Karen had decided to wear a revealing halter-top and hot pants that were no larger than panties. She, too, wore high heels. Her long, slender legs shifted sensuously as she walked to their table.

Both girls noticed the many looks of approval they had received since they had entered the club. They sat down, crossed their elegant legs, and lit their cigarettes.

"Christ," whispered Karen, glancing all around her. "Are we ever gonna get it tonight!"

"It's been a long time since we've been stared at so much," replied Diane softly. Chuckling, she added, "Why, right now we're being stripped, eaten, fucked, and God knows what else!"

"I know," laughed Karen. Then she lowered her voice. "My pants are gettin' wet already, honey. Don't talk like that." She looked around to see if anyone was listening. "I knew I should've worn panties."

Silence.

The waitress came, took their order, and brought them their drinks five minutes later.

The girls sat in silence, smoking and sipping their drinks.

Diane lit another cigarette and looked at everyone in the club. She sighed in disgust. Most of the customers were couples or groups. Several eligible men sat on bar stools in front of the long, U-shaped bar. Shit, she thought angrily. The bastards were probably talking about baseball. Or football. No matter. When men got together at a bar, it was literally impossible to get them to look at you at all.

Two lavishly dressed hookers sat, their long, naked legs crossed and swaying coquettishly, near the end of the bar. They were talking to two slightly drunk, interested young men in their late twenties. Forget it, honey, Diane told herself, and turned back to Karen. "Oh, fuck," she said softly, disgusted. "Somethin' tells me we're not gonna get picked up tonight."