Jared, Colton and dearest father...
I wasn't too pleased with myself about that - 'what a loser,' I thought of myself, 'pointing a great big boner at her in a place like this.' But she soon let me know it didn't bother her - her eyes met mine once again, and she gave me a conspiratorial flash of the eyebrows and an enormous, cheeky grin of her own.
She was gone only shortly, returning with a drink that looked nothing like a light beer. "A Jaeger-bomb for sir?" she asked, most innocently.
"Libs!" I chastised - a Jaeger-bomb was about as far-removed from a light beer as one could achieve, without resorting to something served in a half-shelled pineapple with a heavy base of gasoline. "I can't drink this, I'll have to drive you home in the next couple of hours."
"So you'll need something to keep you pepped up, won't you?" she returned. "Sir needs his energy for the long drive." And she left me with that, the words hanging tantalisingly in the air for my consideration.
'Good grief,' I thought, as I took a pull at the drink to steady myself - or unsteady myself, as the case may have been. 'What has she got planned for me on the drive home?'
The next ninety minutes passed in quick fashion. Libby disappeared for a quick minute - to powder her nose, she had assured me - and she returned in a new outfit, which proved to be a familiar piece: a very small, very sheer pink lacy g-string with a fluffy pink waistline, the same item she wore in her X-rated series before Glen tore it off her and covered her in his spunk. The pictures from that series were virtually tattooed into my cornea, and as Libby fired more and more sneaky, saucy looks in my direction as the night wore on, I was given to wonder...
...was this wardrobe-choice a deliberate attempt to fire me up? What was she doing? She knew I would remember her X-rated pics when I saw that g-string. Was it a deliberate move, or an innocent coincidence? As well as I knew our Libby, I simply couldn't be sure - and the continuing series of Jaeger-bombs that Libby kept delivering to me weren't helping cogent thought on the matter, or cogent thought on any other matter either.
Nine o'clock rolled around far quicker than I would have given credit, and Libby let the boys know that she was clocking off. "Thank you all," she announced, "for such a wonderful evening - I can't wait to come back next week. If you'll have me, that is," she added, demurely yet alluringly, and a deafening din of cheers and applause let her know that each and every one of them would love nothing better than to 'have' her.
She wandered over to me, bathing in the admiration of all and grinning wide at her own cheek.
"The 'Libby Fan Club' grows ever-larger," I commented.
"Fuck I'm having such a good time," she enthused. "Who knew getting your tits out could be so much fun? It's the best thing for one's self-confidence - I reckon all girls should get their gear off in public, from time to time," she declared.
"And I agree!" said I, in a theatrically tipsy fashion. Libby ordered herself a drink, and we drank to that.
We spent another ten minutes at the bar, chatting and laughing at how the night had panned out - me surfing the giddy, cresting wave of the Jaegermeisters that Libby had virtually poured down my throat, and Libby revelling in her near-nakedness, standing close by my side and letting it all hang out, checking herself out in the mirrors behind the bar every chance she got. A few of the clientele would approach to offer their own praise of Libby's glorious body; Libby thanked them each in turn, graciously and classily. "Can you do us a favour?" she asked the last of them, and she turned to me. "Do you have a camera-phone on you?" she asked.
"I do," answered I, retrieving it from my pocket.
"Would you be so good," she asked her admirer, "to get a picture of me and my very good friend?" she said, stepping close in to me.
"A picture?" I asked, as her admirer told her "certainly!"
"I want a memento," she told me