"It's usually just cuddling and rubbing with me," he continues matter-of-factly. "There's usually no need for the penetration."

I find myself oddly disappointed with Galen's erotic strategies at first, but then I quickly remember something I had read on his Web site about a "strategically placed hole." I decide to investigate.

"Um, I've read something about an 'SPH,'" I tell him, dropping some plushie parlance of my own.

"Most of mine don't have an SPH, but some do," Galen explains, as my face settles back into stunned mode once again. "It's not a requirement for me -- if it's there I'll use it and, if not, I'm just as happy without it."

I admire Galen's happy-go-lucky attitude, but picturing all of this in my head, I can't help feeling concerned about the messy cleanup all of this plushie love must involve.

"It all depends on what you allow to happen to them," Galen tells me, in a sentence that speaks volumes about stuffed-animal maintenance. "Some people wear condoms for complete protection." I don't ask.

"I'm not meticulous at all myself," Galen says of his own approach to post-coital plushie cleanup.

This last comment is only mildly unsettling, until Galen reports that he owns more than 1,000 stuffed animals, some as large as 4 feet tall. That's a lot of matted fur!

And 1,000 stuffed animals is pretty impressive no matter what you've got planned for them. Were we better acquainted, I might start calling him "Loverman" or "Wilt Chamberlain" or something -- or maybe ask him if the fact that his roommate's stuffed-animal collection tops out at a mere 400 is the source of any tension around the apartment. But all of this strikes me as inappropriate at the moment.

Lest I get the wrong idea, Galen is quick to point out that not all of the stuffed animals in his collection are sexual partners. "It's basically the same as with people," Galen says in explaining how he chooses his lucky winners. "Some you're attracted to sexually and some you're not."

The majority of Galen's plushie collection is fair game for erotic encounters, however. "I really don't have too many that I would prefer to leave on a shelf. If they're just for that, what's the point in buying them?" he says. I don't argue.

Topping Galen's list of preferred partners is the Mattel-made "Meeko," a cuddly stuffed-animal version of the winsome raccoon film buffs might remember from box-office smash "Pocahontas." Meeko, Galen tells me, is the stuffed animal of choice on the plushophile scene.

"It's shaped in a way that it can be used as a pillow, so right there you got a pillow," Galen offers enthusiastically of the artificial rodent's overwhelming popularity. I'm listening.

"It's the softness, the shape and the expression on his face. Also, for those that do put SPHs on him, the seam on the stomach is lined up real well, so the modification is easy," Galen continues. "It's the perfect plush!"

(Note: When I called Mattel to inquire further into Meeko's high standing in the plushophile community, an anonymous Mattel customer service representative explained simply, "Well, he is a cute little guy.")

Naturally, with all this talk of erections in the presence of stuffed animals, the topic of bestiality eventually wriggles its way into our conversation. And much to my relief, Galen -- like the majority of the plushophile community -- doesn't "go that way." No, when it comes time to getting down to business with Meeko or one of his several stuffed bunny rabbits, Galen has something else entirely on his mind.

"I look at it like if there was a plushie that was 4 feet tall, it would come to life -- or sometimes I think of the plushies as miniature people in fur suits [mascot uniforms]," Galen says of the lovemaking dynamic. "But it's not like I'm thinking of miniature people really," he adds, beating me to my next question.

Even a guy with 1,000 potential sexual partners at his disposal gets bored every once in a while, though. Occasionally, Galen likes to up the ante by slipping into one of the aforementioned fur suits when it comes time for romance. Having spent the afternoon in a furry dragon costume once during my years in undergraduate study, I can imagine how this sort of thing might spice up a relationship. But the dry-cleaning bills would kill you. What's more, Galen tells me, a really good mascot uniform can easily cost several thousand dollars. Think about that next time you find yourself bitching about the price of a nice dinner for two.

Hot mascot uniform sex or not, there's still the issue of that awkward headgear to consider. Mild discomfort is only to be expected when leading a few cheers or navigating through crowded bleachers, but gearing up for a bit of the nasty with one of these things on is another thing entirely.

"Everybody into fur suits finds out it gets hot very fast, especially if you have the kind with full head -- you just don't last very long," Galen laments. "Some people have fans in their suits."

Galen isn't blind to the importance of compromise in such situations. "It would be nice if you could keep the head on, but sometimes it's just as good with the head off," he tells me. "It's generally preferable to have all the parts on, though."

And mascot uniform sex is not without its hazards.

"You can't ever go up to a professional mascot at a sporting event and make an assumption that they'd be into that sort of thing because there's a chance you could be very wrong," Galen warns me, as if I had told him I was about to make a beeline for the nearest ballpark, armed with a pair of box-seat tickets and a pickup line involving some clever reference to a "double-header." Then again, where's my batboy uniform when I really need it?

It seems foolish to ask at this point, but I can't help wondering whether other humans ever manage to work their way into Galen's more private moments.

"I'm not interested in just human-human [sex]; it's gotta be human-plushie-human," he says. "The person would have to be interested in plush." True, it is important for lovers to have something in common.

Galen and I end our conversation with a few parting pleasantries, and as soon as I hang up the phone, I find myself drawn into the attic of my boyhood home. As I reach the top of the attic stairs, my eyes settle on an old friend. There, nestled between piles of dusty old books and a handful of forgotten unmentionables, sits the companion of my youth, a stuffed yellow dog named Petey.

I quickly grab Petey and cradle him in my arms, doing my best to shoot him a come-hither glance while adjusting my trousers. "Will Petey understand how much my needs have changed after all these years?" I wonder to myself. I try to set the mood a bit by winding up the music box lodged in Petey's back, only to be disappointed that the muted calliope music emanating from beneath his fur isn't even close to the funky, wah-wah guitar I generally require at such intimate moments.

I set Petey back in his place, resigned to the notion that we're better off remaining "just friends." And if we've learned anything from this brief flirtation, it's that -- given the possibilities we now know exist in our relationship -- that missing eye of his was never really such a big deal after all.

Private Life Romance, relationships, and the personal side of Table Talk