Her ex-stepfather Phil thinks she's a ""ravishing sexually adept teeny bopper,"" but going-on-eighteen Jody is just terrifically natural, fresh, sincere, curious, and honest about sex. Her problem isn't whether or not to do it, but whether to call it ""fucking"" or ""doing it"" or ""making love."" Her other problems are a dearth of orgasms and handsome orphan Lyle from Ohio; he's great at tennis, but, not being a ""liberated, swinging New Yorker yet,"" he's inhibited, guilt-laden, and--at first--a premature ejaculator. Jody remains really patient and loving through Lyle's coming of age in Manhattan, and Lyle's grateful enough to give her an orgasm for her birthday and to put up with her single infidelity and her familial baggage--an effortfully looseliving Mom (with a live-in psychologist boyfriend) and a gargoylish Daddy who cheats at that ""vile macho thing of male tennis."" Jody tells it all in dialogues and voice-overs that are ever so accurate in their blend of Bloomingdale's, ""basic lifestyle,"" and a droning canon of ""nice,"" ""okay,"" ""wow,"" ""kind of,"" and ""sort of."" And, indeed, some will appreciate Klein's veteran good ear and her hipness to evershifting sexual mores. But, as that psychologist boyfriend says after a long day: ""Could you get me a glass of cold water, two Empirin and a Librium?"" I'll drink to that.