Her auburn hair was up in a mass of curls on the top of her head, with little tendrils springing free to frame her fine-boned face. Her blue eyes sear...hed the crowd of dancers before her, but without success. With a little sigh, she walked around the dance floor and sat down at the bar, half-turning in her seat so that she could continue searching. The bartender, a tall man with black, spiked hair and a myriad of tattoos covering his muscular arms, came over to her and gave her a dazzling. Whitney and I crawl into the guest bedroom's queen size bed. As we lay down next to each other, I start to feel queasy from all the alcohol. Whitney offers to rub my stomach. "How does that feel?" She asks, seemingly concerned. "Mmmm...good. That makes me feel a little better." "Can you take off the tank top? I'll be able to rub your stomach better without it in the way." She asks. I do as she asks without much thought. She keeps rubbing my stomach in circles, slowly making the circles bigger. More

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