This wasn't Martha, this wasn't Ronnie, this wasn't even my illusion of Anita. This was a fit, attractive, alluring girl who, after nearly three hours...of conversation, I still didn't know personally. She was a stranger. Pretty, sexy. But she was a stranger and what we were doing didn't fill the big space inside me.I rolled off her, settling close to her on the big sofa, and I looked down at her. She seemed so overheated she looked distraught, her head thrown back, eyes closed tight and full,. I could feel all those men's eyes staring at me, consuming me. I could feel the other eyes as well, envious hate filled eyes glaring at me wishing I wasn't there, how sweet. My breast swayed with music as I gracefully moved to the beats. I wasn't going to give anyone anything but dances. I'm no whore, but I do love being the center of attention both of adoration and that of hatred. There is no finer compliment from a straight woman than loathing.I had quite a bit to drink and perhaps I was. More

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