone with a book to sell says." However, I am so confident in the superiority of my book that I offer a 100% money-back guarantee: If you find a book with a more comprehensive and detailed presentation of sexual pleasure, performance, attraction, and desire, tell me about it and I will refund your entire purchase price.  I can confidently make this offer because I've read hundreds of competitive books and have yet to find one that is even remotely comparable.  I've spent years of 100-hour weeks working on this book, while some others in this genre appear to have been thrown together over a long weekend.  No reader has yet been able to suggest a comparable book.  Besides the fact that I cover more subjects in more detail and present information that you cannot obtain elsewhere (unless someone is copying me), I also correct some pervasive sexual fallacies; for examples of some of them, see this page .