I took a sip of my tea and looked him in the eyes, “Yes, I think I do want to be wild, but I frighten myself.”“What do you mean?” he asked.“... don’t understand why I write what I do? Why do I fantasize about being picked up in a bar or ravished? What does that say about me?“Those are honest questions,” he said.“The story I read to you, “The Pickup,” I wouldn’t dress like that or do what she did to pick up a stranger.”“But you did. You picked up me in the café,” he said.“Hmmmm--that’s right, but. He continued, "And, it looks like I'll have company. Anne wants to learn, too." How on earth did you manage that, Stan?" she asked him in surprise.Stan shrugged. "I dunno, just did!" he said, eyes down in front of him at his desk."Well done, anyway!" Elizabeth told him, with a grin.Later that morning, Anne came to see him. She took his 'visitor's chair' and pulled it up closer to him. She wasn't that close, but Stan still felt a slightly guilty thrill."What are you wearing tonight, Stan?" she. More

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