‘Brad,’ I called out. He turned, I bitch slapped him and then backhanded him. He fell to the ground, looking up in pain and surprise. ”Hurts, do...’t it,’ I said in a playful voice. ‘Now you know how Rebecca feels.’ That line wasn’t playful. ‘Who are you?’ He asked as he stood. As he got to his feet, I backhanded him again and again he fell. ‘Doesn’t make any difference. Let’s just say I’m an interested bystander.’ I knelt next to him and slapped him again. ‘God, stop,’ Brad pleaded, putting up. That's the real story here. I made ahabit of going to clubs as a party girl of Friday nights, each timegetting a little more daring, a little more drunk. I also would makemyself a little hotter, a little more irresistible each weekend. Ideveloped a routine, which was, unfortunately, ignored just once, andhere I am now.I got off work, and as soon as I got home, I jumped in the shower, andused the veet to get rid of all my body hair. Afterwards, I 'grew' myhair out, and was thinking of this. More

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