Lunch was nice. We ordered, we ate, we had fun. I drank too much wine. His questioning was light, playful, asking me about stories I'd written, if my ...ife was in any of them. I appropriated history from my sister, from Becky, from one of my characters - saying that it was my most autobiographical story - and painted a picture of a neurotic, image-conscious, borderline alcoholic. The more we talked, the more open I got, leaning forward to listen to his part of the conversation. As I talked of my. The woman who I had just been fantasizing about was standing there in nothing but a towel, her eyes darting back and forth from my face to my raging erection.“What are you doing in here?” I just sort of yelled at her.“Other than changing in the girl’s locker room?” she retorted sarcastically.It was with that comment that I quickly looked around, and to my horror realized that in my testosterone filled blur earlier I had gone into the wrong locker room.“We’re going to have to do something about. More

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