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Almost relieved not to be a spectator to any embarrassing scenes,
Joan saw that no one in the crowded little bar seemed to be
paying any attention to the two at the far table. Joan sipped
her drink and laughed to herself. Some people had no sense of
modesty. She paused and tried to focus her thoughts. Something
else was nagging at her. She looked around the bar again, more
carefully. There was something … different. But she couldn’t
put her finger on it.

As she carefully examined the room, she was heartened by the fact
that she had an opportunity to try to think about things without
getting distracted by crude advances from a roomful of men with
more hormones than consideration.

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“Great!” I said. As we got on the elevator, a couple of guys
who had been running got on too. They were checking us out, and
their running shorts started bulging. It’s a shame that Susie Q.
wasn’t there to help those two guys with their problem. We got
off on Ellen’s floor, and went to her apartment.
It had a great view of the Potomac. Ellen went into the
kitchen, and returned with two glasses of juice. I did not want
to sit down, because my shorts were so wet. Ellen reached up, and
pulled down on her pink shorts, dropping them and stepping out.
She had only the black leotard on now. It was cut so high on the
hips, that the front barely covered her pussy. It was obvious
that she trimmed it. As she looked at me, she could see I was
staring at her body, and in particular, her crotch.