So I decided to go along with it, and started fiddling with the clasp. Edward's jokes about practicing with mannequins started making sense as I struggled with it. We both managed to get them open at about the same time."Do you like what you see?" She wiggled a bit, showing them off, as she started pulling on my zipper. "Don't think I didn't catch you checking me out last week."And they were a nice pair, well-shaped and healthy. But they were a bit on the small side for her frame, and dreaming of Valerie's impressive bust didn't exactly help that impression. "They could be bigger," I shrugged as I started touching them. "But they feel great." Why worry about being rude if I was halfway to crazy-town?"Could be bigger," she repeated in that same breathy monotone Valerie did. Yep, still a dream. I was really going to need to have a talk with my subconscious one of these days. "Feel great." Then she started moaning - apparently she enjoyed the gentle touch of a sculptor's hands. "You. A companion for the evening, nothing more, probably much less. No need to explain the complexities of my thought processes to her. No need to explain what I thought about the nature of reality. None of that mattered to her. What did matter to her then? I resigned my self to trying to take another look at her. Try to give her the benefit of the doubt. Try to figure out what she WAS interested it. What she DID think about. I took a sip of my drink and lit a cigarette. It was a way for me to occupy myself, with out making eye contact. ‘What do you think about?’ I asked finally. She looked shocked, stunned even. As if I had asked her what color panties she’d had on or if she spits or swallows. ‘What do you think about?’ I repeated, trying to break through her disbelief. ‘Lotsa things…’ She started to say. I looked at her fingernails as she reached for her Malibu and Pineapple Juice. Not Rum and pineapple. Malibu. Christ! Sorority-girl bullshit. For prissy women that are too ashamed.
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