"Damn you, Paul Evans!" Angela was sobbing openly now. "Damn you to hell! Why do I always have to understand you? Why don't you ever try understanding me? I'm a woman, Paul! I'm not a computer that you can turn on and off with a switch!"

You're telling me! Paul groaned to himself. "Angela, I know you're a-woman!" he said.

"Well, damn it, treat me like one!" she sobbed. "I want to bet treated like a woman! I want you to want my body! I need you to want me, Paul!"

"I do want you!" Paul exploded. "Look, I'll be over about seven! We can have a quiet dinner at your place, and then… "

"Fuck you, Paul Evans!" the woman shrieked. "I want you to want me now, you son of a bitch, not at your convenience! I want you to come over here as fast as you can, and throw me on the bed and tear my clothes off, and jump on me with your big hard cock, and stick it up me and fuck my brains out! Come fuck me, you son of a bitch! If you want to make me feel like a woman, act like a man! Quit jacking yourself off with those computers, and…"

Paul slammed the receiver down in the telephone cradle and sat shaking with emotion. Damn that woman! Damn her to hell! Why the hell did he always end up with these damned hysterical women! His wife had been just like this, and all his lovers before and after her, right up to the present! Was it just the nature of women to be so damned unreasonable?

The problem was, Paul did need a woman. His sexual urges were strong and healthy and he liked to play hard after be worked hard. But none of these damned women understood that the work had to come first! He really had been looking forward to spending the night with Angela, because he hadn't been laid in a few days, and he knew he needed it. But the thought of calling Angela back and trying to patch something together made him almost physically ill.