Affairs/hotspots
                                     J. Boswell
                                 Leopard's Spots, A
                          DO YOU FEEL LIKE TALKING TO ME ABOUT IT, SANDY?
                  Look.  I'm no angel, okay?  Bobby knew he wasn't marrying a nun, but 
              he married me, anyway.  And I never once fooled around on him, or even 
                    flirted very much with anyone else, after we got married.  
                 I'm not proud of the way I was making a living when we met, but he has
             no idea how hard it was, and there isn't anything I can do, now, to change
                                        any of that, anyway.
                                                  
                                            CHANGE WHAT?
                                            The way I lived.
                   I was still in high school when things got so bad at home, I had to
             split.  Mom was always pickled in her cheap wine and dad -- dear old dad -
             - when he wasn't slapping me around, was giving me goo-goo eyes and coming
              into my bedroom at night to grab some cheap feels of my `new equipment.'
                     After he fell asleep one night, I grabbed his wallet and mom's
             `secret' grocery money, hitchhiked to Bangor and hopped on a bus, buying a
                one way ticket for as far away as I could get -- that happened to be
                                        downtown Baltimore.
                  I didn't expect the folks to come looking for me, and they didn't.  I
                                    was on my own.  I was 16.  
                     I had about fifty dollars and a suitcase full of fairly decent
             clothes.  I had seen enough `Geraldos' about street kids to know I didn't
              want to start hanging out like that.  Living in a filthy, rat- and bug-
                             infested dump was worse than what I left.
                                        SO, WHAT DID YOU DO?
                   I worked.  I couldn't get a decent job, of course, because I didn't
            have my diploma and I had no experience at anything.  I worked for `Mom and
              Pop' type businesses because they'd pay me under the table and I didn't
            have to fill out a lot of forms.  I lived in dumpy, but fairly clean, rooms
             and kept pretty much to myself.  Always having someplace safe to sleep at
                                         night was my goal.
                 It wasn't like the movies.  I never worked for any really nice people.
              Never for a woman who was like some `TV mom' who wanted to take me into
             their home and take care of me.  Just hard working people who wanted me to
                                          work hard, too.
                                      The problem was always sex.  
                                      SEX?  WHAT DO YOU MEAN?
                                    Well, you see how I look, right?
                                          YES.  OF COURSE.
                 Well, either the guy running the place (and one time it was the woman)
             or a customer would get to the point where they couldn't keep their hands
             off me.  It never failed to happen.  I'd get my boobs grabbed in the back
                    room or told I had to fuck him to get my pay and I'd split.
                    See, I was innocent, but not stupid.  I knew what they wanted and
             being forced into something like that would wreck this sense of security I
             had built up for myself.  And my security was all that I had.  I wasn't a
            virgin -- I had had a boyfriend in tenth grade -- but this wasn't the same.
                                   Does any of this make sense to you?
              SURE.  I UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU'RE SAYING, SANDY.  YOU HAD SET UP BOUNDARY
              LINES AROUND YOURSELF, AND THE SEXUAL HARASSMENT CROSSED THOSE LINES.  
                                                Exactly!
                   Anyway, that's when I'd split.  Sometimes getting my last paycheck,
                                           sometimes not.
                  So, by now, I just had my 17th birthday and I'm out of work, again. 
               And each time it seems to get harder and harder to find that next job.
                 Well, I'm in my favorite Dunkin' Donuts, crying in my coffee, when one
                            of the other regulars sits down next to me. 
                  This guy, Mr. Harper, hung there, too, and was always polite but not
             quite friendly, keeping his distance.  I could deal with that.  He wasn't
                  like the sleaziods always coming over and drooling down my neck.
                  He asks what's wrong and I tell him.  I didn't have any friends, and
              after almost a year on my own, it felt nice to have somebody to talk to.
                       We talked and talked and he offered to buy me lunch down at
             HarborPlace.  It was a beautiful day and the food was great and Mr. Harper
             was so concerned about my welfare.  His timing couldn't have been better.
                                             FOR WHAT?
                                            His proposition.
                                       HE PROPOSITIONED YOU?
                    No, that's just it, HE didn't.  At least, not for what you think.
                  Here's this older guy, who looks like he could be a college professor
            or something, and he's being nice to me -- without any hint of coming on to
               me.  And I'm beginning to feel better.  I still feel safe and now I'm
                     actually laughing at some of the funny things he's saying.
                  We spent the day at the harbor, and he even takes me on a boat ride. 
             Over dinner, in a `Little Italy' restaurant with candles on the tables, he
                                     asks me where I'm staying.
                        Immediately, my defenses come up.  Why's he want to know?
                   He tells me he knows a place out in the county.  He said it's clean
             and cheap and he knows the owner who would keep an eye out for my safety.
                  I ask him why I'd want to move out of the city and he smiles and says
                     that he might have a good-paying job for me, if I want it.
                                       Here comes the proposition.
                 He tells me a friend of his owns a couple of clubs, two on "The Block"
              and two more in the county.  He says if I would dance (`AND ONLY DANCE,
             SANDY,' he says), I could soon make enough money to really live on my own.
                  I tell him no, but he's not done his sales pitch, yet.  He says with
              that kind of money, I could get a real apartment, like the young singles
            have, get a car, maybe even get my diploma and go to college.  He told me I
                       could get a real life -- something I wanted very much.
                            I tell him I'm only 17 and he says `no problem.'
                    He keeps talking and tells me a lot of college girls are dancers,
             earning their tuition, and leaving as soon as they graduate; and how other
                girls make enough money to start their own business from dancing.  
                                Talk, talk, talk.  He talked my ear off.
                                         SO, WHAT HAPPENED?
                                             I got the job.
                  That night, we drove out to the club and met the manager.  He didn't
             even make me undress.  He told me what hours I'd have to work and I'd have
            to stay out of the booze and drugs (no problem for me, at that time).  When
              he told me what I'd be making a week, I couldn't believe it.  It sounded
            like so much money to me.  Enough money to make me think I could do exactly
              what Mr. Harper said I could do -- work there a short time and quit into
                                          the real world.
                      The next day, Mr. Harper helped me move into a decent studio-
              apartment-type room in a motel about a hundred feet up the road from the
               club.  He also took my picture and made me a driver's license, social
              security card, and new birth certificate that said I was `Sandra Beech'
                  (sandy beach -- get it?) and that I was just under 20 years old.
                                  I started dancing topless that night.
                                       YOU STARTED A CAREER. 
                                              Very funny.  
                        BECOMING A NUDE DANCER WAS THAT EASY FOR YOU, SANDY?
                  Well, it may seem that easy to you, but you weren't living the life I
              was, then.  I was alone and poor and scared and nervous and embarrassed,
            but I was also young and had been convinced by a master salesman.  I was so
                excited about making money, how I made it was secondary in my mind. 
              Besides, I knew what I looked like and thought I might as well make some
                       money out of showing them what they all wanted to see.
                  But, it didn't take me long to realize that it wasn't all hearts and
                            flowers the way it had been describe to me.
                                      AND YOU WERE SURPRISED?
                                           Yes, I guess I was.
                  Most of the other girls were on booze or coke or speed and all their
             money went that way.  As a matter of fact, they couldn't make enough money
            dancing.  But extra money was easy to make in that club -- you just let the
               guys take you into the back room, or out to their pickup, or up to the
             motel and buy whatever they could afford -- a hand-job, or blow-job, or a
             fuck.  You gave a little piece of the profit to the club, and the rest was
                                               yours.
                                   HOOKING.  DID YOU HOOK, SANDY?
                 Not right away.  Of course, I told myself that I would never hook like
                  that; that I didn't have any addictions like the other girls.  
                                               But I did.
                  Here I am, this young, pretty girl, down from the backwoods of Maine
            and all of a sudden, I have money.  More money than I ever had in my life. 
            It wasn't long before I had a closet full of new clothes.  And then a car -
              - a hot, new Mustang convertible.  Then I could afford a new apartment,
                      which meant I needed furniture and a TV and a stereo...
                  I was addicted to shopping, and within months I was borrowing against
            my next week's paycheck.  Nobody had ever taught me how to handle money and
                                         I was still a kid.
                 Finally, the manager refused to advance me any more money.  He said if
            I didn't stop spending, there was only one way of keeping up with my bills.
                 I knew what he meant.  I also knew that I was the most popular girl in
                 the place.  I was young, pretty, had a great body with big tits...
                                           THAT'S A FACT!
                                                Oh, hush!
                         I also wasn't a burn-out like most of the other girls.
                  Anyway, being very practical about the whole thing, I asked the other
             girls what they charged and doubled it.  From that first weekend on, I had
                       no trouble filling my `dance card' for the back room.
                  My biggest surprise was that it wasn't sex for me -- it was business.
                                      DID YOU GET OUT OF DEBT?
                                                 Did I!
                  I was determined never to get in money problems again.  I worked five
            night a week, dancing for my salary and earning my bonus in the back room. 
                      I didn't turn anyone away and I didn't give discounts.  
                  I developed a right arm like Arnold Swartzenegger and I really could
              suck a golf ball through a garden hose.  Tying knots in cherry stems was
                                            kid's stuff!
                                        It was true piecework...
                                              GROAN! 
                            Stop it!  You know what I mean.  Now let me talk!
                  Move'em in and move'em out.  High volume, low overhead.  That's how I
                       worked.  Even my pussy developed very special talents.
                             DIDN'T YOU WORRY ABOUT CATCHING SOMETHING?
                 No, not really.  I was 17 - 18, and feeling immortal.  I got the crabs
            a couple of times, but that was it.  If they looked scrungy, I just whipped
                                         a rubber on them.
                 The important part for me was that, soon, I paid everyone off, and had
             too much money to bank.  I started filling a safe deposit box with hundred
                                           dollar bills.
                     Anyway, that's who I was.  I didn't make any secrets about it.
                   One night, while I'm dancing, a bunch of guys come in -- regulars. 
             They stopped in about once every two weeks or so.  Definitely Prep school
              material -- all cotton and Docksides.  Probably college guys.  They were
              always well behaved and I had been in the back room with all of them, at
                         one time or another.  They were even good tippers.
                  So...anyway...  That night, I'm dancing and they come in.  Only they
             have a new guy with them.  He's shy and blushes a lot as I play up to him
            and jiggle my boobs and wiggle my ass in his face.  Everybody else is going
               crazy, but this guy keeps his hands to himself, except when he slips a
                                       twenty into my garter.
                    His friends are razzing him and when my set ends, I sit with his
             crowd.  They want the new kid, Bobby, to take me in the back room, but he
                    smiles at me and says, `I'd rather take you out to dinner.'
                  He's cute and nice and his friends are giving him such a hard time, I
             feel sorry for him and want to cut him a break.  I tell him to pick me up
                  in front of the club the next night and we'll go out to dinner.
                                      AND THE REST IS HISTORY?
                                You laugh, but it was almost that simple.
                    He was a really nice guy.  He came from a large, rich family that
            lives in `The Valley' and he was always the `Black Sheep' because he didn't
               toe daddy's line.  The final offense was when he enlisted in the Navy
             instead of going to college.  He was ready to get out when I met him, and
             he was scared and lonely about what was to come.  Cut out of the family's
            business, he was looking for work and was determined to make it on his own.
                        He reminded me of me when I showed up in Baltimore.
                 He got my sympathy.  He never came to the club, again, but we dated on
              my nights off.  We didn't have sex for months after we met, and when we
                              did, it was quiet and sweet and tender.
                  I had been on my own for over three years, and dancing for over two,
                     and was tired.  When he asked me to marry him, I accepted.
                                  HOW DID BOBBY'S FAMILY TAKE IT?
                   Well, there wasn't much to take.  The day after I quit dancing, we
              were married in the Court House and only Matt, Bobby's younger brother,
               came.  We had to borrow a secretary from down the hall to be our other
                                              witness.
                  We were pretty sure they knew all about me.  Bobby's old high school
             friends knew, of course, and we just assumed the word got back to Bobby's
             parents.  He was probably embarrassed by that, but we didn't see them very
                                           often, anyway.
                   We got a new apartment and Bobby found a pretty good job because of
                his Navy training.  I studied and got my GED, took courses at Essex
            community college, transferred to Towson State University and got my A.A. -
                                     - all in just three years.
                 I was 22 when I was hired as an administrative assistant in the county
                                          planning office.
               PRETTY IMPRESSIVE, SANDY.  DID BOBBY EVER GET TO SEE HIS FAMILY?  WERE
                             YOU INVITED FOR HOLIDAYS AND CELEBRATIONS?
                  Invited?  No.  Matt sometimes stopped by, but for years, we only saw
                                 his family at wakes and funerals.
                  His dad is a very cold guy.  No hugs, just handshakes.  Bobby said he
            was always like that -- always on this super-macho power and control trip. 
              And his mom!  The biggest snob in the world.

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  She really looked down her
              nose at me.  I think it really bothered her that I got my education and
               didn't talk and act and dress like a hillbilly.  And, other than Matt,
               Bobby's brothers (and their wives) were all the same as his parents --
                                          stuck-up snobs.
                  It was a shame.  I think Bobby was too nice a person for their family
                and he made them uncomfortable.  I was just the easy excuse why they
             shunned him.  It was sad to watch.  All Bobby wanted was to be accepted. 
              He would have done anything for them.  He was like a little puppy around
                                           his father.  
                  But they could never forgive him.  They were too proud.  All Bobby's
              past sins were forgotten when he married me.  I was the focus of all of
                their hatred.  I guess I can understand, to some degree.  I probably
            wouldn't be too happy if my son married a whore.  But, I wasn't a whore any
              more.  I didn't do those kinds of things any more -- I was respectable. 
              But it didn't matter to them.  They would have rather Bobby married some
              little squeaky-clean little Yuppie girl -- some girl who probably fucked
                       the football team in college to get into her sorority!
                               See what just thinking about it does to me?
                I SEE.  DOES ALL OF THIS HAVE SOMETHING TO DO WITH WHY YOU'RE HERE?
                         Of course!  It has EVERYTHING to do with why I'm here.
                   It was because of Matt.  Matt, Bobby's younger brother was getting
             married, and as a fence-mending idea, he asked Bobby to be his best man. 
               I'm sure it pissed everybody off, but there was no way they could not
                          invite us to all the wedding dinners and things.
                  The rehearsal dinner was bad enough -- talk about feeling a chill! --
             but the next night was the Bachelor Party and against my better judgement,
               but to please Bobby, I agreed to spend the night at his parents' house
                   while the guys went out for dinner and then back to our place.
                  After dinner with all the other wives and Bobby's mother, we all got
             into the wine pretty good and Bobby's mom really got on her high horse.  I
               heard one too many comments about my `less-than-reputable-past' and my
              `legendary availability to the opposite sex' that I grabbed my overnight
             bag, my coat and my car keys.  I wasn't spending one more second with the
                                         nasty, old bitch.
                   When I got to our house, it was obvious the party had moved here. 
                 There were cars all over the place and I had to park a block away.
                  I rang the bell and knocked and a very drunk Bobby answered the door,
             yelling, "Let the games begin!"  Then, quieter, "Oh!  Sandy.  I thought it
                                         was the stripper."
                    As I walked into the livingroom, I heard Bobby's father snicker,
              "Hmpf!  It is, isn't it?"  And a good chunk of the crowd joined him in a
                                               laugh.
                  I felt myself blush as I passed through the room.  Bobby didn't come
              to my defense and I had had enough of his family's cheap shots at me for
               one night.  Furious, I grabbed two wine coolers out of the fridge and
                                   locked myself in our bedroom.
                   Downing the two coolers in record time, I sat on the bed so pissed
              off, I couldn't see straight.  It didn't matter to Bobby's family at all
             that the past was long behind me, that I had worked hard to be respectable
              and get a good job, that I was a good wife for their son.  And I saw red
             thinking of Bobby not coming to my defense.  How could he let me down like
                              that, especially in front of his father?
                    I could tell from the noise that the stripper had arrived.  I was
              going to stay in the bedroom until she left, but thought, `fuck it,' and
                          walked into the kitchen for a few more coolers.
                        Bobby was standing in the doorway, watching the stripper.
                        `Thanks for coming to my rescue, Sir Galahad,' I sneered.
                  He turned and looked at me, `Big deal.  You fucked half the guys here
                  for money and you're offended my father called you a stripper?'
                   Even as buzzed as I was, I knew it wasn't the time or place to get
                                        into it with him.  
                   I looked over his shoulder.  The stripper was a short, cute redhead
            with great legs, but no chest.  She was naked and taking Matt's cock out of
               his fly.  As she straddled his legs, I couldn't believe he was getting
            married on Saturday night and sticking his cock up a strange cunt on Friday
                                      night -- what a family!
                      I couldn't let the moment go, without a shot at Bobby, `She's
                 absolutely tit-less.  I hope you didn't pay a lot for her, Bobby.'
                       `Why don't you show us yours, Sandra, dear?  As a point of
               comparison.'  Bobby's dad had been standing next to the doorway and I
                  hadn't seen him until he turned and gave me his slimiest smile. 
                    Of course, if daddy said `jump,' Bobby was in the air asking `how
            high?'  He raised his glass and downed his Scotch and nodded, `Yeah, Sandy,
                                        show us YOUR tits!'
                 He said it loud enough that several people on either side of him began
                         to chant, `Show us your tits!  Show us your tits!'
                 They followed me down the hall to the bedroom and banged on the locked
                                    door as they chanted at me.
                 The hurt, the booze, the put-downs, Bobby siding with his family, Matt
                    screwing a whore, guests in our house banging on my door...
                   I screamed as I opened the door.  The were quiet as the let me pass
             through them into the livingroom.  I climbed up on to the coffeetable.  I
                              found Bobby's face in the drunken crowd.
                                 `Fuck all of you, and start the music!'
                    I was wearing a white crepe blouse and a black wool skirt.  Under
              them, I had on a camisole and halfslip, bra, panties and pantyhose.  Not
                                  the typical stripper's costume.
                    I grabbed a mug of beer out of the hand of a nearby spectator and
             chugged it as I started to pick up the beat of the music.  I could feel it
              inside me and all those thousands of hours dancing were not forgotten. 
             Though mostly dancing topless or naked, I had done a few strips in my day,
                                  and I knew what the boys liked.
                   I undid my blouse buttons and dropped the feathery material off my
              shoulders and arms, leaving my long scarf tied around my neck.  I lifted
               the satin camisole up and over my head and threw it into the crowd.  I
                 danced a little bit, showing them my tits in my bra before I began
             unzipping my skirt.  When it fell to my feet, I kicked it away and dropped
              my halfslip quickly.  Knowing nobody found pantyhose sexy, I made short
              work of them, rolling them down off my hips and having a couple of boys
                                       pull them off my feet.
                  I was in my bra and panties, and no one had left the room.  Bobby was
                still standing next to his father, who was clapping to the beat like
             everyone else.  The crowd was wild.  The stripper was sitting on the sofa,
               between two of Bobby's brothers, giving both of them hand-jobs as she
                                           cheered me on.
                     I reached behind me and undid my clasp.  The straps fell off my
            shoulders and down my arms, but I held the cups to my breasts with my arms.
            With the boys yelling for more, I bent over in front of Bobby's dad and let
             the bra fall to the floor.  As the boys roared their approval, I thrust my
             chest out until they almost touched his nose.  He began to raise his hand
                      to touch me and I danced to the other side of the table.
                    I owned the crowd and knew it.  This was MY powerplay.  I was in
                                      control and I liked it.
                     My panties disappeared in a flash and they all saw that I was a
              natural blonde.  I untied the scarf from around my neck and let it drape
            over my sweating, naked flesh like some demented snake.  I twisted it tight
              and ran it between my tits and then between my legs, pulling it up tight
                                       into my ass and cunt.
                   I jumped off the table in front of Billy's dad and tossed the scarf
              around the back of his neck.  I looked into Billy's eyes as I pulled his
               father's face down to mine.  His father's lips met mine and his tongue
              exploded into my mouth and his hands grabbed my asscheeks.  As his hands
              slid up my body to pinch my hard nipples I confirmed what I had know all
                     along about Billy's dad -- he was just as dirty as I was.
                        WHEW!  WHAT HAPPENED NEXT, SANDY?  DID HE FUCK YOU? 
                  Him and everybody else.  Well, not everybody.  Some guys cleared out
              fast when Billy's dad plopped me down on the coffeetable and dropped his
                     pants and shorts.  His intentions were clear, as they say.
                    What happened next?  It became a real family affair.  All four of
             Bobby's brothers fucked me, including Matt, who I had always considered a
            friend, and then whoever else was there took their shot.  There were enough
              guys left to keep me and the stripper full of hard cock for the next two
                                           hours or so.  
                    BOBBY'S FATHER AND THE SITUATION MANIPULATED YOU.  HOW COULD
                    YOU LET THAT HAPPEN, SANDY?                                 
                 What can I say?  I lowered myself to their expectations.  I let myself
                             become what they thought I was all along.
                   Bobby just stood there and watched.  Sometime later in the evening,
            his father was sitting on the sofa with his hands buried in my hair and his
            dick buried in my mouth and I heard him say, `Bobby, my boy, you have great
             taste in whores, but lousy taste in wives!' and then he laughed, and kept
                                on laughing as I swallowed his cum.
                 I woke up with a real banger of a headache.  I was on our bed with two
             guys I didn't recognize, and my ass slipped in a small puddle of still-wet
            cum that had dripped out of my cunt.  I hadn't been in a gangbang like that
                  since I entertained at a Knights of Columbus party years ago.  
                   I peed and brushed my teeth and threw on a robe.  I smelled coffee.
                     The sofa and chairs in the livingroom were filled with sleeping
            bodies.  The stripper was curled up on the floor with Bobby's naked 14 year
            old cousin, both snoring.  I winced as I remembered him cumming in my pussy
                                    and mouth the night before.
                 Bobby's father was in the kitchen, pouring a cup of coffee.  He looked
               like he was on his way out to the office -- clean shaven, hair combed,
                     dressed in his jacket and tie -- the perfect businessman.
                               `Sandra,' he smiled, `you look like shit.'
                  `I feel like shit.  Who are all these people?'  My feeble attempt at
                                          hangover humor.
                  `But, my dear, you know all of them intimately.'  Again, the diamond-
                                           cutting smile.
                    `Are you happy?  Did you prove to Bobby that he married a whore?'
                    He handed me his empty cup and walked toward the front door, `No,
                          Sandra, YOU proved to Bobby he married a whore.'
                       I threw the cup at him but it shattered against the wall.  
                WHAT A TERRIBLE SITUATION, SANDY!  I FEEL SO BAD FOR YOU.  WHERE WAS
                BOBBY?  DID YOU GO TO THE WEDDING?                                  
                                              Wedding?  Ha!
                   I found Bobby in the guest room.  I woke him up and told him to get
             everybody out of the house.  I locked myself in the bathroom and stayed in
                              the shower until I couldn't cry anymore.
                     Bobby and I argued all day about whether to go to the wedding. 
              Finally we decided that he had to go because he was the best man, and I
                         could go, but didn't have to sit with his family.
                   I sat in the car until it was almost time to start, and then I sat
             near the back of the church, alone in a pew.  None of the ushers, who were
             all at the party, looked me in the eye, but the bride stared at me as she
            walked past.  Her father looked familiar and I was trying to remember if he
                                       was at the party, too.
                   The ceremony began and when the priest asked if anyone knew why the
                couple shouldn't be joined in `holy matrimony,' the bride whispered
             something and the priest handed her the microphone.  She turned around and
              faced the congregation.  I hadn't been to enough formal weddings to know
                                       that this was unusual.
                 She lifted her veil and smiled at the crowd, `Good Evening, everyone. 
             I'm very pleased to see all of you here for this occasion.  I have a short
                      announcement to make.  I'm not getting married tonight.'
                  Everyone in the church mumbled something and the bride continued over
              the outburst `...You see, I found something out about my fiancee, and I
                          don't think I can go through with the wedding.'
                  `Oh-oh,' I thought.  I grabbed my purse to make a fast getaway, but I
                                        wasn't fast enough.
                  `Can everyone see the pretty blonde in the back of the church?'  The
              bride was pointing right at me!  And every eye in the place followed her
                                        pretty index finger.
                   `Well, she was my future sister-in-law.  She's married to the best
             man, my fiancee's brother.  Well, last night, at the Bachelor Party, that
            pretty blonde screwed my fiancee, his brothers, his father, all the ushers,
                                        and even my father!'
                  Well, that answered my question about him!  The bride's mother passed
               out and her head hitting the pew front resounded throughout the silent
                                              church.
                  `That slut,' the bride continued, `used to be a cheap barroom whore,
               and last night she sucked and fucked every man at the bachelor party!'
                                             HOLY SHIT!
                                        You can say that, again!
                    Fortunately, I drove, so I hopped into the car and peeled rubber
               getting out of there.  I went to the house, filled the car up with my
                     clothes and make-up and drove here.  I've been here since.
                      DO YOU THINK BOBBY WILL FIND YOU, HERE?  IT'S KIND OF AN
                      OBVIOUS CHOICE.                                         
                 You're assuming he's looking.  I don't think he is.  And I can't blame
                       him if he's not.  You can't change a leopard's spots.
                  So, did you come back here to talk or to fuck?  We better get it on. 
             It looks like I was missed and my old fan club has been lining up to get a
            piece of me since I came back.  I've been on my back so much, I barely have
                                           time to dance!
                     No, don't worry about that -- let's live dangerously and do it
                                             bareback!
                                              12/91   
                                                 --
                                                  
                                                   
                                                  
                                                  
              
                                                  

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