Betty
Her name was Betty. For some reason this was the hottest thing about her to me. Not her thick chestnut colored hair that went past her shoulders in waves, not her full red lips, nor her gorgeous brown eyes, highlighted by smoky eye shadow. It was her name that got me. Her name, and her clumsy attempts to flirt with me. As I sat chatting with Betty and her boyfriend in the back corner of the cigar bar, sipping bourbon, she confessed that she had never kissed a girl. As she said this, she popped the cherry from her drink into her mouth. Damn, maybe her flirting wasn’t so clumsy after all. Why is it that straight girls love me so much? I’ve never figured it out. Usually I find it annoying, but not that night. That night I was charmed by Betty. We talked, edging closer to each other and ignoring her boyfriend. I put my hand on her thigh and leaned across her, my lips next to her ear I asked, “Are you asking me to kiss you, Betty? Is that what you want?” She blushed and said yes. I lean...