Southern charm

At a bar in New Orleans one muggy evening with a fellow traveler I met at the hotel. He was the silent type, so I suspected this evening would be filled with awkward silences. But soon after we settled down at the bar a group of raucous young men came in, laughing and talking loudly.

The waitresses in short skirts weaved through the crowd and flirted with everyone. The men gathered around the bar and started flirting with a particularly buxom, platinum haired woman. As the evening wore on, the flirting became more and more explicit.

"Honey," the waitress purred at a man, slapping him on his chest gently, "if you tip me any more I'm going to have to go home with you." He promptly took out a $10 bill and stuck it into her breast-pocket to the roar of his friends around him.

She took it, smiled coquettishly and said, "Naughty boy!"

Then she noticed me and came over. "Hello there, sweetheart," she drawled. "You're not from around here."

"No," I acknowledged.

She touched my arm. "I know just what kind of drink you need. A French Screw."

I didn't know what that was, but it sounded bawdy. I nodded, a little embarrassed.

She returned with an orange colored drink, which I later found out contained cognac and orange juice. I took out a $5 bill and was tempted to tuck it into her breast pocket too. But I handed it over to her. "Thank you, honey," she said. "You're a gentleman. And a handsome one."

"Wait till you see my butt," I laughed. "I'm told it's my best feature."

She leaned over to see my seated butt. "Mmmm, that sure does look juicy." She licked her lips and moved on to another customer.

The guy who had shoved the money down her breast-pocket waded through the crowd with a huge grin on his face. "So how about we get to know each other better after you're done for the night?"

"Honey," she said. "You can get to know me better right here." She jutted her ample chest out. His eyes fell on them.

"They real?"

"As real as the hair on your head." I wasn't sure if she was calling his hair into question.

"They don't look real to me," he said and chortled. He was clearly a bit tipsy.

"You can see for yourself." She took his hand and placed it on her breasts. The crowd roared. The man's eyes lit up, like he'd won the jackpot.

"They sure are real,"  he proclaimed to the entire bar triumphantly, squeezing her breasts. He leaned forward, attempting to kiss her. But she evaded his lips deftly.

"Honey, if I let you kiss me, I'd have to let all of them kiss me."

"Let him kiss you," yelled someone.

"And you can kiss my you know what." She smiled charmingly.

One by one she chatted up all the men and teased them. They were all flattered. They loved it. And by the time I decided I'd had enough entertainment for the evening, her pockets were bulging with tips.