Hollywood: I am your lawn maintenance guy. You give me instruction, show me what you want done, and do so in a subtly flirtatious way. I think maybe it’s just my imagination, but several times I catch you watching me labor and sweat in the hot sun. You bring me a cold drink and wipe my face, chest and back with a cool, wet towel. Your husband is out of town. You are alone. With a sly smile, you let me know you are headed in for a shower. I watch you walk to the door. Before you enter the house, you turn around and say “If you have any questions or need anything, just come on in.” Your prolonged eye-to-eye contact and second sly smile are an unmistakable invitation. Minutes pass. My head spins. My vision blurs. I find myself in your house, walking toward the master suite. The bedroom door is open. I see the sundress you were wearing on the floor, with delicate panties beside it. The bathroom door is also open, and the sound of water cascading onto your body fills the steamy air. I look up and see this image. What next?