It was hot in the bar, so that didn't surprise me in and of itself. What did surprise me was that her cleavage was showing to the point that you coul... see the edges of her bra cups. She just smiled at me and returned to her conversation with Bill, a stocky black accountant from an ivy league school. She was directly facing him so all I could see was her back. Once again, it was dark in the club, but for her to face him like that... it seemed that she would almost have to be straddling his. "She gave a wily half-smile, like a gentle poke in my ribs. "More... personal? More intimate?"I nodded yes. "I guess." Talking? Talking intimately about yourself? With me?" She took another cigarette out of the pack, eyeing me with that same, curious smile. "Are you this way with Martha?"I thought about that. I admitted, "Yeah. Most of the time. I guess." Let me guess: I'll bet you never talk to your parents. About anything personal." She lit her cigarette.I admitted quietly, "No." I didn't. I get up from the table and push the chair back under the table before handing you the notes you had just typed. “What did I say to you?” You look at me but don’t say a word, suddenly feeling a little nervous at the tone of my voice. “I specifically told you not to make any mistakes, that I wanted accuracy and not speed”. Your mind races over what you had just written, had you made a mistake and not picked it up? You can’t have, you had re-read the notes twice and not seen any mistakes. . She looked down for a moment as if shame had overcome her."They were filling me, I was so... stuffed."She lifted her head suddenly, almost proudly, and looked directly into my eyes.I was overstuffed and I kept saying that. I kept saying 'I'm sooo stuffed, I'm sooo full!'" I see," was the only reply I could think of.I had simply asked about her weekend.She was wearing an incredibly inappropriate ultra low cut mini-dress, stockings and heels. She was dressed in black, with gothic style make up.
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