Women with legs as long and supple as a spider's, waists that billow out into yawning wide hips. Women with wet red mouths and snakelike tongues and breasts about to explode.

Women of dreams. Women that sit at the red light in the hot Maserati next to your own SUV and smile and take off like the screeching morning wakeup alarm.

Women that coffee and Danish your meetings, maybe sit at the conference table themselves--if you are lucky. For class is an asset to the dream.

Women like Michelle and his own father's Mona. Made of different components than Judy or Mom.