“What seems to be the problem, Ms. Jones?”

“It happened again last night, Doctor.”

“Oh? Do you want to tell me about it?”

“I was promoting that big concert at the sports arena.”

“You mean Green Day?”

“That’s right. It was about 30 minutes before show time. I was out in front of the building, watching the fans walk through the turnstiles, when it happened. That’s when I saw him.”

“Him?”

“He was standing across the street, looking at the “Sold Out” sign on the front of the venue, and I could tell by the look on his face that he’d do anything to see this show. Gosh, he was gorgeous. He looked just like Sting. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him.”

“What did you do?”

“That’s when my hormones took over, Doctor. I walked right up to him and asked if he’d like a free ticket, but he said he didn’t accept ‘charity.'”

“And then?”

“Then I asked if he’d like to go backstage. That sure changed his mind in a hurry.”

“I see. What happened after that?”

“I couldn’t control myself, Doctor. I set him up with front row seats, took him backstage after the show, and then… “

“Then… ?”

“Then I took him to my place and… Well, you know.”

“Right. Tell me, Ms. Jones, didn’t the same thing happen last week at the 3 Doors Down show?”

“You mean that blonde-haired Adonis I saw in the 7/11 down the street? Oh, he was heavenly.”

“And what about Iron Maiden and Motorhead?”

“Ditto and same-old, same-old, Doctor. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I see a good-looking man, and I lose all control. No matter if I’m promoting Velvet Revolver, Little Feat or Styx, it’s the same old story. On the night of the show I pick up some hottie off of the street, hand him a free ticket and hustle him inside. Twelve hours later I’m kicking him out of my house after promising I’ll drop a couple of Blue Oyster Cult tickets in the mail and call him later.”

“Hmmm…”

“Can you help me, Doctor? I’m the biggest promoter in the state, and if the other promoters find out what I’m doing I’ll be ruined.”

“I see. Tell me, Ms. Jones, has this happened at every show you’ve promoted?”

“Every one during the past six months, Doctor.”

“Including Motley Crue and Hilary Duff?”

“Also Cher, Jimmy Buffett and The Doobie Brothers. I find a hot looking stud, comp him to the show, and then I have my way with him into the early morning hours. Can you help me, Doctor? Please? If word of this leaks out, I’ll be the laughing stock of the concert industry.”

“Well, you definitely have a problem, Ms. Jones.”

“Tell me about it, Doctor. But what can I do?”

“Your problem is deep-rooted. As a promoter, you’re totally in control. However, you don’t feel alive unless you’re intimate with someone. Until you face this fact, you won’t be able to cure yourself of this obsession with picking up strange men on the street.”

“What? Oh, Doctor, I didn’t come here to talk about all the men I’ve seduced.”

“You didn’t?”

“Oh, no. I was hoping you could cure me of this compulsion to hand out free tickets.”