Chapter Three
Doktor Desire
“So,” Klaus had said to me, the second time we encountered each other, at a party, having just downed a shot of schnapps, “the Desire Doktor. Your research goes well?”
German humor—or irony or disdain or disrespect or admiration—was hard for me to read: very intense people, many or most of them.
“Consent,” I corrected him. “The Biochemistry of Consent,” the doctoral dissertation that I was in the process of revising, to be published as a book.
Yes: that’s my field; Klaus is an eminent Post-Skinnerian Behaviorist; my husband is a Veterinarian.
Insert riotous and incredulous laughter: here.
Move on.
“You will forgive me,” he said, with a tight smile, “there is no consent without desire.”
His cadences and emphases were often a little odd, but seemingly wit
