‘Would you like to meet with Sunny Leone?’ I asked my friend over the telephone. For a moment, there was silence, just like there’s a lull before the storm, and then he erupted in joy. ‘Are you serious?’ he asked. ‘I am damn well,’ I said. ‘Sure, I want to, wish to, it’s my dream,’ he gushed. ‘She’s my Dream Girl.’ ‘She’s mine too,’ I said. ‘Tell me how can I meet her?’ he said, his voice getting dreamier. ‘Come over to my house in the evening,’ I said. ‘She’s coming to your house,’ he said, in a disbelieving tone. ‘She’s already there,’ I said caressing her head. ‘What are you doing?’ he demanded. He sounded like a tusker in musth. ‘I am caressing her,’ I said. ‘She is so sexy.’ ‘I am coming right away,’ he said and disconnected. In about an hour’s time, my doorbell rang and I went to open the door. He stood outside clad in a leather jacket and tight jeans and new shiny blac...