Perhaps you too are a woman who loves sex but doesn’t like people. For you, the key component of a one- night- stand is its duration. A sci-fi convention affords ample opportunity for a series of casual hook-ups: deceptively earnest swains in medieval garb, T-shirted rock and roll troglodytes, artsy androgynes in bondage gear, and don’t forget those darling older gentlemen who are slumming for the weekend (these specimens often have real jobs and will pay for your breakfast which is a classy touch). All in all, it can be a pretty nice life for a misanthropic sexpot. However, it is not without its own special annoyances. You have probably discovered that for some reason known only to G-d and Robert “Iron John" Bly there are people to whom a misanthropic sexpot is more desirable than food, oxygen, or basic human dignity. Once you’ve wrapped your legs around these masochistic types, it’s a real pain to get rid of them.

Sure it’s easy to disappear in a crowd. The cigarette smoke that congests the hotel lobby should hide your identity from your average lovelorn stalker with a case of the drunken weepies and an angry hard-on. However, if you are a true misanthropic sexpot the most important item on your agenda should be finding tonight’s victim not hiding from last night’s volunteer. After all, it’s hard for a gal to feel just the right combination of randy and dangerous when she is watching her back and keeping her mohawk down. You can avoid the average clingy con-fuck by following one or more of these suggestions.

Confuse your conquest by making plenty of references to your preference for women. Say things like, “It’s really too bad you’re not a woman" and “Gosh that really reminds me of when I fuck women, which is something I do often."

Tell him that as soon as your parole officer gives the nod you aim to move back into your dad’s trailer and make a clean start in society. If he asks questions, just mutter, “Guy trouble." If pressed, remain silent, chainsmoke while gazing intently at a point on the wall until sweat starts to trickle between your eyebrows, every now and then twitch.

Suggest a quick game of Russian Roulette to get you in the mood on night number two. He goes first. Unless he’s a really squeamish type, in which case you will want to go first.

While he is still reclining in post-coital incoherence, whisper, "I'd like you to meet . . . Mr. Ed." Then whip out a strap-on fat enough to make to make a she-elk grin. Note: If he doesn’t run away, you may wish to extend the duration of your one-night-stand. He just might have potential.