Friday night, Lana slept over at my place. I tend to get up very early, so I went to my computer to do some internet while she slept on. It was probably around 7:00 when she joined me in my small office, wearing one of my t-shirts. I could see she was on high beams and teased her about it.

"Happy to see me, I see."

She winced and bopped me gently on the back of the head. "Yeah, but that's not it, dummy. I'm just... I don't know... sensitive, today. Actually, they hurt pretty bad right now."

"Ah," I said, not sure what to add. "Anything I can do to help? A massage, perhaps?"

"No, I think I'll pass for now."

She left me to take a shower, then got dressed and took off to work. We had agreed to get together at night -- she was going to cook me a romantic dinner (didn't tell me what it was). But when she returned, around 5 o'clock, I could tell something was off. She was doing her best to smile, but she wasn't in a good mood.

"Still sensitive?" I asked.

She nodded, but didn't offer any details. Whatever lady trouble she was having, she wasn't going to share it with me or let it ruin the night. She took care of preparing dinner while I set the table and selected some mood music. We had agreed to put on some fancy clothes, so when all was ready, we each hid in separate rooms and changed. I was only halfway through when I heard a little yelp coming from her room.

"Lana? Everything all right?"

There was a pause, then: "Oh. OH! Jesus!"

I called her name again, but she didn't respond. I quickly rushed over to her room, worried that something was wrong with her. And something was. She was sitting on the guest bed, wearing this very sexy black dress that clung to her every curve like nothing I've seen before, with her hands covering the tips of her breasts. She looked flushed and was staring at her chest with embarrassment.

"Don't look," she said.

Since I was worried that something was wrong with her, I grabbed her hands and pulled them away.

"No!" she said with a gasp. But it was too late, and I saw that her nipples were poking almost obscenely through the flimsy fabric of her dress. I just stood there and stared at them. They looked REALLY hard. And she looked REALLY hot. She was squirming and arching her back, her head lolling from side to side. "Oh, dammit!" she said. Then she grabbed my hands, panting a little, and pushed them against her breasts. Yeah, they were hard all right.

So one thing led to another. You don't need to know the details, but I think we can all agree that this has to be Attitude's work, again.

--Jaycee