My Girlfriend

As I approached the entrance of the club, I could see her, standing there, flirting with the over-sized doorman. Her red dress was stunning; it hugged every curve of her body oh so gently, yet firmly. Lucky dress! And the shoes…yep, they were on point as well. Damn I messed that relationship up, I thought, the closer I got to her and saw the devastatingly spectacular shape of her body. Each step painfully reminded me that I should have kept in better touch with her as she traveled around the country for her job.

She saw the fairly medium sized group, of which I was apart, approach, and she turned up the ever-present Southern charm. She was not only the birthday girl, but she was also the hostess for the night, welcoming party-goers to the product placement event. She smiled, and then our eyes met. Surprisingly, as she ushered the few people ahead of me inside, she maintained a steady dose of eye contact. When I made it to the front of the line, she gave me a hug, whispering in my ear, “What’s her name?”

Wait, what?

“Excuse me,” I quizzically asked as our bodies disengaged, my hands clinging to her shapely hips, hating me for not experiencing this sensation on a consistent basis.

“You heard me,” she begins, “What’s her name? What’s the name of the girl that made you stop talking to me?” Her sexiness amplified with her playful attitude.

“Oh, her?” I quip.



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