"But!" She laughed and dropped her hand. She knew my respect for her prowess - and, more importantly, simply for her. "But!"I nodded ruefully. "I know..."Indeed I did. She was working with the Jaycees (yes, they exist and even flourish in the Big Apple) on the Special Olympics, a sports competition for "special" children. "Special" meant what we unenlightened but no-less-loving folk used to call "retarded," for the most part, and frequently, physically disabled. In addition to her routine. Do I have to?"Appalled, I shook my head again. My arms were back over my chest and my knees clamped together. She considered me a good long while, then sighed and backed away. "I don't believe for a minute that you're not sexually active mentally. You are, aren't you? Don't lie to me; I'll know it in a minute."Dismayed, I gave her the tiniest of nods. She nodded and then said to me in a firm voice: "I know you are one second away from doing something really stupid. You have to promise me. More

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