Miss Raven

Just out of college I worked at an R&D laboratory at Ford Motor Company in Highland Park, Michigan. Every once in a while the guys would go out on a Friday evening to a girly bar. Most of the fellows were older and married. I was a young, inexperienced bachelor. 

Those bar expeditions were excellent, dude.

On one occasion a voluptuous dark hair beauty named Raven was dancing for our pleasure. (Think, a steamy Nigella Lawson.) She wore shiney electric blue bikini panties and a gauzy billowy pale blue baby doll top. See through, but not showing too much but a flirting glance every now and then as she moved to the music.

The room was boisterous, and in a covert attempt to get her attention I called out, "Hey, fellas, let's quiet down and let the lady dance." 

Soon after, the song came on with the lyrics "... just snap your fingers and I'll come running." On cue, I frantically began to snap my fingers in Miss Raven's direction. Without an ounce of hesitation she ran down from the elevated stage, approaching me assertively and got real up close and personal. Lap dance. No. More.

I was sitting in a booth, with a high back. Raven positioned herself hovering over me with one foot on the seat and the other parked on the top of the seat back just behind my shoulder. For my eyes only, she lifted her gossimer top to reveal the most ample breasts anyone would hope to ever see. Then she proffered one directly in front of my face. Being a gentleman, I obliged the young lady.

Raven! A tender bashful kiss. Alas, nevermore.

 (Thanking Ms. Nigella Lawson for standing in for Miss Raven.)