“Whatcha doin’?” He asked, when I turned my head to watch his reaction. “You’ll see…” I said very mysteriously. He didn’t have to wait...long before he discovered my plan. I slid down his body a little, so I was sitting on his tummy. I poked his belly button. “Belly button!” I exclaimed happily. Mmmm… I love his stomach, flat, smooth, and yummy. His hands rested on my butt, playing with my pink thong. I smiled. He would like what was going to happen next. I lowered my head, pursing my lips. I. Did I mention my legs? Sometimes I think my legs have a life of their own. Sometimes I eat a lot of cake to see if they’ll notice me. It doesn’t work. My legs go on doing their own beautifully defined thing. I beat the dress down with my hands. “I like your shoes,” he admired. “You like my shoes?” I asked, bewildered. “That’s it? My shoes?” I tell you, that’s the first man who’s ever liked me for my shoes. And they weren’t expensive shoes—they weren’t Manolo Blanhik or Prada. I bought them at a. More

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