A young girl gets up from the table next to me, and gets on stage. She is dressed in street clothes. She is nervous. The music starts. She is getting ...ndressed! Ooh. Auditions. But she is not very good. I can do better than that. She gets down to bra and panties, and she is shaking. Real nervous. She takes her bra off, but can't drop her arms to show her tits. The music stops and she grabs her clothes. My date is the only one that applauds her. Nice of him."Number 5." That's quick! And I'm. There was one major stumbling block to this plan, I spoke absolutely no French. Armed with a phrase book, I picked up the phone and dialled the first number on my list. A man answered. ‘Allo?’ ‘Allo. Pardonez moi M’sieur. Je suis chercher une femme, Amalie Baptiste?’ ‘You may speak English M’sieur.’ ‘Merci beaucoup. I am looking for a woman named Amalie Baptiste. All the I know of her is that she either lives in Montparnasse or used to live here.’ ‘You are in luck M’sieur, (I couldn’t believe. To break bad habits by improving attitudes. The process of rehabilitating these two dykes was therapy for me as well. Power is an aphrodisiac, revenge is a turn on. This kind of high can't be found in booze or drugs, or in the biggest bottle of Viagra.Before the close of our session Pammy the scapegoat became Miss Pamela the head hero of this muff diving duo. She was now a dominant bitch with attitude and an Irish temper. She wasn't going to take any shit from anyone anymore, except from me of. The moment was propitious, and Laura seized it."I love you, Cynthia Brickus," she whispered into Makeeda's ear.Makeeda, groggily surfacing from her sweet ordeal, laughed softly in the dark. She turned her head, opening her glowing hazel eyes, the color of which Laura could just make out in the sprinkling of moonlight that freckled their faces. "I love you, Laura," Makeeda whispered back. She rolled halfway up from the mattress and embraced Laura very hard. "Don't ever leave me." How could you.