“Sit down, I’ll give you a ride,” says the stranger who just nearly ran me over at the intersection. I shake my head. My mother taught me not to get into cars with strangers. And even more so to people like this. “Come on,” he unceremoniously grabs me above the elbow and pushes me into the passenger seat. “I don’t bite,” he says, and he grins. Before closing the door, he looks at me with a predatory look and adds: “unless you ask.” I shouldn’t have fallen in love with him. I shouldn’t have dreamed about him at night. A handsome, successful, mature man. He is not at all interested in me, a simple student. He is also my sexologist. There is obscene language.