About as hetero as modern novels get. It's hard to tell if Irving is appaled or over joyed at the notion of boys being seduced (and lady-handled) by older women. Is the protagonist a cad or a victim? Is he deserving of his success or just really lucky? It's a book you can give yourself over to for about 50 pages before putting it down realizing what a "wet dream" of a read it really is. And then do it over again. It took me a few months to read this between other books I liked better, but I somehow felt I had to finish another John Irving novel. (The first being the exceptional "Son of the Circus). While there were enjoyable parts, it is ultimately long winded and repetitive. Alas, not really worth the time when there are better books out there.