Art knew where he fanciedhis chances more. The side road would have to do. The booming bass musicthat blead out from the car still echoed in the subur...an nighttime air.It was moving, but Art could not yet tell how close it was. It took ahuge effort to will his mind and force his heeled foot to move, but Artmanged it. He trotted, as fast as his heels would allow, over to themouth of the road, desperately tugging at the hem of the dress in anattempt to make it longer than it was. Why had he worn. “How often do you have dreams of a sexual nature?” “Um...I don’t know...maybe once or twice a week.” “Oh, okay, then.” “Why? Is that a lot? Too many? It’s probably less than that.” “No, that’s a good number.” She gave me a look. “Of course, boys tend to cut the number in half because they’re embarrassed, so that means for you it’s more like four times a week. And, of course, we only remember an average of about fifteen percent of our dreams, which puts you at about twenty-five or so erotic. More

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