And he had used her name. Not "your Highness", but..."Should we try dancing with the primitives, Catty?" His voice was a smile, his face a song.Dance....He wanted to dance with her. Dances were ... intimate. Emotional. Catty ... she had never, really, danced. Not ... not with a male. Not like that. He stood over her, Catty's dream mate, hand reaching out to her. His hand..."Y ... yes."How she said the words, Catty didn't know, neither her mind nor body was hers to command. As if drawn by his. Jeffy, Mikey, Stanley, Andy, Bradley, it was a minor wall of text, not overwhelming but still considerable.Trisha casually flipped through some of these profiles while still drying her breasts and back with a towel with her free hand. Not one of these Bradleys and Joeys managed to catch her eye, at least on first glimpse ... Actually, one of them did. He was called or calling himself Leo. But for now, she had to get dressed and make her way to the boutique she worked at.She was a popular girl. Bernie stood up, turned around and lifted her top. She displayed a nicely designed tattoo that covered her lower back. She must have been saving up for it for a while. The tattoo artist took pride in his work at least.“Nice tramp stamp.” “What did you call it?” Mom asked.“They’re called tramp stamps.”“They are not,” Bernie exclaimed.“Why do they call them that?”“From what I’ve heard any girl that gets that kind of tattoo is announcing to the world that she’s a slut.”“It’s worse than I. I almost never wear a bra, so it's a quick flash. Sometimes I wear a little mini skirt and lift it up just enough for truckers to get a peek when we pass them. A few years ago we added a CB radio to our car so we could listen to the truckers. You should hear the chatter on that radio after I flash a driver. He will let every other driver know what vehicle to look for. We get a big laugh out of it and it takes the boredom out of the ride.Well this year, I decided to have a little more fun in.