Man, Freud really did a number on the Viennese society of his time. This novella heavily lingers of themes of lust, the subconscious, and the place of the oneiric in reality. There is no straight forward way of explaining it: the entire narration veers into unexpected directions continuously, our main character mostly just following his urges and being almost transported by everything happening around him.
I guess another theme explored is one of infidelity, and whatever that means. The story opens with a confession of chance encounters that didn’t amount to anything in the end, fantasies basically, and later the rough same reoccurs in the form of a dream. The effects of these non-actions are nevertheless very tangible on the ego of our protagonist.
On the other hand, his adventures seem to be almost justified in his mind, he follows his instincts without thought and finds himself on the lap of random women, without fail. Bit hard to believe, when we know from his perspective how neurotic he is, a bit objectifying too. But I guess I liked how much the story lingers on lust because of how wild it is. Classics, even from this time, are hardly ever so explicit (in a way that actually sounds hot, looking at lady chatterley’s over there). It’s too outrageous not to appreciate it. 
I wish I had more extensive thoughts on it but it’s really a lot to unravel for such a short piece of work. Don’t know if I fully support the message, and the characters aren’t the most likeable, but it’s wild ride and that’s enough.