"More hips" I told her as I downed a swig of Port. I'd brought two bottles of Warres 1977, an absolutely fantastic vintage from my private collection at home.

"Move 'dem HIPS!" I demanded.

I finished the first bottle of Port and opened another. I chewed my unlit cigar as I watched her move. She was only three feet away from me.

The private room was dark and cool, and I could see that she was really feeling the air conditioning.

No touching - house rules. But I didn't care anyway. I'm not into that kinda scene, and besides, my girlfriend was coming over to London from New York in less than two weeks.

This was a post-gradschool treat to remind me what life was all about. Then I'd really ride the babe when she got over to England!

Why the fuck watch some wanker-type tape when you can have such great live entertainment? Not being judgemental, but I never understood guys that did that kind of bullshit.

The CD stopped playing, and I grabbed another from the stack I'd brought with me. Lots of CD's, lots of time. Rolling Stones, Sticky Fingers. Plenty of guitars. Guitars are good.

The babe was into it and after a enjoying quick drink of Port Wine ("just to be sociable") was back in front of me, wiggling to the tunes of Mick and the boys.

She was topless, blonde, British, all of 19 and mine for three hours last evening. It was great to be done with school, and finally able to 'hang.

"YER CHEST!" I barked.

Gotta keep on top of these babes lest their dancing gets sloppy. "Yer tits - did 'ja ferget 'ya got 'em?"

She smiled a blinding white smile and stuck 'em out HARD! Mick whined on in the background and I downed another shot of Port.

The night was young, and she didn't know it yet but I was going to tip her real well.

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