The applause, cheers, and whistles were deafening. Small wonder. Millie was not wearing the conventional stripper’s gold-lame evening gown, she was ...earing a stoplight-red, thigh-high dress made of a thin, clingy knit–with, quite apparently, nothing on under it. Her enormous, pointed milkers were swinging and wobbling loosely, and her swollen softball-sized nipples with their cocktail-sausage tips were clearly outlined. Even the depression that was her navel was lovingly hugged by the clinging. What’s up?’ a feminine voice asked. ‘Oh, hey Jen. I’m just about to have a shower.’ ‘What are you doing tonight?’ ‘Uh, nothing. Why? ‘I’m bored. You up for some foosball?’ ‘Sure. If you’re up for getting your ass kicked again.’ ‘Hey Mr. Cocky! You better watch out. I’ve been practicing.’ ‘Sure, sure. Just remember to bring the case of beer you owe me from last time.’ ‘Yah, yah. I’ll be there around eight.’ ‘Okay. See you then.’ I hung up the phone and made my way back to the shower. Playing. More

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