"Fuck you!" Joanne said, whirling. She picked up her half-full glass of scotch and threw it at the bartender. The liquor drenched his shirt and neck and the glass fell to the floor, breaking.

"Okay," he said, "get your ass out the door bitch! And don't bother coming back, right?"

"Blow it out your ass," Joanne muttered, sliding off her stool. Her feet touched the floor but she couldn't feel anything. Everyone in the tavern was staring at her and she didn't want to fall down and make a fool out of herself, not in front of so many people. Oh, God, she thought, trying to hold herself upright, I am so drunk!

"You need some help," the boy said, grabbing her around the waist. "Hey," he said, walking her out the door, his arm supporting Joanne, "I don't think you're in any shape to drive yourself home, I mean, if you're on wheels or anything, you know?"

"I don't have a home to go to," Joanne mumbled, her head coming to rest against his shoulder. He smelled good. Like a man. She'd almost forgotten what a man smelled like. She leaned closer as they went out onto the street, and one of her tits was pressed close against his side. She felt her nipple getting harder and harder behind the yellow front of her dress, and she knew that her teat was boring into his ribs. He felt so smooth and hard under his shirt, and he smelled nice, and she didn't want to go home and be alone, she didn't want to be alone, no, not now. "Take me to your home," she said, looking up. His face turned red and his eyes got big. "Yes," she went on, leaning up, the tip of her tongue appearing between her lips. She leaned close, touched his neck with her mouth and tongue, and he shivered against her. She put her hand on his shoulder. They were almost at the street corner, and there were people all around them, students mostly, but no one even looked twice at a couple kissing on the sidewalk, and she was kissing him.