Not sympathy or disgust or anything like that. Those feelings were felt by many, no doubt, but they were not the primary thought shared by those of the male gender. Those of us who bear the family jewels really, truly wanted to know one thing and one thing only: When are we going to see pictures of the girl?
Thanks to the good ole American media, our thirsts were satiated in a matter of days when pictures of 22-year-old Ashley Alexandra Dupre (or "Kristen" or "Victoria" or whatever name she goes by at the moment) showed up on the Internet. Finally, we would be able to judge for ourselves whether it was worth it for Spitzer to sacrifice his career, his home life, $80,000 of pocket money and his lower lip.
And as a red-blooded, mind-in-the-gutter kind of guy, I have to say that for all the trouble she caused him, Spitzer could have done worse. Granted, all I have to judge is the picture and not the performance (I will have to wait for the Spitzer sex tape to come out for that), but Dupre's tanned, curvy, wild-girl good looks are enough to make a man stop and say, "Not bad." If the random, sans make-up headshots don't get your attention, the shot of her in the white two-piece bathing suit will.
No man reading this should try to deny it. Every single one of us, somewhere inside – whether you are comfortable with your inner pervert or keep him gagged and bound in a corner – wanted to know if Spitzer got his money's worth. We all made some judgment about Monica Lewinsky either to our buddies in the locker room or to our priest in the confessional and, come on, we all know the priest was having the same thought.
Appearance and lust aside, Spitzer needed to do what any guy – especially a married guy, and moreso a married guy in politics – should do in a moment of weakness: imagine getting caught. Spitzer may have thought that because he was paying top dollar to get his jollies that he would avoid the complications of having tales of his escapades leaked. But what he forgot while he was letting his manhood do his thinking for him was that we Americans, as we shake our fists in disapproval while the other hand is reaching for our zipper, love sex scandals. Having never been to a foreign country I shouldn't limit that statement to Americans; I am sure Europeans and Asians love their debauchery just as much.
Having been married to The Wife for almost eight years now, I know that saying a set of vows and exchanging rings does not flip a switch that turns us off to the rest of the world. There are still plenty of other people out there and our natural instincts don't just go away because we say "I do." I'm not letting you ladies off the hook on this one. Your minds can go skinny dipping in the gutter just as fast as a man's, admit it.
The difference between people like Spitzer and, say, me is that I can stop panting long enough to know how miserable my life will be when the truth comes out. Even the most difficult times of a marriage are probably nothing compared to having to face a spouse and friends and family knowing that they know what you did.
That is why last night, when The Wife was away taking care of some matters at her parents' house in Northern California, I sat at home with my libido trying to focus on something else. I could go trolling for companionship — whether paid or voluntary, though if my single life was any indication I would have to pay — and I just might have a good time. Strumming my guitar or watching a movie, though less steamy or titiliating options, will certainly not get me into any trouble. My lower lip will thank me for it.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go do an Internet search for "Spitzer" and "sex tape." If any of you find it first, my e-mail address is below.
Nathan Orme is the editor of the Sparks Tribune. He can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org.