"Dreams what? Who's in the dreams, Jack?"
"You are," he answered. (This seemed safer to admit than the Miss Wurtz part.)
"What am I doing in the dreams, Jack?"
"It's mainly your mustache," he admitted.
"You little pervert, you squirrel dink, Jack--"
"And Miss Wurtz is wearing just her underwear," he blurted out.
"I'm with The Wurtz? Jesus, Jack!"
"It's more like Miss Wurtz is alone, with your mustache," Jack confessed. "And the underwear."
"Whose underwear?" Emma asked.
He sneaked along the upstairs hall to Lottie's room and brought Emma the latest edition of Lottie's mail-order catalog. "You dork, Jack--I wouldn't be caught dead in this stuff. I'll show you some underwear!"
He had seen her previous training bra--her present bra was only a little bigger. But when Emma removed the bra, there was a more noticeable shape and substance to her breasts than before; and when she took her panties off and held them against the pleats of her skirt, the lace that rimmed the waistband was a new experience for Jack and the little guy.
"It moved," Emma said.
"What moved?"
"You know what, Jack." They both looked at the little guy, who was not as little as before. Emma leaned over his penis. "Miss Wurtz," she said. "Shut your eyes, Jack." Of course he did as he was told. "Caroline Wurtz," Emma whispered to his penis. "I'm gonna bring you some real underwear, little guy." Even with his eyes closed, Jack knew that the little guy liked this idea.
"I think we're finally getting somewhere, Jack."
"Can I undo your braid, Emma?"
"Now?"
"Yes." She allowed him to do this, never taking her eyes from his penis. Her hair fell all around his hips; he felt it touch his thighs. "It's working, baby cakes," Emma reported. "You had the right idea."
"Kettle's boiling!" Lottie called from the kitchen.
"Let me be sure I understand you," Emma said, ignoring Lottie. "It's basically The Wurtz with my mustache and Lottie's underwear."
"Not Lottie's--it's the underwear from her catalog." (The thought of Miss Wurtz in Lottie's underwear was unappealing.)
"Whose hair?" Emma asked.
"Yours, I think. It's long hair, anyway."
"Good," Emma said. He couldn't see her; her hair, now undone, completely hid her face. "We seem to be zeroing in on a few priorities."
"Zeroing in on what?"
"Clearly you have a hair thing, honey pie. And the usual older-woman thing."
"Oh." (Nothing about his older-woman thing, not to mention his mustache-and-braid fixation, felt the least bit usual to Jack.)
"Oh, my God, now we're really getting somewhere!" Emma announced; she threw back her hair. Jack had a hard-on like he'd never seen before. If the little guy had stood up any taller, he would have cast a shadow all the way to Jack's belly button--lint and all.
"Jesus, Jack--what are you gonna do with it?"
Jack was at a loss. "Do I have to do something with it?" he asked.