Once again I was treated to her sliding out of my truck and those gorgeous legs. We walked to the Blue Goose, and as we entered, found that they had a cover charge for the night. I paid the charge, found a table and we sat down. I ordered a beer for myself and she had a rum and Coke. We tried to talk but the music was too loud, so I asked her to dance. It was a slow song and I enjoyed dancing close to her, smelling her scents. We finished the dance and was about to suggest another when she waived to our table.“Sorry, I can’t dance to these songs in this dress.” she said apologizing.“Ok!” I replied with a questioning face.“It’s so embarrassing.” She muttered. “I ... a ... a well, you may have noticed I’m not wearing hose or nylons on my legs. I hate them. If you don’t wear pantyhose with this dress, you have to wear a thong. I hate thongs also.”“A ... a ... what? Ok.” I asked rather befuddled.“Maybe you’d better just take me home.” Her reply was making me wonder what I had done. " "Silence, silence, the devil has your tongue." Thank God for that, being possessed and unmarried seemed a blessing in the predicament I faced. My spontaneous outburst appeared to have worked, I sensed victory, only William Postlethwaite would not have it. He struck the air with rage and damned me as a Jezebel for wantonly teasing any men and all men with my near naked breasts. He denounced me as a tart, a coarse trollop fit only for the nugging shop and working men's pennies. "Pig," I said, determined to finish him. Oh dear, when Postlethwaite came upon me, I feared my maiden flower would be taken by force, my bold conduct had enraged him all the more and mere words were no longer a defence. I lost my parasol first, and the same pillaging hands that knocked it to the ground, next pulled down upon my dress, until not a single wisp of fabric covered my bare bosom. "There," he said, "you make a better whore than lady." "You have shamed yourself, not I," I said. "A shilling to have.
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