The hand moved to my thigh and the man behind me whispered, “Oh my! Sussies! You are a bit of a tart, aren’t you Missy?” The warm hand on my ba...e thigh was making me wet. I stammered, “It’s not what you think!” but I still didn’t try to brush his hand away. “And what do I think?” he said softly. “That I’m…..um….loose!” His hand slid upward again, coming to rest at the junction of my thighs. With an evil grin, he said, “I’m thinking just the opposite! I bet you’re tight, actually.” He. The truth was, everyone came there to play, partnered or not.It was after a long shift at the restaurant on a busy Friday night. I met a few mates at one of the still open, live-music bars to rest my weary legs after the long shift on my feet, watch the newbies flirt, and see if anyone needed a little late night bedding down. I was on the weary side, so I was not really on the hunt. I did sing a little with the blues band there, whipping up some inherent Philly soul from a white boy that often. More

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