I'd be out on the town, or at home, enjoying some run-of-the-mill debauchery, and I'd get this kind of psychic prickle, like the first twinge of a hard-on crossed with the feeling of walking alone at night and knowing you're being watched. The feeling would plant its flag in me. Palm sweat and salivation. I'd wake up in a strange bed or a wrecked car. (Strange cars and wrecked beds were not unheard of, either.)