Sophie was beautiful in kind of a cold, sophisticated, European way. Long white-blond hair thrown over one shoulder, loose gray sweater, piercing blue eyes. Tall, thin, long legs in black slacks. She was in her mid-thirties, probably—maybe ten years older than the hottie at the street corner. You wouldn’t say hottie for her. She was just as out of your league, maybe even more beatiful, but not hot. Cold. The kind you couldn’t really even bring yourself to imagine fucking.

“Your schedule is free tonight?” Sophie said. She had some European accent, like a roughness at the back of the throat, the “r” breathy.

“Uh, yes,” you said.

“Good,” she said, and smiled briefly. “We are going on a date. This is mostly to establish a baseline, before the treatments: your relationship competence, your style, inclinations, performance.”

“Performance,” you repeated, your dick giving a little throb.

“But this is a fancier restaurant,” Sophie said, “than that to which you normally invite a woman.”

The waiter poured wine. You played with a folded cloth napkin. You felt yourself sitting up straighter. “Well, yeah,” you said. “But, you know, you seem—it seems like it goes with you. You’re, ah—”

“I’m fancy?” asked Sophie. You couldn’t tell if she was kidding. She looked calm. She met your eyes, and you looked away.

“You’re beautiful,” you said.

“Thank you,” said Sophie, smiling. “You’re very sweet.”

She looked around your crappy little house. Green sofa. TV dinner packages ripped open on the kitchenette counter. You blushed. “It’s a lousy place.”

“I like it,” Sophie said, and sat down on the sofa. She eased off one stack-heeled boot.

You stood there, your dick twinging. Your heart beating. Wanting to make sure you’d got this right.

“You know, usually after the dinner, I conduct the assessment at the clinic,” Sophie said. “And it’s quite perfunctory.”

“So, are you going to get in trouble?”

She eased off the other boot. “I have some, what do you say, leeway? And I feel comfortable with you, Gary.” She patted the couch next to her. You went. “I’m going to ask you to do things,” she said. “You can say no. I’ll first ask you to do them the way you normally do them. Then I may give you instructions. Please don’t be offended if I do. It’s part of the assessment.”

“I’m not gonna be offended—”

“Kiss me,” said Sophie.

You leaned in and put your mouth on her dark-lipsticked mouth. She tasted a little like the wine from dinner, a little like mint. You put your hands on her waist. She took them off.

“Just kiss,” she said. “Slow. Gentle. But not limp. You see?” Her lips found yours, delicate, like hummingbirds. “Wait for me to increase the power of the kiss.”