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the older woman conceded. “You know that new transfer student from Marquette—our five-fifteen, Tuesday, Thursday? George something.”
    “George Cucker,” Hazel said. “I guess he’s okay looking. What, you have fantasies about him? ”
    “There’s something about his build and face, I guess,” Sonia admitted, “but the other day before he left class, he asked me something about Gatsby —God, I hate that book, Fitzgerald was so overrated—but after he left, I had the weirdest idea: I fantasized that I was in bed with him, and while he was asleep, I was feeling him up and, well, jerking him off. All while he was asleep.”
    Hazel laughed.
    “But that doesn’t qualify as a paraphilia, does it?”
    “Oh, yes it does,” Hazel assured. “It’s called somnophilia.”
    “You’re kidding me. There’s a term for it?”
    “Sure. You wouldn’t believe some of the paraphilic labels. Klismaphilia: sexual arousal from receiving an enema.”
    “No way! There are people like that?”
    “Yep. Oh, and here’s a keeper: Agalmatophilia, sexual attraction to statues or mannequins.”
    Sonia squealed.
    “But I don’t get the George Cucker thing,” Hazel went on. “He’s kind of a dolt, isn’t he?”
    “I guess, but he had how do I say this without sounding crude?”
    “Just say it!” Hazel cracked.
    “He must be endowed because he had a really big crotch-bulge.”
    “I love it! Not only are you a somnophiliac, you’re also a macrogenitagliac! Arousal to large male sex organs.”
    “Well, come on, every woman has that,” Sonia supposed.
    “Not really. Some women— micro genitagliacs are turned on by guys with small penises. And then there’s endovulvism: men who’re attracted to girls with overly large vaginal folds.”
    Sonia’s mouth hung open in disbelief.
    “And I hate to tell you this,” Hazel kept pedantizing, “There’s also lactaphily—”
    “Attraction to lactating women?”
    Hazel nodded. “And—are you ready? Cyesolagnia: men turned on by pregnant women.”
    “Oh, that’s good to know!”
    Hazel leaned over, lowering her voice. “Can I ask a personal question?”
    Sonia’s face scrinched. “I don’t know!” she laughed. “This conversation is getting pretty gritty!”
    “Since you’re now a confirmed somnophiliac...do you ever jerk Frank off in his sleep?”
    “I’m not telling!”
    “Of course, you have,” Hazel felt sure. “And there’s nothing wrong with that. Everybody’s got some little sexual quirk. At least you’re not an idrophrodiac. ”
    “Hazel, I don’t want to know–”
    “Someone who’s aroused by the smell of unwashed genitals.”
    “Shut up! No more!” Sonia’s laughter pealed. “We’re changing the subject!”
    It was too funny. “Since you are my boss, I guess I can go along with that.” She’d already turned off onto the Providence outer loop and was suddenly navigating the small car amid rows of weaving traffic. “Wait a minute! Which way to New Hampshire? I’ve never been there.”
    “This exit here, get on I-95 north. It’s a shame you’ve never been to New Hampshire. The place is absolutely beautiful. ”
    Hazel caught the ramp. “It’s the Granite state, isn’t it? Granite doesn’t appeal to me.”
    “Eighty-percent of the state is under forest cover, and wait’ll you see the lakes region, where we’re going. I’ve never been to the cabin, but I’ve driven through many times. You’ve never seen the Great Outdoors like this.”
    “But...Laconia,” Hazel wondered. “Isn’t that a ritzy lakefront area full of rich snobs with multi-million-dollar yachts?”
    “Yes, but we’re going west of there, to a place called”—Sonia pulled her Mapquest sheets out of her purse. “Bosset’s Way. Frank says it’s like Hooterville New England-style.”
    “ Hooter ville? Sounds like a guy-place: lots of women with big breasts.”
    “No! Didn’t you ever watch Petticoat Junction when you were little?” Sonia rolled her